I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of amaxophobia, but its the fear of riding in cars, or driving in general, and unfortunately, I have it. The combination of anxiety inside of cars with living in one of the least walkable states possible, I didn’t get my license until I was 24.
I had a boyfriend up until the summer of 2019, who drove me everywhere since I was 15 years old. Long story short, we didn’t work out. This breakup sort of forced me to learn to drive, I got my license a couple months later and used my mom’s car to drive up until she decided to give it to my brother Thomas as a graduation present. Thanks mom.
I decided to begin saving for a car that summer, I don’t exactly know why as I had gotten comfortable with walking on the side of busy streets, on the little sidewalks my home town had, and I only ever drove when I absolutely needed to.
Nonetheless I found a car on facebook marketplace once I had saved around six thousand dollars by December, all of the ones that were somewhat decent were just under ten thousand, so I sorted by least expensive to most, and at the very bottom there was a car listed for just under five thousand, I instantly clicked on it without even looking at the others, I messaged the seller.
The lady had to of been at least 70, she told me it was her sons car but that he had passed that spring, I offered my condolences and began bargaining, even if this was a steal in the first place, a car with no issues & a low mileage despite being a 2012 Nissan Versa, I didn’t want to spend more if I didn’t have to.
She asked me to give her a call and after some back and forth we agreed on 4,500.
When I got to the house it seemed normal, I brought Thomas with me just in case this wheelchair bound 70-year old turned out to be an axe murderer.
“Delilah Do you even know what she looks like?”
Thomas had been skeptical of this lady since I mentioned the car a week prior, he also was very wary of the internet due to having it drilled into his head that everyone you meet on there is actually a pedophile in a basement. I ignored him.
When the door opened I was greeted with the same old woman I had seen in the profile picture on facebook. She was in a wheelchair, textured skin that held 70 years worth of stories, and a missing front tooth.
“Delilah?” She said in a thick accent as she squinted at my brother and I.
“Hi, I’m here to pick up the car.” I responded back to the woman looking down at her in a nervous tone.
“Well come on in.” She wheeled her chair into the kitchen which was just adjacent to the front door, Thomas shot me a look in a protective yet angry way as I put a foot forward, I could tell he didn’t like the idea of a defenseless woman bringing two much younger people into her home without protection and figured it meant she was the true threat.
I ignored Thomas and followed the woman.
“We agreed on 4,500 right? my memory’s patchy nowadays.” The woman said still rolling into what I assumed was the garage. “Yep that’s right-“ just as I finished my sentence I could hear a stir from above me. I assumed it was an argument.
“Don’t mind him, that’s all he does”
“Who is it” Thomas asked, the first words he said since he had entered the home.
“My son, pay him no mind. Comme si, Comme ca, he is.. not well” she had her hand on the garage door as she looked back to answer Thomas’ question.
As I walked down the ramp into the two car garage I thought about the comment this woman had made during our conversation a week prior, this car was her sons, who had passed, which is why she was selling it. I decided to ignore my instinct, maybe she had two sons, I paid for the car and as I was backing out of the driveway the woman looked at me. Not in the way she had when she opened her front door, but in a way I could only interpret as apologetic.
A week later I forgot about the strange encounter, I put a couple bumper stickers on my car, mostly with jokes about being a bad driver on them. Except one. A white daisy sticker my brother got me, I had planned to put on my mom’s car a couple days before Thomas got given it, I decided to put it just below my left taillight.
The car was black and tinted, and not the type of tinted you can just walk in and get done, It was 100% too dark to be legal where I lived. I didn’t want to risk messing up and making my new car look bad so I decided opting out of taking it off myself, and honestly I kind of forgot I wanted to take it off in the first place, I got used to it being there. To the point that being in cars with the maximum legal tint felt like a fish bowl.
I even started driving on the freeway, mostly to work, I do admit, I was still a very bad driver.. and combined with an obviously illegal amount of tint, I got pulled over eventually.
“You do know this tint is too dark, I’m assuming”
The first words out of the officers mouth, he spoke in a heavy southern accent which was odd for Southern California.
“Yes I am aware and- I, I will take the tint off I swear-“
I knew I couldn’t afford a ticket so I hoped he would let me off with a warning, but that’s when he cut me off.
“I also assume you do know there’s a tracker by your tire.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
I asked him to show me it and he lead me to my back left tire, he tore a small black box out of my tire, I had never even seen it until now. He informed me that it was indeed a gps, he had one just like it on his car, I told him I didn’t know it was there. When I saw the back of my car I also realized that my bumper sticker was gone.. only the residue remained, in the shape of a daisy.. it didn’t make me feel any better.
“I’d file a police report sweetheart.”
I got back in my car as he handed me a fix it ticket, I was too stunned by the tracker to even process the ticket.
When I got home I went to the 70 year old woman’s facebook, I messaged her about the tracker, I’m sure I seemed crazy, but I was a 24 year old woman living alone who just found out I had a tracker on the car I’d only had for a month or two. I had chucked the tracker into the debris by the highway, I regretted it by the time I got home, knowing I got rid of evidence, but it scared me to keep something potentially tracking me.
