He slowed to a halt and peered out the window as he asked the fateful question: “Need a ride?” His words came out in a puff of steam that hung in the cold, morning air.

I shivered in the 5am chill and pulled my purple wool coat closer around me. It was February and I had just moved out of the city into the suburbs with my friends. I liked taking this particular bus - it got me closer to the office than the 15E or the 86B, and when we arrived the driver would set the flashers and the parking brake, turn up the heat, and pull his guitar from under the seat. I’d settle back into the seat and relax as a few other passengers and the driver jammed for 30 minutes, until their day began. This alone was worth leaving more than an hour early.

This morning, though. It was bitter cold, -19 said the radio - and windy. Already I couldn’t feel the two inches of leg that weren’t covered by the long coat. I weighed my options. He didn’t look dangerous, didn’t give off creeper vibes. He felt like a nice, middle -aged man looking to help someone out. I’d had my share of creepers, as every girl does. I glanced at my watch - the bus was late, no surprise given the icy conditions. It would likely be along any minute, I should wait. Just then a blast of arctic air stung my face. I reached for the door handle and stepped up into the cab of his pickup.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s really cold this morning.” I settled into the warm seat gratefully as he pulled into light traffic, headed to the city.

We drove in silence for a mile or more. I glanced covertly at him a couple of times but his face was impassive. I watched as the sky lightened and traffic thickened.

“You take this bus every morning?” he asked, eyes on the road.

“No, I usually take the 6:15 but I have to go in early this morning to help my boss with something.”

He was silent again, but this time I was uncomfortable. He seemed to be stewing about something. His jaw clenched and unclenched a couple of times, his brows crept closer together, and his face began to darken. “Pretty girl like you, seems like it might not be the safest thing, hitching a ride with a total stranger.” I stiffened. HIs tone was suddenly unfriendly.

“I don’t usually take rides from strangers,” I managed. “But if I do, usually it’s someone with a daughter my age who stops, like you did. Safe. I’ve not had any trouble.” I kept my tone light, careful to keep my growing alarm to myself. I smiled to show him I wasn’t afraid. Even though I was. Like dogs, predatory men can smell fear.

We were at a stop light. The light turned green and we began to roll. After a few hundred yards, he glanced in the rear view then took a sudden sharp right turn onto a gravel road that disappeared into some woods. When we were well-hidden from the road, he parked the truck and turned toward me. I shrank back against the door and looked back at him steadily. Well, this has taken a sudden turn for the weird, I thought. Did I misjudge this situation? Now I felt menace emanating from him. He leaned toward me; I shrank back.

“I could just…have my way with you,” he said quietly, spreading his hands and shrugging as if to say, Why not, who would stop me? “Or I could take you somewhere, share you with my friends.” His eyes were intense. They burned into mine. “I could do whatever I want. Do you think you could stop me? I bet you do, I bet you think you can do anything, but you’re wrong.” He was almost whispering by now. His words made me shiver but…just the words. HIs demeanor had changed from menacing to earnest. He sat back in his seat. “You’re no match for someone like me.

“Get out.” He flipped a switch and the door locks sprang up. I didn’t move, unsure of what he was doing. “Go on, OUT!” He roared, and lunged toward me. My hand fumbled for the door handle behind me, found it, and pushed up with force. The door swung open and I tumbled out, my purse tangled in the seat belt. I landed on my back in soft, musty-smelling leaf litter with a ‘Whoof”, the air knocked out of me. He tossed my purse on top of me, slammed my door shut, and, as he peeled out, spraying gravel like tiny bullets, he yelled, “Maybe you’ll think twice now before taking a ride from just ANYONE!”

I lay there shivering with cold and adrenaline for a few minutes before clambering to my feet and brushing myself off. I gathered the spilled contents of my purse, zipped my coat, tied the hood tight and set off for the main road, turning the incident over in my mind, looking for a silver lining. I found two.

The first was that by the time I got to the main road, I wasn’t cold anymore. The next bus came along shortly, so I didn’t have to get cold again, waiting.

The second was that I didn’t have to use my gun. I patted my purse and smiled as I boarded the bus, at last, for work.