“Dot, you’ll know God’s voice when you hear it,” Mama always told me. I needed to hear it now. It was an unusually cold evening in Jacksonville, Florida, but that wasn’t what made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I hurried down a dark, deserted street, eager to get to my Auntie’s place and escape the menacing hum of an old engine. The pale blue sedan was back. It had circled the block to pass me again—for the third time—slow, deliberate. Whatever the driver wanted from me, I didn’t want to find out.
I wasn’t carrying a cell phone, so I called for help the only way I could. Help me, God, I prayed. Tell me what to do!
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