The Same Car

What I've Been Seeing

I don't even know how to start this. Let me try to explain without sounding crazy, because I've already been told I seem crazy, and honestly, I don't know, maybe they're right. But I need to tell someone who doesn't know me.

About two weeks ago, maybe a little more, I started seeing a gray Seat Ibiza parked in front of my building. Nothing weird, right? A car parked on the street. Normal. In my neighborhood, there are cars parked everywhere. I didn't think anything of it.

But the guy, I mean, the car, was there every day. Same spot. Same car. And that started to catch my attention because that spot usually turns over pretty often, people come and go, and that car hadn't moved for days. I thought maybe it belonged to someone who had gone on a trip or something.

This sounds stupid, but one afternoon I went to the supermarket, the one on Calle Mayor, which is about a ten-minute walk. I decided to take the car because I had to buy a lot. I leave my building, walk past the gray Ibiza, and go. Three blocks later, in my rearview mirror, the same gray car. I turn, the car turns. I think: damn, coincidence. Maybe they're going the same way.

But then I turned down a street that doesn't lead directly to the supermarket, a random street I took without thinking much. And the car turned too.

I got to the supermarket parking lot. Found a spot. Parked in a space in the back. I was about to get out of the car and I saw the gray Ibiza parking about sixty feet away from me. I stayed in the car without moving, waiting. I waited, I think, three or four minutes. No one got out of the car. I didn't see any movement behind the windows. Tinted windows, I couldn't tell if anyone was inside or not.

I went into the supermarket. Did the shopping, I think it took half an hour, I don't know, I wasn't watching the clock. I came out with the bags. The Ibiza was still there. In the exact same spot. Without having moved. Without seeing anyone get in or out.

I put the bags in the trunk and started driving. I didn't go home. I drove around. Streets that lead nowhere, going back around roundabouts, weird detours. The gray Ibiza behind me the whole time. Never losing me. Never passing me. Always a distance of two or three cars back.

Jesus. I don't know what I felt at that moment. Fear isn't the exact word. It was more like when you know something is very wrong but your head is still trying to convince you there's a logical explanation. I took a deep breath and went straight to the police station. The one on Paseo de la Independencia.

I went into the police station parking lot. The Ibiza stopped on the street, double-parked, right in front of the entrance. It parked there, double-parked, stopped. I just stared from my car. No door opened. No one got out. It was just stopped there, with its dark windows, watching me, if a car can watch you.

I went into the station. I told an officer about the car, gave him the license plate from memory because I had made sure to note it before leaving the supermarket. The officer took it down, told me to wait a moment, and went to the back. He was gone for quite a while, longer than normal, I don't know, five minutes or so.

When he came back, his face was different. I don't know how to explain it, he was more careful about what he said, choosing his words. He asked me if I was sure about the plate, if I had written it down or it was from memory. I told him from memory but that I was sure.

Then he told me: that plate belongs to a vehicle that was reported stolen seven months ago. The week after the theft, the vehicle was found in a ditch on the outskirts of the city. Completely burned out. That car doesn't exist in any active registry. It has no valid insurance, no current inspection, there is no vehicle circulating with that license plate.

I just stared at him. I asked him, then what was it that had followed me here. He said they would go out and take a look. We went out together. The gray Ibiza was gone.

Since Then

That was nine days ago. I haven't seen the car again. Or, well, not clearly. Sometimes there's a car that could be gray, that could be an Ibiza, on some street, parked or moving, and I stop to look at it, but when I focus, it's a different car or it's already gone. I don't know if my head is just looking for that car everywhere or if I'm really seeing it.

I haven't slept at my apartment for several days. I've been staying at my girlfriend's place, on the other side of the city. I didn't tell her the real reason; I said I had a leak problem and they were doing repairs. I don't know why I didn't tell her the truth, I guess I didn't want to worry her, or I guess I was embarrassed.

Three days ago she called me at work. It was around noon. She told me there was a gray car parked in front of her building since early morning and it hadn't moved the whole time. She mentioned it casually, without giving it importance, like when she tells me there's a pigeon on the balcony.

I asked her to tell me the license plate. It took her a moment to go down and look at it, or look from the window, I don't know. She read it to me. It was the same. Exactly the same.

I didn't tell her what I knew about that plate. I didn't tell her about the burned car. I just told her, please don't go out, go to the neighbor's apartment on the fourth floor, I was on my way. I left work without saying anything and took a taxi.

When I arrived, there was no car. Not gray or any other color, well, the usual parked cars, but nothing that stood out. My girlfriend came to the door and looked at me in a way I really didn't like. Like when someone starts to think maybe you're not quite right.

Maybe I'm not quite right. I don't know. But the license plate is the same. I didn't make that up. The police have it on record.

I'm writing this because I need someone to tell me if they've experienced something similar. I don't know what's inside that car. I don't know who's driving it. I don't know how it works with a license plate from a car that was set on fire and destroyed months ago. I have the curtains drawn everywhere I am, at my apartment when I pass by, and at my girlfriend's place. I don't look out the window at night.

The worst part isn't the car. The worst part is that someone is driving it, and that someone knows where I live and knows where she lives.