“Click, Click, Rain”

The mall was closed. Silent. Empty. The kind of stillness that makes the air feel thick.

Ava stepped out into the parking lot, her heels sharp against the pavement—click, click, click—cutting through the steady sound of rain. It wasn’t a drizzle anymore. It was falling hard and fast, soaking through her coat as she hurried across the lot.

She looked too dressed up for where she was going—which was nowhere. Navy blue skirt suit, a cream blouse tucked just right at the waist, sheer pantyhose, and black heels that clicked with every step. Her trench coat, elegant but thin, was doing little to keep her dry.

She caught sight of her car beneath the flickering overhead light. The 1978 Honda Civic. Powder blue, rusting around the edges, a relic of another life. A gift from her ex-husband years ago—back when she thought they were building something together. Back when he’d show up with jumper cables before she even had to ask.

She hated that the car was still in her life. But it was paid off, and in her world, that counted for something.

She walked toward it quickly, heels slipping a little in the wet. She glanced around, nerves twitching.

That’s when she saw it.

A car. Parked deep in the shadows across the lot. A newer black sedan. Lights off. Engine off. It hadn’t been there earlier.

She looked away. Kept walking.

She reached the Honda, opened the stubborn door with both hands—pull, lift, shove—and dropped into the driver’s seat. Cold. The vinyl felt like ice through her coat. Her hair was damp, clinging to her cheek. She wiped her hands dry on her skirt and took a breath.

Then she turned the key.

Nothing but the dry whine of the engine cranking.

Rrrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr…

Her heart sank.

She pumped the gas pedal three times. Smooth, steady. Like her ex had taught her.

“Three easy pumps. Don’t flood it. Talk to it if you need to.”

She tried again.

Rrrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr…

Still no sputter. No cough. Just the endless crank of an engine that had no interest in waking up.

Her stomach knotted.

Not this again.

She pumped again. Harder this time.

Rrrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr…

Still nothing.

She let the key go and leaned her head back against the seat.

Stay calm, she told herself.

But her eyes flicked toward the shadowed car. Still there. Still dark. She couldn’t see a face, but she felt it. Watching her.

She tried again.

Longer this time.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—

She pumped the gas in rhythm with the cranking, her heel bouncing off the floorboard, over and over, faster each time. Her calf burned. Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers trembled on the key.

No change.

Just that lifeless mechanical whine.

A flash of memory: her neighbor Steve, years ago, crouched beside the car with grease on his hands. “Gotta crank it long enough to build pressure. Don’t baby it. Hold it.”

She tried again. This time she held it.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—

Nothing.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She felt a bead of sweat run down her temple despite the cold.

She stopped. Let it rest. That’s what her coworker Ray always said. “Give it a minute. Let it think. Then try again.”

She stared out the windshield, rain blurring everything into smears of light and shadow. The black sedan hadn’t moved.

She turned the key again. Longer this time.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—

She slammed the pedal, again and again, harder each time.

Crank, pump. Crank, pump. Crank, pump.

Fear gave way to anger.

“Come on!” she shouted, slamming the wheel.

The engine didn’t care. It just cranked. Over and over. Dead rhythm. No life.

She remembered them all. The men who had helped her. Her ex. Her neighbor. Ray from work. The tow truck driver with the bad mustache. The stranger who gave her a ride once and wouldn’t even take gas money. The one who stayed until she was back on the road. The one who said, “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

She wasn’t alone now.

But no one was helping.

She turned the key again. One last time. The battery was tired now—she could hear it. Slower. Dimmer.

Rrrr… rrr… rr…

Then silence.

No click.

No light.

Dead.

The storm roared around her. She sat back, frozen, throat tight. Her eyes stung.

She wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

She was scared.

She looked at the other car.

Still there.

Then—headlights.

The sedan flared to life, engine humming like nothing in the world was wrong.

It pulled out slowly, tires rolling through the rain, turning without a sound.

She watched it go.

Didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt the tears on her neck.

She didn’t know who it was.

Didn’t know if they’d been watching her.

Or waiting.

But as the sedan’s red taillights disappeared into the night, one thought echoed in her head:

They could have helped.

But they didn’t.

And now, she was alone.

In the rain.

In the dark.

With nothing left but silence.