I could feel the clock ticking. Surely, escape would not be as simple as getting drunk in a replica of my old haunt, waking up hungover and driving away. Something was coming for me. I had to get out in public where I would be safer than in this secluded parking lot while I figured things out. I opened the driver’s side door and slid in. And that’s when I saw the source of the smell. The cloth passenger seat was soaked in a viscous maroon liquid that had to be blood. Red splashes coated the door panel and a puddle was pooled in the floor mat. The passenger window had faint maroon smears that came from a hasty attempt to wipe it clean.

I quickly looked for my phone but couldn’t find it. Nor did I see anything left behind by Caspian. I slid the key in the ignition and groaned as the engine failed to start. Please, I prayed. Something you’ll want to start doing, if you haven’t already. Please don’t break down on me now. The engine caught on the third attempt and I didn’t wait for it to warm. Just threw it into gear and peeled out toward the lot exit. Pulled out on some road I didn’t recognize and took a right without bothering to check for traffic. A horn blasted as a car swerved to avoid clipping my front bumper and I tolerated the man’s middle finger with unaccustomed grace. I’d take road rage over homunculus spit every day of the week and kindly ask for more.

The light up ahead turned yellow and I stomped on the accelerator, not wanting to get stuck at a light, but it turned red way before I was close enough to run it. I eased up behind the car in front of me and stopped. Got boxed in from behind. The guy I cut off was on my left and staring me down. When I looked at him, he grimaced and averted his eyes, moving his car up as close to the one in front of him as he could. That couldn’t be a good sign.

I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror and barely recognized the face staring back at me. My right cheek was swollen and scraped, my eye purple going on black. My skin had a crimson hue as though it has been covered in blood and roughly scrubbed with a washcloth. My goatee was stained red. A trickle of dried blood ran from my ear down the side of my neck.

Sadly, this was not an image entirely unfamiliar to me. The look of surprise on my battered face over injuries incurred mysteriously during a blackout. How the fuck would I explain this to Cassie? Hell, I didn’t understand it myself.