(Draft #10. Thanks to June Theriot! They picked this draft, and I was excited to finally finish this one! If you want to know what leads to this, you can read End of a Horror Movie.) ———

Lindy is reminded very quickly that this isn’t a horror movie.

This is real life.

She gets her seat belt unbuckled, but Raya next to her struggles because of the misshaped side of the car. Her frantic pulling emphasizing her fear.

This Phantom Man, as Lindy names him in her head, gets closer and closer, dragging his bat on the ground. Like a killer with a knife on the stairs. Taunting. Deliberately slow. He wants to extend his time with them.

“Raya, are you ok?” She whispers. Raya whips her head up, eyes bright and wild. “Am I ok?! I’m currently a sitting duck for Mr. Killer over there!” Raya exclaims. Lindy likes her name better.

Lindy reaches into her pocket and is thankful it didn’t fall out from the crash. Retracting the blade, she quickly cuts through Raya’s seat belt. “You carry a knife?” Raya asks, surprise in her tone.

In a more casual situation, she would normally shrug like it isn’t a big deal. “Yeah. My mom likes me to be prepared.”

Doing a once over on Raya, Lindy questions, “Are you hurt?” It is hard to tell since she did not look in the best condition before getting in a car crash. Who knows what was from the crash and what was from the horror she experienced earlier.

“Beyond than I was before? Yes.”

Her eyes scan the floor, searching for something specific. She spots the lavender purple at Raya’s feet, “Grab my keychain that is on the ground by your feet.”

“Why?” Raya asks, doing what she was told. “It has pepper spray, a flashing alarm, and a self defense tool,” Lindy answers, almost mechanically listing the tools as she finally bangs her door open.

“Wow,” Raya breathes, maybe from being impressed at her preparedness or perhaps shock.

“Yeah now we run!” Lindy breaks out in a sprint the second she feels the cool air. She hears Raya follow her pace as she echoes her footsteps. The Phantom Man is alarmingly close. Maybe forty feet from the car.

“Run where?”

“Anywhere! There has to be a place nearby!” Lindy shouts. Even with her saying that, she imagines her normal rides on this back road. There are no houses visible from the street. The forest will be their best bet.

They weave through the trees and dodge low hanging branches. Little twigs and sharp leaves cut into her skin, but Lindy and Raya keeps going.

Without the ability to look back whether from necessity or fear, Lindy isn’t sure if the Phantom Man is close by. They just have to get out from the back roads and there will be more traffic. Someone to help.

“Maybe we should go back to the cabin,” Raya suggests, but her voice trembles. Lindy gets why. Her friends were murdered there. She definitely does not want to go back. It would provide shelter.

But shelter is not safety.

“In every horror movie I’ve ever watched, going back to where the attack originally happened never goes well. A creepy cabin in the woods? Not a smart move.”

“This isn’t a freaking movie!” Raya screeches.

“I am well aware, but that man certainly has watched a lot if he wants to find his perfect, real final girl. We need to think like him,” Lindy justifies, slightly out of breath. She is not used to this much physical exertion.

Maybe from exhaustion after all she has been through, Raya practically collapses onto the ground. She rubs her calves, hoping for strength and feeling to return swiftly. “Wow my mom never wanting me to watch them is now going to bite me in the ass,” she jokes.

Lindy waves it off. “I’ve watched enough for us both. We should keep going until we hit the main road. We can get help there.”

“Is that what a final girl would do?”

Keeping her eyes and ears peeled, Lindy gives the best answer she can. It might sound a bit like a tagline or corny. But hey, if the shoe fits.

“No. You were right. This isn’t a movie. This is what a smart person would do in real life.”

