Authors: Brandon Massey
Twisted Tales (26 page)
She was alone in the car, and there was still about a half hour to go before they reached Zion.
She yawned. She hadn’t lied to her mother during their last conversation. She was, truthfully, completely wiped out.
During eight months of commuting to the city, she had mastered the art of the twenty-minute catnap. Her eyes drifted shut. Will Downing continued to croon sweetly into her ears.
She slept ... and woke with a start.
Someone had entered the compartment.
Jamal.
For a moment, looking at Jamal stride toward her, Tonya thought she was dreaming. She thought she was really asleep, and having a nightmare about seeing this annoyingly persistent and intense man, yet again—and being all alone with him.
“Taking a catnap?” he asked.
This wasn’t a dream. His voice was too real—and so was the pounding of her heart.
She straightened.
Jamal settled onto a seat directly across from her. He pulled off his skully cap, twirled it around his finger. He grinned, but his gaze was as acute as ever.
“You boarded the wrong train, Tonya,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re heading north, not south. You said you live on the Southside.”
“Oh, I, uh ...”
“Hyde Park, maybe?” He chuckled.
“All right, you got me.” Embarrassment burned her face. “But you said you live in Evergreen Park.”
He nodded. “I do.”
“So why are you on this train?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you. Your boss interrupted us earlier.”
“Oh.” Didn’t he realize how threatening his behavior seemed? Following a woman home on a train wasn’t charming. It was frightening.
She moved her purse onto her lap, like a shield between them, and slipped her hand inside.
“Why are you so nervous, girl?” he asked. “I just wanna talk to you.”
“I’m not nervous,” she said, but she heard the shakiness in her voice.
Keep it together, Tonya.
She cleared her throat. “What do you want to talk about?”
Keep it together, Tonya.
She cleared her throat. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You.” He smiled, and rubbed his hands together as if they were getting down to serious business.
“What about me?”
“You seeing anyone?”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“Right.” It was obvious that he didn’t believe her. “Is it serious?”
“He’s the father of my son.”
The truth was, she and Marcus hadn’t been together in two years, and she hadn’t been in a serious relationship since. But Jamal wouldn’t know that.
“That doesn’t mean it’s serious,” Jamal said. “Just means he gave you a baby.”
If she was a different kind of woman—like Benita, perhaps—that comment would have been grounds for her to cuss him out. As if she was some trifling woman who would lie down with a man and have his baby without being in a serious relationship with him!
“Well, it’s serious, okay?” she said.
“Your son favors you. That’s a good thing, ’cause you’re beautiful.”
She almost started to ask him how the hell he knew what her son looked like—and then remembered that she kept several photos of Aaron prominently displayed on her desk.
“Dime piece,” he said, admiring her from head to toe. “Pretty face. Small waist. Big behind.”
The longer he looked at her, the dirtier she felt.
“Can’t you say ‘thank you’ to a compliment?” Jamal asked. He tried for a humorous tone, Tonya thought, but he couldn’t disguise his irritation.
“Thank you,” she said, tightly.
The train arrived at the next stop: Lake Forest. Still over twenty minutes away from home. An eternity.
Jamal leaned forward. “So you
claim
to have a boyfriend. That’s cool. But you interested in having a friend?”
claim
to have a boyfriend. That’s cool. But you interested in having a friend?”
“My boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”
Jamal laughed. “Of course he wouldn’t. But would you?”
He gave her the stare again. Probing into her brain.
She shifted in her seat. She could not remember the last time a man had made her so uncomfortable. She was accustomed to crude compliments—
Damn, girl, the way you looking in them jeans make me wanna give you a baby
—gawking, and the like. And she had learned how to brush them off and keep moving. Any woman knew how to do that.
Damn, girl, the way you looking in them jeans make me wanna give you a baby
—gawking, and the like. And she had learned how to brush them off and keep moving. Any woman knew how to do that.
But this was different. She had never been cornered like this. Jamal was a different kind of male animal—and she felt like potential prey.
I have to get rid of him.
But what could she say that would make him leave? She had to tell him something, or else he wouldn’t leave her alone.
She glanced at the end of the compartment. The conductor was nowhere in sight. No help.
She turned to Jamal. “Look, it’s been a really long day. I’m tired, and I want to get home. What do you want from me?”
“Can you just give me your number?” he asked. “That’s all I want. Then I’ll get off the train. I need to get back to the city, anyway.”
All he wanted was her phone number? He’d gone through all of this trouble simply to get her number?
It sounded like a lie, but she wanted to believe that he was telling the truth.
“You just want my number?” she asked. “Then you’ll go?”
“That’s all.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Watched her expectantly.
“Okay.”
She rattled off a number—not her real one. He punched the digits into his phone.
“There,” he said. “I’ve saved you at the top of the list, Tonya Washington.”
“I’m honored.”
“Funny.” He smiled. “One day, when we’re married, we’ll look back on this chat and laugh.”
“When we’re married? What?”
“I’m kidding.” He stood. “Damn, girl, loosen up.”
She only looked at him. “You leaving now?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said. “Gotta go back to the other car and get my bag. I’m hopping off at the next stop.”