The woman hadn’t responded 4 hours later, so I decided to go to her house, extreme I know, but I was shocked when I got there.. I saw cars lining the streets and a news van with a crowd of people, I was even more shocked when I realized it was the old woman’s house.
I parked in a neighbors driveway and walked up to the police tape, I overheard talks of a murder from the reporter and the bickering of the crowd.. I saw the door of the home, the same one I had just knocked on that December.. and the frame was covered in blood. That’s when a stretcher with a body bag was carried out by two men. It was the first time I had ever seen a dead body, I instantly felt sick and walked into the crowd as the it was carried down the driveway.. I asked one of the women in the crowd what happened. She looked at me with eyes still engraved in my brain.
“It was her son, that sick bastard.. he murdered her.”
I felt sick and regretted even asking.. I made my way to the reporter and began to listen in, she was interviewing a cop, the same cop I had seen on the highway that afternoon.
“We do have a suspect, he is deemed armed and dangerous. Please do not approach him if seen and call 911 immediately, he could not have gotten far.”
The reporter got back into view of the bulky camera and uttered words that confirmed all of my thoughts.
“Beloved in the community, Francis Garnier, was murdered earlier this afternoon by her own son, there is no motive known at this time but serious mental illness is to be at play.”
I got back in my car and instantly began to sob, I struck my hands to my mouth to console my feelings. I didn’t know this woman yet there was a queasy feeling in my stomach. I backed out of the driveway and drove to my mom’s house, I didn’t feel safe at my own home.
I cried to my mother about everything, not for the death, but for the genuine fear I felt in my heart. The car I had bought just a month prior, had a tracker on it, the car that belonged to the son of the woman who sold it to me, the woman who had been murdered by that son.
I stalked the woman’s facebook that night, I was too paranoid to sleep, she had four daughters, and one son. He was in one photo on her entire page.. his eyes scared me, he was very large.. not muscular but not fat, and at least six foot three. He had a look in his eyes where you could tell nothing was behind them. He towered over his sisters and his mother looked so fragile in the middle of the five of them, a small old woman in a wheelchair, a woman who had been murdered by him hours before.
My mom assured me I was safe. I didn’t feel safe. Every time I tried to fall asleep I saw his eyes, so I didn’t fall asleep, at least not until the sun came up, I called out of work for 9 days. I was lucky to still have a job when I returned.
I refused to go home that January, I didn’t want to be alone. Thomas consoled me in those days. I could tell he felt my pain. I didn’t know this woman but from the conversations we did have, she seemed good, the type of good that’s only built from hardships.. 70 years of said hardships.
By the start of February I decided to finally go back home. I walked in with Thomas to find everything the same.. apart from my bedroom.. everything was slightly off, like someone had been there. And it terrified me. And that’s when I looked at my bed and saw something that made me retreat into myself.
A severely torn bumper sticker of a white daisy.
“Delilah?” I could hear Thomas say as I began to vomit onto my carpet, as I hit the floor I grabbed my mouth as he rushed over. I could no longer hear him over the sounds of my screams.
We got back to my mom’s house, Thomas still smothering me with questions to as to why I was crying. I didn’t blame him.
It took my mom 45 minutes of holding me while I cried to get the full story out of me.
We called the police and I gave them my full history with Francis Garnier’s murderer.
I bought a handgun out of paranoia that week, I never went back to my apartment. I knew who it was. I knew they hadn’t caught him either.
I got about an hour of sleep that night, until I heard a sound from upstairs. A thud, and then a scream. It was Thomas. I grabbed the gun, when my mom came out of her door I immediately told her to call the police and lock herself in her room. She listened. I walked upstairs.
What I saw when I got to my baby brother’s room made me sick, the room began spinning and I let out a weep.
Thomas was on the floor, his mouth was full of blood and he looked at me as I collapsed to him and held his head as he died in my arms, he couldn’t talk. He pointed to the closet. And then I heard footsteps, I was horrified as I began to see him slipping away. His eyes were begging me to hide in the safety of the sliding closet doors, I followed the inaudible instructions. I was gripping the pistol.
From the crack in the closet, What I saw horrified me.. It was him. Francis Garnier’s murderer. He was wearing heavy work boots and stained blue jeans. He was gripping a kitchen knife. Our kitchen knife. A kitchen knife that I had prepared a salad with yesterday.. that was now my brother’s murder weapon.
I was trying not to breath in that moment. It didn’t work. His eyes looked at the closet, I don’t know why but I began screaming as he started shaking the closet door. His eyes were crazed and he looked in mine with a look of hatred. I don’t even know how but, the handgun went off. It struck him in the chest, he fell back tripping over Thomas’ lifeless body and the kickback also brought me to the floor. He laid on the floor as I shakenly aimed the gun at him, unsure if I could even pull the trigger had he gotten back up in that moment. But he never got up. I watched his breathing slow and as I heard sirens and the blue and red lights filled the room. I blacked out.
I was deemed not guilty and clear of charges on accounts of self defense and in defense of another.
Thomas’ funeral was a couple weeks after my hearing. I held my mother as her weight collapsed into my arms as the casket was lowered into the ground, the sun was beaming that day.
I closed my eyes and let out a single tear. My eyes met the floor, I noticed I was standing on a flower, I stepped off of it and when I realized what it was. I smiled.
A single white daisy.