TW: This story contains extreme violence and death. It is a horror story so please be advised before reading. ————— Christine stumbled out into the middle of the street, her vision blurred by tears and panic. The night air was cold against her bruised skin, making her shiver uncontrollably. Her clothes, torn and dirty, clung to her battered body. Every breath she took was a painful reminder of the beating she had just endured. "Please, please," she whispered to herself, her voice breaking as she glanced over her shoulder. The silhouette of Drake, her tormentor, loomed in the distance, his furious shouts echoing through the empty streets. She knew she had to keep moving. A cab rounded the corner, its headlights piercing through the darkness. Without thinking, Christine ran into its path, waving her arms frantically. The cab screeched to a halt, and she threw herself against the passenger window, pounding on it with desperate fists. "Please help! Please stop!" she screamed, her voice raw and choked with fear. The driver, an older man with a weathered face and kind, albeit startled, eyes, quickly unlocked the doors. Christine yanked it open and collapsed into the seat, her body shaking violently. "Go, go! He's coming!" she sobbed, barely coherent. She watched in horror as Drake climbed into his Volvo. ‘’ Fuck! Please hurry!’’ She pleaded desperately. The cab driver didn't need to understand the details. The terror in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He nodded, trying to maintain his composure despite his rising anxiety. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Do you need to go to the hospital?" he asked, his voice steady but filled with genuine concern. He could see the bruises, the cuts, the sheer desperation in her eyes. "No!" Christine gasped, clutching the seat as if it were a lifeline. "I just need to get away! Anywhere, just drive!" She ran a trembling hand through her tangled mess of chestnut curls. ‘’ Please, God, just drive! “She screeched, eyes wide with panic. The driver glanced at her again, his heart pounding. He hit the gas, the engine roaring to life as they sped down the street. He kept checking the rearview mirror, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. He could see the car behind them, gaining speed. "Go faster! Please!" Christine's voice was a high-pitched plea, her eyes wide with terror. "I can't get pulled over, ma'am. I have to drive the speed limit," the driver replied, trying to remain calm. His own fear was now mixing with hers, creating a palpable tension in the air. The sound of screeching tires filled the night as the car behind them caught up. Christine barely had time to react before they were hit, the force of the impact sending the cab spinning. Metal crunched and glass shattered around them. Her head slammed against the window, sending a sharp, explosive pain through her temple. She reached up to feel warm liquid oozing from a gash in her forehead. She turned, dazed, to see the driver. His body was twisted, pinned against the steering wheel. Blood poured from his mouth, his eyes wide with shock and agony. He tried to speak, but only gurgling sounds emerged, as the light in his kind eyes slowly dimmed. "No, no, no," Christine whimpered, reaching out with a trembling hand, but it was too late. The driver's body went limp, his last breath rattling in his chest. Her car door was suddenly yanked open, and Christine's head snapped around. Drake stood there, his face a mask of rage and satisfaction. His eyes, dark and cold, bore into hers. "I told you what would happen if you left me, Christine," he snarled,, his voice dripping with malice. Christine's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing for a way out. But as Drake‘s grip tightened around her throat, she knew her true escape would be only moments away. Completely broken and dead inside, Christine closed her eyes and gritted her teeth – bracing herself for the inevitable.

{In this story, the passenger is the danger, perhaps}

I sank into the seat and closed the door. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I heaved a sigh. That couple might have been the chattiest passengers I've ever had. They spoke nonstop with each other and me for the entire 70 minute trip from the airport. Truly exhausting, they were. Nice pair though, and rich for sure. The Ballantine is the most expensive hotel in the downtown area; or anywhere really. Everyone who came here was practically made of money.

I picked up the clipboard from the passenger seat and recorded an entry for the last fare.

"Airport --> Ballantine. 70 min. 217 Credits. Chatty couple. Honeymoon?"

Twelve rides so far today, and it was only 3 PM. Not bad for a weekday. I tossed the clipboard back onto the passenger seat and grabbed the falafel sandwich that was supposed to have been my lunch 3 hours ago. No rest for the weary, I thought as I unwrapped it, savoring the fragrance of the herbs and spices within. Dimitri's Kitchen is hands-down the best food establishment in the city. No-nonsense all-vegan menu, local ingredients, excellent service, great atmosphere. I raised the sandwich to take my first bite, but was interrupted by a sharp knocking on the window.

"Y'can't park here, sir," the valet kid scowled.

Before I could respond, I heard a deep, smooth voice say, "It's alright, kid. He's waiting for me."

The rear passenger door opened and in slid the owner of that velvety voice, an immacuately dressed gentleman with apparently no luggage. Black sports jacket, black shirt, black bowtie. Not exactly my style, but he wore it well; not a single fiber out of place.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry sir," the valet stammered before scurrying off to attend to a waiting hotel patron.

I stared at my new passenger through the rearview. My lunch was millimeters from my mouth which now hung open in confused disbelief.

