Star closed the door and locked it. The cab was waiting to take her to the airport.
She didn’t know if she would ever return. In a way, she hoped this would be the last time she’d ever have to look at the trim, white-painted bungalow that had been her home for so long.
She had grown up there, moving from pigtails to a Mohawk to a full-fledged Afro in the process.
She had watched her parents grow old and die there.
And now that her sister was gone, too – three funerals, all in less than three years – she was ready to move on to a new place, with fewer painful memories.
She slid into the back seat of the taxi.
“United,” she told the driver, checking to make sure that her boarding pass and I.D. were still in her purse.
Traffic was light, but then again, it was 11 o’clock at night. Normal people were at home, getting ready for bed, following their routine, getting ready for another day.
Star only knew that she would wake up in Los Angeles, in a Hyatt hotel, far from the sadness and fear that had plagued her for as long as she had lived in that little white house.
The cab driver pulled up outside the United terminal and slowed to a stop.
It was only then that she looked at him for the first time.
From the back, he looked oddly familiar – even in shadow.
That sinewy neck. Those pointed ears. Sloping shoulders … and then he twitched.
She knew that twitch.
As he turned, she recognized his menacing grin. She had seen it, every night since she was three, whenever she dared to peek under her bed.
“Don’t run off too fast,” he leered. “I’m going with you.”