6
I said goodbye to Cheryl and left the Eye, crossing the street to cut through the Stockton tunnel. If I hurried, I’d be able to catch the next bus at the corner of Bush and get home in time to prepare for David’s appointment. At the best of times and the sunniest of days, the tunnel is dank, dirty and filled with exhaust fumes. Two way traffic whizzed by as I entered the pedestrian walkway. Halfway through, the same feeling stole over me. The same sensation I had experienced outside the Eye. Someone was watching, following.
The concrete columns of the tunnel stretched into the distance, an alcove between each column where anyone could hide and never be seen by a passing car or pedestrian. I turned and looked back. No one. I was alone. Why couldn’t I shake this feeling? Was it just the
