It wasn’t the first time someone passed me by, no. Speeding past, a thumb does nothing to stop a car as it barrels down the narrow road. Some act as if they don’t know what it means.

Naturally, I was surprised when a small minivan shrieked to a stop beside me, it’s wheels kicking up dust in the shadows. The tinted window was cranked down by a woman that seemed too happy for the dreary day.

“Where are you headed?” She grinned.

“West Field,” I murmured.

I got in the back seat. Kids of various ages sat quietly, their eyes wide at the stranger scooting in. I took the bag from my shoulders and hugged it, letting my hair fall into my eyes so I wouldn’t be recognized.

“Mama,” the youngest girl pointed at me. “Mama, there’s a man in our van.” She laughed like it was the joke of the year, her stubby index finger pointed at my chest while her cheeks turned red with laughter.

“Yes, Honey,” the mama turned around, smiling at me nervously. “We’re taking him to West Field. Right, Greg?”

She turns to her husband who has adjusted his rearview mirror and keeps glancing at my reflection. I hug the bag tight again, keeping my head down but my eyes up.

“Yeah, West Field, huh? You live there, kid?” He scratches his face and stares at me with occasional glances at the empty road.

“Y-yes sir. I was heading there for a job.”

“What type of job?”

My head was racked, thoughts flying by for what was in West Field. I shrugged, pulling the bag up on my lap and turning to the window.

“I think he’s kinda cute,” a girl giggles behind me. A slap follows. “Owwwwww, mom!!”

“She’s doing it again!” A boy yells into my ear. “She’s crushing on this loser. What is it with you and losers, Charlie?”

“Son,” the man warns.

“Jax, we do not make fun of people. I have told you about this. So has Mrs. Becky. It isn’t always kind to say what crosses your mind,” the mom turns to me, “I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say flatly.

“I’m sure he already knows,” the boy grunts. “I was just reminding this girl, incase she tries to lock lips with him like she did with-“

“Jax!”

“Mom-“

“SHE HIT ME!”

“Mom, I forgot to tell you I need new watercolors for art,” a small voice says. I turn, a girl is curled in the back. She pushes her black, shiny hair back shakily, smiling with braces.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Oh my- Mom!” Jax screams.

“Natalie,” she whispers.

“Natalie,” I repeat.

Her father narrows his eyes from the mirror, while her brother kicks my seat hard.

“Pull over.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pull over.”

“Kid, I can’t-“

“PULL OVER.” I slam my fist into the window, it shatters beneath my knuckles. The mom gasps, the dad jerks the wheel to the left too hard.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice-

We roll again and again. I squeeze the bag, shielding my face from impact. The ground rushes- the ditch swallows the car. Cold water trickles in from the creek through the busted windows.

I sit up in a hurry, my head hitting a seat. Jax leans heavily against the side compartment, his chest still. The small one who laughed hysterically just minutes earlier was nowhere to be seen. The mom was slumped over the dash while the dad was slumped to the side, his balding hair brushed his wife’s thigh.

“Natalie,” I pull myself over the seat and angle my head to reach her. She moans, her eyes rolling. “You’re so pretty…”

She groans again, blood seeps from her shoulder, one brown eye drips a small bit of blood onto her face, her hand was twisted at an odd angle.

“Be my friend,” I whisper, brushing her hair backwards. “Please, I promise I’ll be yours.”

She says nothing, her eyes were open. I pull her from the back window, stepping over the baby shoe. I sneer at it, cradling Natalie’s head in my arms.

“I’ve always wanted to kill someone.”