I hoped that after I leapt out at him, he’d punch me in the arm, we’d laugh, and our friendship would immediately revert back to where it had been ten minutes ago.
A silver car drove slowly past me.
It stopped next to Todd.
I watched, wondering what the driver wanted. At least I knew that Todd wasn’t stupid enough to get into a car with a stranger at one in the morning.
He walked over to the driver’s side door, apparently talking to the driver through an open window but keeping a safe distance.
Todd put his hand to his mouth.
Burst into tears.
What the hell was going on? What had the driver said to him?
Todd hurried around the front of the vehicle.
Did he know the driver?
He wasn’t...he wasn’t really getting in, was he?
The door opened and Todd got into the passenger side. I ran out onto the street as the car drove off. It turned at the next corner. I tried to remember the license plate number.
Had the driver seen me in his rearview mirror?
It was weird to be praying that Todd bursting into tears was because he’d been given actual terrible news and not that he’d been duped. What if his parents had been in an accident? What if they were dead? That was nightmarish but still better than the thought that he’d been kidnapped.
Not bothering to take off the mask, I jumped onto my bicycle and rode as fast as I possibly could. I wasn’t trying to catch up to the car, but if I pedaled like a madman and he didn’t take the most efficient route out of the neighborhood, I might be able to make our paths cross again.
My front tire wobbled, but I kept myself from falling off the bike. Todd’s life might depend on this.
I was already out of breath as I approached the street where I thought I might see the car again. I had no idea what I’d do if I reached it. I was so desperate to save my friend that I didn’t even consider that I might be putting myself in serious danger.
I could hear the car. I needed to go faster.
I wasn’t going to reach the street in time!
The car crossed the intersection. The driver’s side was facing me, and I saw the man behind the wheel. He glanced over and looked right at me.
The car screeched to a halt.
I knew the driver.
Not his name, but I’d seen him outside a couple of times, doing yard work. He lived in Todd’s subdivision, maybe seven or eight blocks away from him. He was pretty old, somewhere between my dad and my grandfather’s age, and he had a thick head of gray hair. He had a hard, unfriendly appearance, making me feel like I was trespassing when I walked past his house even though I was on the sidewalk.
The man quickly looked away, probably forever traumatized by the sight of the terrifying mouse mask.
The car sped off.
3
I chased after the silver car, but didn’t even come close to catching up.
I decided to ride my bicycle to Todd’s house instead of going back and waking up my parents. Maybe the man was a family friend. Maybe he was driving Todd to the hospital right now. I knew something bad had happened to make Todd burst into tears, but hopefully it was a temporary problem—perhaps his dad had a heart attack scare that turned out to be a false alarm.
The silver car was not in Todd’s driveway. His mom’s car and his dad’s car were both there, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t left in an ambulance.
I removed the mask and pounded on the door.
It took a couple of minutes for somebody to answer. Finally Todd’s dad opened the door, wearing only briefs. His look of annoyance disappeared when he saw that it was me, replaced by sudden concern.
“Curtis, what’s wrong?” he asked.
I told him everything. By the time I was finished, his mom had joined us at the front door. His dad worked with a couple of people who owned silver cars, but nobody who would have had any reason to deliver bad news to his son.
It felt like it took forever for the state trooper to arrive, though it was probably a completely reasonable timeframe. While we waited, I had tried and failed to remember the license plate, though I knew there was a B and a 7. Not enough to trace it, but if we found a car with a B and a 7 in the license plate, that should be enough to prove it was the same vehicle.
I quickly repeated the story, while the state trooper—who looked a lot like Christopher Reeve in Superman: The Movie, which I took as a good sign—nodded and jotted down notes. He told Todd’s parents to wait at home in case Todd called or came back home, and then I got into the front seat of the patrol car to show the state trooper where the man lived.
Or, where I thought he lived. I suddenly doubted my ability to take him straight to the correct house. I’d only seen the man a couple of times, and he hadn’t made enough of an impression for me to recall important details like the color of his home. I could get us to the right street for sure. After that, I had to pray that I’d immediately recognize the place.
“Which house?” the state trooper asked.
None of them looked familiar. And I suddenly questioned whether Clerk Street was even the right street. All I’d ever done is walk past the man. We’d never even exchanged a friendly greeting. How was I supposed to remember where he lived?
There was a one-story tan house with a nice yard. That could be it.
“I think it’s that one,” I said, pointing.
“But you’re not positive?”
“No.”
He pulled up in front of the house. “I’m going to have you scoot way down,” he said. “There’s no reason
