Horns. Sirens. A repetitive tapping?

Wake. Up. Simone! The thoughts urged through thick darkness.

“Wake up, lady! I ain’t got all day!” An unfamiliar voice filled with aged testosterone bellows at me.

My eyes force theirselves open and a wrinkled man with a tangled salt and peppered beard stares directly at me. So close even, I can smell the tinny stench of tuna on his breath.

I wipe the crust from my sleep filled eyes and let out a yawn that feels like it was trapped for decades.

“Where am I?” I say not recognizing my own voice. It’s hoarse and deeper than usual. My throat aching with every word.

“In the back of MY car. Howd’ya even get in ‘ere?” The old man grumbles.

I glance around for a moment trying to pinpoint my location. There are cafes and little vintage mom and pop shops, the ones you’d find your grandma’s handkerchiefs in, surrounding us. All brick and lengthy alleys between each building. I sat up from my slumped position and peered through the back window to get a clearer view but I still had no clue where I was.

“I..” I began to stammer, not knowing how to even explain. “I’m not sure how I got here. I don’t even know where I am.” My voice raised with fear.

“By the looks of it, ya had a rough night. All is forgiven as long as ya get out my car.” The man insisted angrily.

“What city is this?” I asked, refusing to leave without some information.

“Yer in Charlotte, kid. Now if ya don’t mind, I gotta catch a flight.” His response left me stone cold. How was I six hours away from home with not a memory of how I got here?

I searched the seat next to me for my wallet and luckily had it with me. I fished out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to the man.

“Sorry for all this trouble. Do you mind taking me with to the airport? I don’t seem to have my phone and seems I need to hop on a plane too. I’m from Virginia and quite frankly I don’t know how I got here.” I plead, hoping the puppy dog eyes work.

“Sure thing, I reckon. You had a paper in yer hand if that might help. It’s right there on the floor.” He pointed at a half crumpled sheet of white on the floorboard. I looked up at him quizzically and he shrugged his shoulders as if he had no more info to give and I grabbed the paper.

I straightened it out into the palm of my hand and read the handwriting. My handwriting.

“Don’t go home. Not safe.” Was scribbled in blue pen.