Good,
she thought. But she said, “’Bye.”
she thought. But she said, “’Bye.”
“See you, sister.”
He left the compartment.
She released a deep sigh. She took her hand out of her purse.
She had been gripping a bottle of pepper spray so tightly that it left an imprint on her palm.
“Next stop, Zion ...”
Tonya was so eager to get home that she was trembling. She hadn’t seen Jamal again, but she believed that he was satisfied with what she’d given him, and had left. He’d just wanted her phone number. The fact that she’d given him a fake number should give him a hint that she wasn’t interested.
You hope. The man followed you on a train all the way from Chicago. He isn’t going to let a wrong phone number keep him down ...
She shook her head, shut out the voice of doubt.
The rocking train began to slow. She looked out the window. An icing of snow covered the world, and she heard a shrill wind whipping around the train. The mere thought of stepping out into that cold weather made her shiver. She buttoned her coat, pulled on her gloves and hat, and tightened her scarf.
With a screech of brakes, the train drew to a halt. The doors slid open.
“Zion ...”
She walked out the car and onto the platform. Pausing, she looked both ways.
The icy wind blew, drawing tears from her eyes, but she saw what she expected: she was the only person disembarking from the train.
Satisfied, she headed toward the steps that led to the parking lot. Salt, thrown on the pavement to melt the ice, crunched underneath her boots.
She heard the train rumble away down the tracks.
The Zion station was located on the far eastern side of town, about a half mile away from a shutdown power plant and the shores of Lake Michigan; an area of open spaces choked with weeds and forestland. There were no residences. No one came over here unless they were boarding the train. There was nothing else around.
This was the worst part of coming home late at night. The place was so desolate she felt as if she was the only living person in the world. A single streetlamp standing at the edge of the parking lot provided weak, pale light. The light revealed that the snow, thank God, had been plowed from the parking lot, and was now piled in head-high drifts along the edges of the area.
Her Toyota Camry sat in the far corner of the parking lot, a large hump underneath a blanket of snow. She shuffled toward it. Just thinking about scraping off the snow and ice made her tired. She wished she had agreed for Mom to pick her up—
“Tonya!”
Oh, no, it can’t be.
Jamal hurried off the platform steps.
She’d thought she was the only one who had gotten off the train. He must have waited until the doors had been about to close, must have waited until she had turned and started walking away, before he’d jumped off.
What the hell did he want? She had given him a phone number. What else could he want?
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Nothing good could come of a man following her all the way from Chicago at night to an empty parking lot.
Anxiety cramped her stomach. Rather than slowing, she increased her pace.
“Tonya, hold on!”
She didn’t stop.
She pulled her keys out of her purse. The small black bottle of pepper spray dangled from the key chain. She levered her finger over the SPRAY button.
“Tonya, wait up, girl!”
She glanced over her shoulder. Jamal was running now.
She started jogging, too. Her breath plumed in front of her.
But Jamal was closing in on her.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She’d been a track athlete in high school, remembered the feeling of sprinting when her muscles hit their peak and her lungs drew in more air than seemed possible. Her body felt like that now. Invigorated, ready to take on a challenge—ready to fight, if necessary.
She finally reached her car. She punched the button to disengage the power locks. She grabbed the snow-covered door handle. She pulled.
The door didn’t open. Ice had sealed it shut.
Dammit!
She banged her fist against the door. Snowflakes fell away. She hammered the door again. Ice crackled.
She tried again to open the door. It loosened, but still gave resistance. Grunting, she slammed her shoulder against it. Tugged harder. Almost ...
“Why ... Why are you running from me, Tonya?”
Tonya whirled, her hand on the pepper spray.
Jamal was a few feet away from her. He was hunched over, panting.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded.
“Just ... had ... a question for you.”
Was this man insane? He’d chased her down to ask her a question?
She didn’t know whether to be angry or take pity on him for his stupidity. But anger took over. He had scared her to death.
“What is it?” she shouted. “What do you want? What the hell was so important that you had to follow me to my car?”
“I wanted to know why ... why you gave me a fake phone number.” He unfolded his body to his full six feet. His lips twisted with rage. “I called that number you gave me. Doesn’t even exist. Bitch.”
Tonya’s surging adrenaline had thrown her into fight-or-flight mode. She raised the pepper spray in front of her like a gun.
“Get back,” she said. “Or I
will
spray this in your face.”
will
spray this in your face.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t seem frightened at all.
Her resolve wavered, but she didn’t lower the spray.
“Funny thing about women who work in cubes,” he said. “They leave so much personal information out in the open ...”
“What?”
He moved forward.
“I told you to get back!” she shouted.
“And they leave their purses in desk drawers,” he continued. “So anyone walking by could fish around ...”
He took another step.
“That’s it,” she said.
She mashed the button.
But the button didn’t depress. It was stuck. She mashed it again, to no avail.
Jamal grinned. “And put a few drops of glue on a woman’s bottle of pepper spray, make sure she couldn’t use that nasty shit to hurt a brother.”
She remembered him standing over her cubicle, juggling a tube of glue.
A terrible realization came over her. He had anticipated this. He had set her up. This man had been planning to attack her from the beginning.
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