"Let's go," the man said firmly, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

I blinked several times, trying to bring reality into focus. After a second or two I shook the confusion out of my head and blurted out, "Mister, I'm on my lunch break."

The man narrowed his eyes, continuing to glare at me through the mirror. His eyes were not unkind, but there was a darkness in them that conveyed absolute seriousness and a "don't-f___-with-me" confidence that I definitely lacked. Without shifting his gaze, he reached a hand into his jacket. I felt a moment of panic. He's got a gun! I started to protest and plead for my life but before I could make a sound he threw something at me. It landed precisely between my hands, knocking my overdue lunch into my lap, from where it tumbled onto the floor.

"Hey! What the --" I started, then saw what the mystery man had tossed at me.

It was a stack of cash, complete with currency strap. The denomination on the bills said 500, and the currency strap indicated the value of the bundle at 50,000 Credits. The 500 Cr bill, known as the Quint, did not often come my way. Occasionally some clueless foreign tourist would use it to pay for a quick 20 Cr ride and I would have to give back a ridiculous stack of change. This guy, though, did not look like a clueless tourist. 50,000 Cr was nearly what I made in a whole year. And here it was. A full year's pay right in my hands! I glanced back at at him in the mirror. His piercing eyes seemed to nudge me telepathically.

"Drive," he said, more gently this time but with an air of expectation.

I pulled my eyes aways from his and looked down at the bundle in my hands. For a split second I contemplated my options, but this was a decision that made itself. I tucked the cash under the clipboard beside me. Quietly lamenting the bits of dust, dirt, grime, and grit that now adhered to its surface, I collected my former lunch off the floorboard and tossed it onto the wrapper that lay in the passenger seat.

"Where to, sir?" I asked automatically, shifting into gear.

"North Valley."

I felt a slight shiver in the back of my neck. North Valley was situated on the outskirts of the city. Despite its bourgeois sounding name, it was a notoriously rough neighborhood; car-jackings, robberies, kidnappings, murders occurred there at more than 3 times the national average. Most cabbies, myself included, avoided this area like the plague. On the other hand, 50k might be worth the risk. Just this one time.

I pulled out of the hotel driveway, glancing in the rearview again. I heard a clacking sound and saw that he had pulled out a gun from the other side of his jacket. So he did have a gun!

"Hey, look, I'm doing like you asked. I'm driving, ok?" I strained to get my words out, my throat tight with panic.

"Relax, it's not for you," the man said gruffly. "Keep your eyes on the road." More clacking sounds as he loaded the magazine.

We drove in silence for some time. Every so often he looked down at a small device that occasionally emitted some beeping noises.

"Left here," he said, indicating a small alley.

I turned into the alley as instructed, and saw there was a black SUV in the middle of the street. Lights on, facing us. I started to put on the brakes.

"Uh ..."

"Keep going. Drive right up to them," the man urged, racking his gun.

I swallowed nervously, dreading what was about to go down. I let the cab slowly roll forward until we were almost bumper to bumper with the SUV. I turned around to look at my passenger for the first time.

"What ... what is this?"

Ignoring my question he reached into his jacked once more and produced another stack of Quints. This time he handed it directly to me.

"You're mine for the day," he said with a smile. He paused with the door half open, turning back to look at me. "Go back to the Ballantine and wait for me there. Tell Sammy at the bar you need a suit. He'll take care of you."

It looked like he was about to say something more, but just nodded and stepped out of the cab. He closed the door and stood casually facing the other car, hands (and gun) behind his back. I hastily shifted into reverse and started backing out of the alley. Through the glare of the headlights I saw three people step out of the SUV, all dressed in black. Nope, I didn't want to stay for that. I made it out of the alley without hitting any of the dumpsters, turned toward the city, and floored it. As I neared the end of the block, I thought I could hear, over the groan of my weary engine, 5 or 6 faint popping sounds. Did he just kill them? No matter. They'll get lost in the sea of North Valley victims. I pushed my foot down, willing the cab to go faster. I felt a sudden urge to sit in the Ballantine bar and order everything on the menu. I could afford it now, at least.

{ self-criticisms: Plot holes:

• why would he take a cab
• how is he going to get back to hotel
• why not just have cabbie wait }

Carl drove along the brightly lit streets, and saw a girl, standinng alone in a dark alleyway. No, it wasn’t a girl. It was a monster. The monster that haunted Carl’s dreams ever since he had seen it 10 years ago, right after his mother died.

