HitchHiked

                                                  

I am honestly not the kind of girl who would be standing on the side of a deserted country road, wearing a sequel studded party dress with dumb borrowed heels and a stolen, broken-down car. And yes, as bad luck goes, there is no signal to call for help. Not that I am super hyped to call up my dad…who happens to be a cop and would find each statement proof of me committing a fatal crime.

 

I felt angry at my ‘friends’ for lying about this being a birthday party at just one of their homes. Seeing the club and the people in it, I realized they wanted me to be a designated driver, and yes, I decided to ditch them all early. I planned on driving to their home, returning their car, and returning to my place, but then here I was with a broken plan and a broken car.

 

Just when I contemplated sleeping inside the car for the rest of the night, a pair of headlights shone off the opposite side of the road. A big black car pulled up right next to me, the windows rolled down, and there was the high school jock, the athletic and sandy-haired cool boy with a heart-melting smile, but for me, he would always remain a curly-haired spectacle hidden timid boy who was once my best friend.

 

George Melson flashed me his perfect smile and said, “Want a ride, fair maiden.” I rolled my eyes, decided to let go of my anger, and agreed to sit. After all, we were neighbors, and even though his actions from a year ago annoyed me, he could not be the worst person to hitchhike with.

 

Settling in the car, I felt instant warmth from the heater, and all the initial mistrust melted away. George started the car, “To be honest, the party was a bit boring; I left early, too.” Boring was not what I would define it as; I preferred being in less crowded places, so yes, it was painful. But of course, I just nodded at him.

 

The awkwardness in the car settled in even more solid than the fog flowing outside the window. My mind was racing madly with all the flashbacks, and I was counting the minutes to be out of it.

 

George cleared his throat, “See, I just wanted to talk to you…”

“I don’t,” I replied tartly.

He sighed, “It was totally out of place for me to…”

I interrupted, “Can this conversation not even occur? It doesn’t matter; I don’t care what you thought or did.”

He replied, “But I wanted to apologize.”

“Well, it’s too late for it.”

I ignored him completely; I knew I was rude. It was his car, and he practically saved me from a frostbite and death sentence from my father, but hey, he hurt me, and I hurt him; it is as fair as the world goes.

 

But somehow, he would not give up, “Amy, please, I know that you are not creepy; I just said it impulsively.”

“You didn’t; it was not a joke.”

“No, I really…”

“Everyone already thinks of me as a super weird person. I just had one friend, and I know you hung out with me cause your mother forced you to. But it has been years since I have been using my mom's card, and there is no more card to keep you as a friend. I can very well enjoy myself.”

“That’s not true; I liked being your friend.”

Anger finally slid into me, “Yeah, that did not stop you from saying I have creepy behavior in front of your ‘new friends.’ What was I, an entry ticket in the cool group? You know what? Just stop the car, and I will walk from here.”

“Amy, please don’t, I just got to…”

“Stop the car.”

“Amy…”

“Look out, you will hit her,” I lunged forward to grab the steering from his hands and steered a sharp turn to the right to avoid hitting the girl. The car spun as George hit the brakes.

 

My head started to spin, and then I blacked out.

 

I woke to my mind still holding that girl’s face; her pale face had strands of her red hair falling as if she had run a marathon, and her eyes were wide with fear as she screamed.

“Amy, Amy…” I shot up to George, shaking me wildly. He hugged me, and I pushed him back, “what happened to her?”

“What happened to whom? “He replied, worry and confusion in his voice.

“There was a girl on the side of the road; you almost hit her.”

“No one was out there; I don’t know why you pulled the steering; I know you hate me, but…”

“It’s not about you,” sighing in frustration, I opened the door and rushed out of the car; walking back, I could see the deserted countryside heavily sheltered in the fog.

The cold, still air was making the back of my neck tingle. George walked behind me; he spoke cautiously, “Amy, I don’t know what you saw; there was no one on the road; please believe me; I promise I won’t talk to you. Let me take you to your home safely; I don’t think you are feeling well.”

I was too shocked to react to his words and let him steer me back to his car. My heart pounded as I remembered that girl in the tiniest details; it was not a play of fog. It was as if something out of my worst nightmares. Everything about my current situation made my heart race miles per hour. The warmth in the car seemed fake now; coldness spread through my heart as a story started to piece together.

 

My father does not tell me the sadness and cruelty of the world he deals with as a policeman, but I am good at overhearing things occasionally. A year ago, a serial killing started in our town; the police have not been able to track them yet, as they are good at hiding their trail. But the victims have been high-school girls, and as much as I can recall, one of them was a red-headed; she was not my friend, but being a cheerleader, she was a part of the cool gang. I could not help piecing more things together as George tinkered with the radio. How long did he start going out to parties? Did he find them boring, or did he…Suddenly, his humming the song to the radio made me jump a little. He gave me a surprised look; I smiled back and looked out the window.

 

Was it the ghost of the girl I saw? What was she telling me? My mind screamed you are going to be next. I thought to clear my head, but dread was overpowering me. Did the police not suspect the getaway vehicle to be a black car? What if he kept the bodies here? Is that why perfume was overpowering the car?

 

A noise in the trunk made my heart skip a beat, “What was that?”

He shrugged, “Probably some tools dad keeps, nothing to worry about.”

The more he said everything was fine, the more wrong I saw. But the survival instinct started to kick in. My dad once gifted me a pocket knife, and I quietly slid it into my palm.

My hunch was based on my being paranoid, but it is better to be safe than sorry. Taking out my phone, I acted as if I was casually scrolling while sending a SOS to Dad. I hope he was on patrol duty nearby.

I kept my eyes on the road, scared of him taking a detour. “How long will it take?”

“It’s a long way back,” he replied casually.

“Didn’t take this long for us to come here. Are you sure we are not lost?”

“Amy, this is the only way.”

It is true he did not take any turns, but what if when I fainted? How long was I blacked out? Being in a moving vehicle was ending my chances of survival.

“Stop the car.”

He looked puzzled, “Amy, please, we have been over this. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

Saying so, he put his hand on my leg, and in a fraction of a second, I placed a sharp cut on his wrist. I did not know what had taken over me, but my body had just gone overdrive.

He pulled back from me, swearing and cursing, cradling his arm; I wrapped my hands around the handbrake, curled up, and held onto my seat. His eyes registered what would happen, but he was too late to act as his head hit the dashboard on the impact.

 

I opened the door and started to run until I saw the red-blue lights of the patrol car.

***

The press had a field day as the town councilor gave the answers that the serial killer had been killed. I sat close to my father, the medal heavy on my chest but lighter the heaviness of my heart.

I remember how the police knocked down George’s home and broke the news to his parents; seeing his mother cry, I felt horrible.

 

I remember asking my dad, “I just want to apologize.”

He said, “Sorry, won’t set it right.”

“Then what will.”

“Nothing, they already lost their son when he became a monster.”

I am a hero; I slayed the monster when he was ranting about killing all those girls and me being the next victim. The weird girl was the popular one now.

But I was devastated, not because I lost my friend and he got maimed, but now that they caught the ‘killer’ I would end up losing my new hobby.