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What Happens After Midnight
Part 3
I didn’t know I could be this angry.
Or did I?
My thoughts processed with unnatural quickness. Quick enough to challenge myself. I did know. The afternoon before — a thousand years ago — a neighbor stopped me as I drove down the narrow road to our house. She stepped right out in front of my car, making me slam on my brakes
“My kids play out here,” she told me. She stood straight, self-righteous as a judge sent expressly to condemn all my faults. “Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No, you tell me.” I opened the car door. “Do you have a VASCAR unit somewhere?”
I stepped out of the car.
She tried again, losing some of her certainty, but not that judgmental tone. “My kids,” she said, but I was out of the car, slamming the door hard. I headed for her on pure instinct. The accusation on her face melted into fear, and she stepped — almost jumped — backward.
“I’ll call the police,” she said, brandishing her phone like a weapon. Then, voice breaking, “Don’t hurt me.”
Without knowing what I planned to do, I continued walking toward her. At her. I could feel my face becoming an expressionless mask. As…