Now the monster just stared at him. And suddenly, it was no longer a monster, but again a little girl. A tall woman walked over to the monster girl and took her by the hand. As the two walked away, Carl noticed the girl’s eyes were still staring him down, even though her back was to him.

Carl blinked. The girl and the woman were gone. Vanished. As if they were never there.

A sound in the backseat of his car startled him out of his trance. He glanced behind him, and choked back a shout.

There, in the backseat of his very own car, sat the monster carl had just seen walking with the tall woman outside. It’s long, horrible face stared at Carl. Carl was frozen with horror.

Then, as if there had just been a glitch, there was no longer a horrible monster sitting in Carl’s backseat. It was a scared little girl. She pointed outside to the tall woman that had taken the girl’s hand a few moments ago and mouthed: “Help me”.

I had not pick up any fares this evening. It was after dinner time, so I was hoping ffor at least one or two fares at least. Otherwise this eveing would be a complete loss. I drove a cab three nights a week, usually one weekday and the entire weekend. I could make enough extra cash on the weekends, but the weekdays sometime I just drove around a few hours and then went home. Tonight was a quiet Wednesday. I was not sure i would make any money at all. Driving a cab is a lot harded now with Lyft and Uber.

Right as I was about to drive back home and call it a night I was a young man hailing a cab. It was kinda of wierd becuase he was in the middle of the street. He waved both his arms and stood in front of my cab. I notced he had streks of blood on his face. Blood splattered his clothes and he was brewawthing rather hard.

“Hey Buddy,you need a ride.” I asked.

“Yes!” He answered.

I opended the door so he could get in. He keot looking behind him and around. He got in locked both back doors. He was shaking. We rode for a good five minutes in silence. His breathe was slowing down now.

“Where can I take you?” I questioned.

“Anywhere?” He states.

We keep driving for a while longer. I do not want to ask why so much blood, because if I am the next victims. He does jump everytime we her a siren. He is starting to realx. He slowly starts to talk.

He is saying how he killed his best friend that he found in bed with his girlfriend. He thought they were togther, but never could catch them together. She swore they were not together. He got home from work eaarly and did not call this time. When he walked in to the house, he heard noises upstairs. He went up to the bedroom, opened the door and saw them in bed. He blacked out until he woke up covered in blood and both body could not be found. He knew he had to get out og the house. That is whay I met him in the street.

The fog inevitably turned into rain, just as I had suspected, and just as I had feared. I had been traveling alongside the road for days, doing fine on my own, satisfied with the meager food in my carry-on and following the path I had memorized just a week before. The sleep was uncomfortable and few and far between, but it was only a day or two's walk until I reached my destination, so uncomfortable had to do. Except thunder was not far off from the rain, and the only cover I had was a few pathetic trees lining the fields. If there was any time to compromise my principles, it would be now. I wander closer to the center of the road after around thirty minutes, some headlights causing the rain to shine like diamonds from a chandelier. I’m worried for a second that they won’t see me, my hand going numb from leaving the only thing dry about me, my pockets, when it slows to a stop. The car is fancy- a vintage porsche. I can’t quite see the person sitting in the front seat, but I take it as my que to get in, however hesitant I may be. I’m immediately struck by the warmth I feel when I close the door, compared to outside it feels like a toaster. There’s a young woman with dark hair driving, eyes on the road like I don’t even exist. She must be waiting for me to start the conversation. It rubs me the wrong way. I tell her my stop, a couple miles east of where I’m actually going, but she just turns around and smiles at me. Something about her face is captivating, dazzling even. Why did she pick me up? The alarms are going off in my head. “You know, there are only three types of people who pick up randoms off the side of the road,” I prompt. She chuckles and says she could say the same about hitchhikers. I ignore her and continue. “There are the naive ones, who don’t believe in the possibility of any negative outcomes. There are the people with savior complexes, who somehow acknowledge the danger but think they’re above it, and there are the third kind. The kind that have nothing to fear, because they’re already the most dangerous thing out there, and they’re just looking for their next meal.” She smiles again, baring her teeth this time, and I can’t help but notice the sharpness of her canines. I noticed them a little too late.

“Where ya heading?”

“1st and 6th street, please.”

