Susan felt her heart begin to race.
The woman took her hand. Her fingers were dry and hot, as if she had a fever.
“I notice things,” she said. “I was a surgical nurse for forty years. You spend that much time in an operating room, you learn to read people. You learn to spot trouble before it happens. And I’m telling you, there is trouble on this bus.”
Susan wanted to pull her hand away, say something polite, and turn back to the window. There were all kinds of strange people in the world. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the woman’s expression—too serious, too sincere to be a prank or a scam.
“What kind of trouble?” she asked, her own voice sounding distant.
The woman squeezed her hand tighter.
“I saw your husband before we boarded. He was kneeling by the back wheel, pretending to tie his shoe. But his laces were fine. And when he stood up, his hands were covered in something dark, like grease. He wiped them on his pants, thinking no one saw. But I saw.”
Susan felt the floor drop out from under her, even though she was sitting down. A ringing started in her ears, and dark spots swam in her vision. This was crazy. Some stranger was telling her a wild story, and she was sitting here listening like a fool.
“You… you must be mistaken,” she managed to say. “This is just a bus. A regular shuttle bus. Nothing is going to happen.”
“I pray to God I’m mistaken,” the woman said, shaking her head. “But forty years taught me to trust my eyes, dear. I’m not trying to scare you. But I can’t sit here and say nothing when I see something like that.”
Susan’s hands started to tremble. She remembered the morning conversation she’d overheard. “A tragic accident.” Mark had been talking about a tragic accident. And now this woman…
“Get off at the next stop,” the woman’s voice became insistent, almost pleading. “I’m begging you. Get off and don’t look back. You can take the next bus or call a cab, it doesn’t matter. Just do not stay on this one.”
“But my husband…” Susan began.
A dark, heavy look passed over the woman’s eyes.
“Your husband,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “knows more than he’s letting on. I saw the way he was looking at you. And I saw him fiddling under the bus before we left. He was down there for a while, dear. A long while.”
Susan couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to slow down, the sounds around her becoming muffled and distant. She remembered how Mark had slowed down near the front of the bus, how he’d glanced underneath. She remembered his pale face, his nervous fingers drumming on his knee. She remembered the bag he had insisted she bring.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” she whispered. “He’s my husband. For twenty years…”
“Twenty years is a long time,” the woman nodded. “People change. Or maybe they just finally show you who they’ve been all along. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, dear. It’s none of my business. But I know one thing: if you stay on this bus, you will die. And you won’t be the only one.”
Susan looked back at Mark. He was watching them. Staring intently, and in his eyes was something she had never seen before. Cold calculation. Expectation. And something that looked like fear, but not for her—for himself. Their eyes met, and he immediately looked away. Too quickly. Too nervously.
“Next stop is in two minutes,” the woman said. “It’s your choice, dear. I can’t make it for you.”
Susan sat frozen, two voices warring in her head. The voice of reason insisted this was all insane, that she couldn’t trust some strange old woman, that she was just letting her anxiety get the best of her. But another voice, quieter but more persistent, reminded her of the morning phone call, of her husband’s bizarre behavior, of his insistence on the bag and his seat in the back.
The bus began to slow down. Outside the window, a bus stop came into view: a concrete shelter, a bench, a couple of people under umbrellas.
“It’s now or never,” the woman’s voice was barely a whisper. “Decide.”
Susan stood up. Her legs felt weak, her knees were shaking, but she got to her feet. She grabbed the bag, that heavy tote bag, and walked toward the exit. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mark tense up, saw him start to rise from his seat as if to stop her.
“Sue!” he called out. “Where are you going?”
She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. If she turned around, she might change her mind, go back to her seat, and stay. And the quiet voice inside her was screaming, “Go! Go! Go!”
“I feel sick,” she called over her shoulder. “Carsick. I’ll take the next one.”
“But what about…?” Mark started to say, but the doors hissed open, and Susan stepped out onto the wet pavement.
The woman in the scarf got off right behind her. The doors hissed shut, and the bus pulled away, leaving them at the empty stop in the drizzling rain.
Susan stood watching the bus disappear down the road, unable to process what she had just done. Had she abandoned her husband? Believed a crazy person? Or had she just saved her own life?
“You did the right thing, dear,” the woman said, coming to stand beside her. “You did the right thing.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” Susan’s voice trembled. “What if nothing happens? How am I going to explain this to him?”
The woman didn’t answer. She was staring down the road where the bus had gone. Her lips moved silently, as if in prayer. A minute passed. Maybe two. Susan stood under the shelter, clutching the bag, feeling like a complete idiot. In a few minutes, the bus would arrive at their stop, Mark would get off, and she would have to somehow explain her bizarre behavior. What would she say? That she trusted a fortune-teller? That she got spooked by her own imagination?
She was just about to open her mouth to tell the woman exactly what she thought of her when she heard it. A distant but distinct wail of a siren. Then another. And another.
“What is that?” she whispered.
The woman remained silent. She was still looking down the road, her face as still as a mask. A police car with flashing lights appeared from around the bend. Then a second one. They were speeding down the highway in the same direction the bus had gone.
Susan felt her knees buckle. She grabbed onto a post of the shelter to keep from falling.
“What’s happening?” her voice was a hoarse whisper. “What’s going on?”
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