376-West. That was the last thing I remembered. I knew I’d been heading to Aunt Molly’s. It was the only place that was off the grid where I could hide.

The flashback to the day of Phil’s death was so vivid I felt lightheaded and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I noticed something flashed inside of the car that had brought me to the house. I opened the car door and saw it was Maria Matucci’s phone. I reached in and grabbed it. The bar of a text message popped up. It flashed for just enough time for me to see it was for me.

Ryder, we know where you are.

My hands started trembling so much, I nearly dropped the phone. How do they know? As if on cue, I noticed the blue light of a camera come alive in the corner of a garage. It flashed its electronic eye and pointed straight at me.

Of course.

I moved to cover it, to unscrew it, to smash it to pieces, but then stopped myself. It was too late. They know where to find me. What was I even thinking coming back here?

I was driven by curiosity, but the desire to unravel the truth, to find out what was happening with me and the digital double. I had to get out. Stuffing the knife into my pocket, I got into the car. I expected it to ask me where to take me, but the car did nothing. It was not the modern, futuristic machine that had brought me home, or whatever this place was. Now, it was just a piece of metal. I searched the control panel and saw something that looked like a start button. I pressed it, hard. The panel flashed, and I saw the words ‘Unauthorized user detected. Controls disabled.’

What?

I pressed the start button again, and the same message appeared. I bellowed in frustration. Of course, those witches must have disabled the car! I had no time to figure out how they did it and got out. The eye of the camera followed me, and now I didn’t control myself. I ripped the camera out of the wall and smashed it into little pieces, taking out all of my aggression and anger. As I did so, I pictured Maria Matucci’s smug face, her haughty expression, and stomped over it again and again. I was sure I looked ridiculous, but it didn’t matter.

Once I was done, I considered my options. I could run. I could go to my brother’s, though I wasn’t sure where he lived. I could go to April’s. Though I also had no idea where she now lived. I needed money, and the idea of searching the house crossed my mind, but I threw one look at Maria Matucci’s phone and scrapped that option.

Who knows how much time I had before they showed up at the house?

There was no time to waste. My Honda! Maybe it still runs. I had to try. I got in, turned the key in the ignition, and, to my utter amazement, the motor started. Yes! I had a way out!

I opened the garage door, pulling the manual switch, got back in the car, and, within seconds, I was out!

When I drove down the hill, I noticed the same kid with the stuffed fox. He was now sitting on the sidewalk, following me with his eyes. Exhilaration at my escape soon gave way to unease. I had less than a half-tank of gas, no money, no identity, and what appeared to be a powerful corporation after me.

As soon as they got their hands on me, they would erase my memory and Ryder would take over. Rodion would be no more. I stopped at the light by Giant Eagle, then abruptly pulled over to the curb. A red-faced man screamed obscenities at me, driving past in a black truck. He had a bushy white beard and something in his appearance reminded me of Mike. Of course! I’ll go there! To Mike and Molly’s. To their organic farm. I could hide out there while figuring out my next move.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I now focused fully on the road, getting on 376 West and going through the tunnel. It was under one hundred miles to the farm, and I was confident I had enough gas to get there. But just in case, I didn’t put on the AC, and opened the windows, the hot August air rushing in. I turned on the radio and right away 88.3 came on, the independent radio station at Carnegie Mellon. A flashback to Sergei’s days with the band, and his dreams of becoming a DJ at the radio station and playing his own music. A dream that never happened.

“And now we’ll play one of my favorites.” The DJ’s voice was perky, and it grated on my ears. I was about to turn the radio off when I heard the familiar guitar chords. “The Star Called Sun.” The song Sergei played over and over in Moscow.

I nearly expected to hear Tsoi’s raspy voice singing in Russian, but it was a tenor singing different lyrics. The lyrics were about a mother’s death.

“It was where my mom came undone.” Sang the male voice, the sad words in stark contrast to the perky guitar tune. Mama. I thought of her, my childhood that ended the day she died. She’d been taken by Phil, and now he was also dead. I gripped the steering wheel. “This was ‘Star Called Sun’ by Brazzaville.” The DJ said. “You’re listening to 88.3”.

I was out of the Squirrel Hill tunnel and passing Monroeville. The steep hill lay ahead, and I switched lanes in anticipation. In the rear-view mirror, I saw a truck that was fast approaching. It was moving at such a high speed, the distance between us was closing in seconds. I shifted lanes again, getting in the right one, and saw the red letters on the yellow background. Ryder. It was a Ryder truck.

A flash. I’d seen this truck before. The rest of the memory of May 10, 2009 came back and my insides curdled. Just like now, I saw the Ryder truck approach in the rear-view mirror. It was closing the distance between us fast, and I’d shifted lanes to let it pass. Just like today. But the truck didn’t pass. Instead, it accelerated and struck my car, forcing it off the road. I got ejected out of the Honda and landed on the concrete. The last thing I saw was my own face. Ryder’s face, a black hoodie pulled over, his cold, calculating eyes watching from the truck.

A truck-kun. I was killed. Rodion was no more. I died on May 10, 2009. On Mother’s day.

But that couldn’t be! I was here now.

I looked up in the rear-view mirror. The Ryder truck was approaching and my fingers felt like icicles gripping the steering wheel. The distance between us closed quickly. I shifted lanes and slowed down. Is this happening in real life? Seconds, mere seconds, and it would ram into me. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

And then the Ryder truck zoomed by, and I breathed out. I’m just being ridiculous. I thought. Truck-kun is in anime, this is real life. I brushed off the memory

Continuing driving, I saw the exit April had taken when we went to her aunt’s. I remembered it well, and now confidently continued driving. The key was not to miss the sign for the farm. The more distance I put between me and Greenfield, the better I felt. After an hour, I had calmed down enough to whistle a tune. I was going to find an answer. I would hide at Mike and Molly’s, and I would find a way to reach April. She’d want to see me, I would apologize, call her again. I couldn’t lose her.

I thought of our drive to see her Aunt Molly, the conversation April and I had in the car. A nice memory. I was telling April about a truck-kun in this very spot. Why? I chuckled, thinking of my exact words:

“A guy dies after being hit by a truck. It’s kinda cool, then he gets reincarnated and lives a new life, and corrects mistakes of his past life.”

A simpler time. How complex my life had gotten. But I would find a way out. If I couldn’t find Aunt Molly, I would hide in the woods.

The idea had some appeal. I pictured myself living in the wild, providing for myself with the hunting knife. I could feel it in my pocket.

I scanned the road, searching for the sign. I remembered it well. “Michael’s Organic Farm.” With cherries drawn on it. At a distance, I saw something white. Squinting, I tried to make out whether it was what I was looking for, when a dot appeared in the rear-view mirror. It grew closer, approaching faster and faster, growing larger.

This is it.

Flashed in my mind. It wasn’t like last time. I didn’t feel any fear. What I felt was resignation at the inevitability of the end. In here seconds, the truck was right behind me and rammed into my Honda. The yellow was everywhere; it overtook me. RYDER written in red.

The last thing I saw was the face of my double. Ryder, wearing a black hood, pulled over his face.