The cab driver noticed the man’s voice was shaking. He didn’t say anything about it, just nodded in assent and began driving. 1st and 6th was a nice neighborhood, anyway. Much nicer than the neighborhood around City Bank where they were now.

Having done this job his whole adult life, he knew what someone who didn’t want to talk looked like, so he didn’t try to make conversation. Eyeing the man from his rear view mirror, he saw him wringing his gloved hands and looking out the left window. Every now and then he would slowly blink and take a deep breath, then continue looking out the window at the changing scenery. The drive was only a few miles, but it took them from the main city, through some open land, into the suburbs.

“Hey, Mike,” a voice called from the radio. The cab driver picked up the transmitter and answered back.

“Did you hear about the scare?”

“What scare?” Mike answered back, noticing that the man in the back seat was now looking down at his hands. His expression had changed somehow, too.

“Oh, man. The bank! They’re saying someone shot three tellers, dropped a live bomb, and fled the scene.” He whistled. “Nobody saw how the guy left, though. Or woman. They just disappeared.”

Mike eyed the man in his back seat again. He had stopped wringing his hands and held them calmly in his lap.

“End the call,” the man said. The cab driver didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled the transmitter from the radio plug.

“Keep driving and listen,” the man said. Mike’s heart thudded in his chest, so loud it made it hard to hear. Cars passed on either side of them, unknowing.

“I killed those people, yes. I dropped the live bomb. We’re safe though, here, right? Far away from the scene. They’re not, though.” He reached under his glove and pulled out a thin, square block with a button on it. “This will make someone’s day a lot more interesting, when they find them.”

Mike wasn’t following but his mouth was too dry to ask a question. His eyes were blurring, making it hard to see the road.

“Are you ready, Mike?” The man said and pushed the button. Mike felt the flames for a split second as the cab exploded.

(Authors note- This story has swearing, so if you are not comfortable reading this kind of writing than please do not do so)

~

I press on the brakes of the taxi and slowly slide to a stop. I spot a man coming towards me and absentmindedly press the button that automatically opens the car door like I do every time and turn around, but I don’t realize the panicked expression on his face until I feel a calloused hand gripping my shoulder tightly.

“Please, hurry up!” He says in a urgent voice.

I turn around, trying to shake his hand off.

“Excuse me, sir?” I widen my eyes at him. What is he doing? Why does he look so scared? And what is he running from?

“I need you to get away from here as fast as you can and don’t pause at any red lights.”

His dark brown eyes stare intently into mine, pronouncing every word with urgency.

“But where do I-“ He finally loses patience and grabs the steering wheel and turns it with a hard jerk. The car lurches to the left of the road.

“What the fuck!” I can’t help but curse out loud.

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” I shove his hand off the steering wheel with all my might. He finally lets go and breathes a sigh of relief as I start driving in a random direction.

Cars honk crazily at us, the drivers opening the windows and saying-uhm- some very unsavory language.

I ignore them and keep my eyes on the road in front of me. Not my fault I have a psychopath in my car.

“Thank you.” The man says after a few minutes of silence, looking the tiniest bit embarrassed.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” I tell him.

“It’s…complicated.” He says in an unreadable tone.

I don’t answer but instead look in the rear view mirror to get a closer look at the man’s face. He has raven black hair and dark brown eyes that glint with rays of sunlight, and fair skin. The most interesting thing about his appearance though is a small scar which runs diagonally from his cheek up to his right eyelid.

I narrow my eyes briefly. The scar appears to be inflicted by a knife based off of how the skin is cut. The man must have gotten involved with some shady gangs. No wonder was so panicked. He probably did something to one of them.

“Ma’am?” The man says questioningly. I quickly snap out of the daze I was in and turn back around. I feel my face reddening. I hadn’t realized I was looking at him so long.

“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to distract him.

“Alexander. Alexander Thorn.” He says. “I work for the F.B.I.” He adds.

I almost chock on my spit.

“What?” I say, not sure if I heard him right.

“I work for the F.B.I.” He repeats calmly and takes out his wallet to show an ID. He’s right. The ID shows a picture of him and below it has a caption that says, “Chief Investigator”.

I don’t know wether to laugh or cry. It seems so silly but somehow I don’t think he’s lying.

“You’re a chief investigator?” I ask.

“Yes.” He says with a nod.

“Okay.” I respond, still not believing him totally.

