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to his right. Somewhere out there Rachel and Rick were still trying to hunt for him.
    The woman in his car started kicking at the window.
    Fearful of getting cornered by Rachel, Rick or the parking officer, Mitchell got to his feet and started running toward a more populated part of town. Maybe someone could tell him why people were acting so crazy.
    He ran down the street and crossed several intersections without looking. He ran up another street to put him out of the line of sight of the parking woman. As he bolted through another intersection, a car honked at him.
    That normal human reaction made him feel slightly better.
    When he got to a safe place, he could call the police and try to find out what was going on. How come four out of the last seven people he talked to in the last 24 hours tried to kill him? He wasn’t a spy. He didn’t have any secrets. What the fuck?
    A mile away from his car he started to slow down his pace. He needed a place to think and sort things out before he called the police. He had no idea what to tell them.
    Every time he tried to think about what happened, he felt disconnected, like he was watching someone else’s bad dream. Rachel’s face was something out of a nightmare. Nothing made sense. He did the only thing he could -- keep moving forward.
    Up ahead he saw the mall where he would sometimes go hang out while Rachel was at work. He picked up his pace and hurried there. He knew he’d feel safer in someplace public, somewhere people could help him if Rachel, Rick or the parking woman came after him.
    Mitchell jogged past the half-full parking lot and went through the sliding glass doors. Safety in numbers , he thought.
     

 
    8
    Mitchell headed straight from the entrance and toward the food court. Under the skylight, surrounded by a dozen fast-food places, he knew he would feel less alone, less vulnerable.
    This was where he went when Rachel told him it was over and he didn’t have any friends to talk to. The mall was where he went for a sense of normal.
    He walked briskly past the shops and kiosks. The smell of orange chicken and french fries told him he was getting closer.
    He pulled out his iPhone and sat down at a table on the outskirts of the food court.
    A few tables away, a woman knocked over her drink as she tried to reach across the table to feed her baby in its highchair. She got up to get some napkins to clean the mess.
    He looked at the lines of people forming at the counters during their lunch break. Hunger began to overtake all his other instincts as his stomach let out a growl. He ignored it and stared at his locked phone screen. He’d removed the photo of Rachel after she’d broken up with him.
    He tried to swipe the unlock, but his finger was still shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety. He tried again and unlocked it. He pressed the phone icon and began typing 911 into the keypad.
    His finger paused over the “call” button.
    How would he explain what was happening to the calm voice on the other side?
    He wouldn’t tell them about the girl the night before. That would only complicate things. Should he tell them that Rick was trying to kill him and leave out Rachel entirely? His story sounded better that way.
    What should he say about the meter maid? His stomach turned into a knot when he realized the woman he had just run from was effectively the police.
    “ Fuck. I’m a fugitive from the police.” The words slipped off his tongue as the severity of it all went beyond the immediate implications of people trying to kill him.
    Had he broken any laws in trying to get away? How fucked up would that be?
    He heard another faint growl. He looked at his stomach. It didn’t feel hungry at that point. He heard the growl again. It was coming from off to the side.
    Mitchell looked toward the direction the sound was coming from. The baby in its highchair was staring at him. Its mouth was wide open, revealing little teeth in pinks gums. The child’s tiny bloodshot eyes