The headlights splay thin and yellow across the narrow country lane. She slows. The wind of it testing the grip of the hatchback. Even at this speed it feels too much.
She looks in the rearview. Black. The dark staying too close, smothering every window. She checks that the doors are locked and the windows are sealed, as though the night would get in if not.
As though he might still get in.
She exhales. Tightens her fingers around the wheel. Her eyes narrow, locked on the meandering road. The mascara tears have set dry to her cheeks. She hasn’t blinked for miles.
A sweeping right turn. The white lines disappearing fast under the bonnet. Then a sharp left. The view obscured by high hedgerows. The road straightens into lightless oblivion. She pulls on the full beams. It only confirms there’s nothing ahead.
She pushes the accelerator with a barefoot. The engine groans. She takes another easy right then floors it on the straight. The car builds momentum.
Lights blink in the mirror.
Headlights. Sweeping into view.
A flicker inside her chest.
It can’t be him.
Her grip twists on the wheel.
The lights approach. Too fast. Dazzling in the rearview.
She pulls to the left, letting the car pass. But it doesn’t.
Then sirens. Flashing blue lights. She makes out the letters on the bonnet——POLICE.
She hesitates. Skims a look in the passenger footwell. Then clicks the indicator and pulls in. The police car follows.
She kills the engine. Attempts to wipe her face clean, but it only smears.
She returns her hands to the wheel.
The siren stops. The flashing lights don’t.
Her eyes dart to the rearview. Two figures visible in the police car.
She waits.
The police car’s doors swing open. The figures approach slow on the driver’s side. She turns, sees two male officers. She winds the window down halfway. Attempts to smile.
“Is——is there a problem?” She asks the one on the left. He stands broad-shouldered. The one on the right stares at her, his jaw grinding chewing gum.
“Routine check.” The first officer doesn’t hesitate, his eyes still studying her. “Can I see your driver’s licence please?”
She nods, then leans to the passenger seat and grabs her handbag. She snatches another look in the footwell, pulls the licence from her purse and hands it over.
“Can I ask where you’re heading?” The officer asks, eyes flicking between her and the licence.
She clears her throat, “Home.” A pause. “Buxton.”
He stares at her. Too long. Hands the licence back. “And where have you been this evening, Miss Khan?”
She blinks, holding eye contact. “Is there something wrong?”
He glances at his partner. “We’ve received a report of a disturbance at a nearby address. The witness described someone matching your description.” He leans back inspecting the car. “Matching this vehicle.”
She doesn’t move. Holds his gaze.
“Can you tell us where you’ve been tonight?”
Her eyelids twitch. Her lips move but no words come out.
She lets go of the wheel and holds her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry.” She says, her voice breaking. “I’ve been with my boyfriend. A cottage.” She looks up, eyes full. “Our anniversary. We got into a fight.” Swallows.
He looks at his partner again. “Where’s your boyfriend now?”
She stutters. “At the cottage. I just got in the car and drove.”
The officer on the right adjusts his vest, watching.
His partner continues. “We’ve been to the cottage. There was nobody there. The door was wide open. Lights still on.” He pauses. “Did your boyfriend hurt you in any way?”
Her eyes glaze. She rubs her arm. “No.” She shakes her head. “Not really. He pushed me. I ran to the car and left.”
He stares at her. “The AirBnB owner received a call from your boyfriend’s number. The line cut off. They called back but couldn’t get through.”
Her lips twitch. A tear rolls down her cheek. “It was me.” She staggers a breath. “I grabbed the phone, dialled the first number on the list. But he snatched it and—and threw it. I heard it smash.”
The officer holds, eyes scanning. He notices the tremble in her hands. The mascara bleeding from her lashes. Her short black dress stretched at the straps. A single stiletto heel in the passenger footwell. There are scratches on her forearms and a bruise blooming on her neck. His partner peers into the rear passenger window shielding his eyes.
The officer steps closer, lowers. “You’re missing a shoe, Miss Khan.”
She rubs a foot on the floor mat. Looks down at the pedals. “I ran and——lost it. I didn’t stop.”
“And that bruise.”
She touches her neck.
“How did you get it?”
Her lips part. She turns towards him but doesn’t meet his eyes. “He——he… his grip. He got hold of me.” She winces as she presses on it. “I don’t think he meant to. It all happened so fast.”
She looks up at the officer through watery eyes. He rises, stands straight-backed. Slides his thumbs behind his vest. “Do you know where your boyfriend is?”
“If he’s not at the cottage… I don’t know.” She wipes her cheek. “He might have followed me. I don’t know.”
The police light flashes in his eyes, outlines his face.
“Did he do anything else to hurt you?”
“He pushed me. Grabbed me. But I’m okay.” She sniffs. “We argued and—I just want to go home. Get some sleep.”
The officer holds rigid.
“Do you realise you’re bleeding, Miss Khan?”
Her breath stops. She touches the weeping scratches on her arm.
“He——he grabbed me. Pulled me.” She stops. Thinks. “His nails maybe. I——” She looks at him. A tear escapes, “I don’t know.” A sob.
His partner walks around the car, chewing slower now. He continues, his voice softer. “If you’ve been assaulted or threatened in any way then you should report it.”
She glances the rearview. The other officer now at the boot.
“We can escort you back to the cottage. Take a formal statement. See if we can find him.”
The second officer makes his way across the back of the car.
“I just want to go to bed.” Her voice steadies. She looks up at him. “It’s been a long night.”
He nods.
His partner starts down the passenger side of the vehicle.
“I understand.” The officer continues. “We’ll head back. Contact the AirBnB host. Tell him there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
His partner stops. Steps back to the boot. Bends for a closer look.
“We’ll let you carry on to your home, Miss Khan. Drive safe.” He moves towards the police car.
She watches in the side mirror.
“Hold on, Hughes.” The other officer taps the car. Spits out the gum. “Ask her to pop the boot.”
She freezes. Eyes forward.
Officer Hughes looks at his partner. Then leans back to her window. “We need to check your boot before you leave.” A smile. “Standard procedure.”
She pauses. Pulls the key from the ignition. “The electric doesn’t work. I’ll have to use the key.” She opens the door.
The officer closes it. “Please stay in the vehicle.”
He holds his palm open.
She lifts her eyes to his. Hands him the keys.
He walks to the boot. Slides the key in the lock. Meets her eyes in the rearview.
The boot sticks. Then lifts.
A body curled in fetal position. Male. A stiletto heel buried in the eye.
“Jesus.” Hughes mutters. He slams the lid closed. Looks through the rear window.
She’s not there. The driver door wide open.
His head snaps, searching the road, the hedgerows.
“Where the fuck is she!?” His partner hisses.
A door closes. They look at each other.
The police car roars behind.
The officers turn, blinded by the headlights.
Full beams. Directly at them.
Hughes shields his eyes. Back against the boot.
She smiles.
Then floors the accelerator barefoot.
Kareem El Nagar is a British-Egyptian writer, born in Cairo and raised in the north of England. He writes about control, rupture, and the quiet spaces in between. His work is drawn to moments of fracture and their aftermath. He returns to Small Mercies by Dennis Lehane, where a mother’s grief fuels a relentless pursuit of justice.