“By the way, where should I let you off at?” I ask him. I’d been driving around the city randomly for 30 minutes, which I think was enough time to shake off anyone on him. Of course, if anyone was really on him.

“Drive a bit more to that bookstore at the end of the street, then you can let me off.” He says.

Once I reach where he asked, the car slowly slid to a stop but he didn’t get out.

“What is it?” I ask, not sure why he was hesitant to get out.

He stares at me for a while before answering.

“I know your brother.” He says, looking closely for a reaction.

And he does get one. All the breath is knocked out of me by those words, and I grip the steering wheel tightly.

“How.” I ask, breathing deeply. “How.” I repeat again.

My brother died four years ago from drowning, and his body was never found. But he had never reappeared so the police wrote him off as deceased. Though I had agreed with them and not spoken a word of doubt, I still held a faint shimmer of hope in the back of my mind for all these years. And now someone was confirming that this hope was not foolish, but actually justified.

“I was a friend of his in college, and when I heard he drowned I didn’t believe it for a second. He used to be head of the swim team and won so many competitions that I even thought he’d go to the Olympics one day. So when someone anonymously contacted me through my social media accounts and said they were him, I knew it was true.” He responds.

“Where is he. Please, take me to him. I’m begging you.” I say. If I hadn’t trusted this man before, I do now. Everything he said about my brother matched up. He was head of the swim team, won many competitions, and did have a friend named Alexander in college that I had never met before but he had mentioned to me.

“I can. But…I need to ask this first. Do you fully trust me? He asks, a solemn expression on his face.

I look at him, and study his eyes. They stare at me unflinchingly like steel, daring me to say no.

“Yes.” I reply. “I’m ready.” I say, staring at him confidently.

The expression is still on his face, but I can see the corners of his mouth turn upwards very slightly.

“What are you waiting for then?” He asks, and offers his hand to me.

I take it, smiling.

I can see the fear in her eyes As I drive I can tell she’s squirming inside She stares out the window and taps her toe Her feet are bare with bleeding soles

She’s trying to run Like so many others She doesn’t understand That she needn’t bother

Should I let her know Or should I leave her be ‘Cause the only monster here Is the one inside me

“All right, where are we headed?” When he didn’t get an answer, Jesse Lawson twisted in his seat. He was shocked by how much fear he saw in the woman’s eyes. Correction, young girl. Maybe a teenager.

“I – I don’t know,” she whispered. She flinched and hid behind her scarlet hair.

Jesse eased his vehicle away from the curb. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove through the city. Although, city might be a tad generous.

Jesse glanced in his rearview mirror. The poor thing looked like she was ready to bolt out of his car. He refocused on the road in front of him. The young woman reminded him of Leslie, his granddaughter.

Jesse spoke softly, trying his best to not spook the girl. “If you need help, I know someone who can protect you,” he said quietly. He peeked in the mirror in time to see the girl jerk. Jesse pulled over. The girl immediately reached for the door. “Wait,” Jesse said, “I don’t want to let you out if something is wrong. I have a friend, a young woman I’ve mentored. I know she has a business with some of her friends that offers protection services.”

The mystery girl froze. Her hand tightened on the handle of the car door until her knuckles were white. She slowly released it and sat back.

Jesse kept his focus on the girl despite the ache starting to form in his back from twisting in his seat for so long. He could tell that the girl’s hands were shaking even though she tried to sit on them in an obvious attempt to hide it.

The girl finally looked Jesse in the eyes. “Can you take me to her?” she asked quietly.

Jesse nodded slowly. “Of course,” he answered. He once again pulled away from the curb and started driving, this time with a purpose. He took a meandering route though, just in case someone was following them. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he knew enough to spot a tail. He hoped.

Jesse glanced in his rearview mirror again. “Can I know your name?” he asked gently. The girl glanced out the window before slouching in her seat. She didn’t answer so Jesse didn’t press.

“Tiana,” she abruptly said. “Tiana Starr.”

Tiana slid as far down her seat as her seatbelt would allow her. She really hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. But her driver seemed like a harmless, kind man. He reminded her of her sweet neighbor, Karl, who would always proudly show off pictures of his grandkids to her.

Tiana glanced at her driver again. She really hoped that he was telling the truth about his friend. She didn’t really know what to do and she needed all the help she could get staying alive. Staying one step ahead of the man hunting her down.