The Vanishing Act

The sign marking the miles to Mexico blurred through the rain-streaked windshield. You’d been driving since the early hours of the morning, the hum of the engine a constant companion to your racing thoughts. Sweat clung to your t-shirt despite the chill in the air.

A cop car passed heading the other way, and for a terrifying moment, your heart hammered against your ribs. You held your breath, watching its tail lights recede into the gloom before finally exhaling, the tension easing its grip on your chest.

You pulled into a gas station parking lot, the rain intensifying, and stepped out into the downpour. The dirty white pickup truck felt like a borrowed skin, temporary and ill-fitting. As the gas flowed, you rummaged through the glove compartment, finding the wad of damp tissues, the unexpected cash, and the driver's license with the name 'Scarlett Murray'. You pulled out the ID, dropping it into a discarded coffee cup before tossing it into the trash bin.

Goodbye, Scarlett Murray.