The Opposite of Dark

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WHEN BENNY LEE hit the M3 bus’s brakes for the third time in a minute, tension rippled through Casey’s lower back. Usually relaxed and patient, old Benny was slipping. Maybe she would, too, if this was her first day back driving a bus in tedious, noon-hour congestion after six months on nights. Vancouver might be beautiful, but the traffic would always be horrible. With any luck, she’d nail the pervert sharing her seat before Benny put her in traction.

Casey unfastened the buttons on her tight leather jacket and took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly through her nose, like the yoga video had instructed. The exercise was supposed to release tension. Fat chance.

The suspect pressed his thigh against hers. His gray suit, crewcut, and square glasses portrayed respectability, yet his flushed, middle-aged face and wandering hand suggested something else.

His hand crept closer to her thigh. He always chose the right side of the bus, always picked an aisle seat near the exit, and always made his move as the bus approached its next stop. Lately, he’d grown reckless by staying on the M3 instead of switching routes like he used to.

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