_Previously on “The Passenger”…_

_It was possible that he was just headed the same place as me, but I severely doubted it. It was practically off the map, and you need to make a reservation seven months in advance just to get a room._

_And this man, not to judge, didn’t look like he had a reservation._

_But the truck driver didn’t notice this._

_“Aces! This young lady’s going the same place as you!” He said, for maybe the first time in his life, cheerfully._

_I didn’t say anything, because this driver was so kind to take me, a foreigner, to my destination. But something was off about the jacketed man next to me._

———————————————

The air in the truck suddenly was muggy and cramped. We kept lurching down the unbeaten path, and I prayed that this strange figure would find what he wanted soon.

“So…” The man said, letting his voice linger in the murky air. “Strawberry Fields, huh? Like that one Beatles song.”

A lady is always polite, I reminded myself. I had no choice but to respond.

“Oh, haha, yeah.” I said, barely raising my voice above a whisper. I practically had to vomit out the word, “Interesting.”

The man only nodded.

His voice was hard and forced, almost hard to describe. Like an American trying to imitate an Irish lilt.

The truck jostled along on the rocky trail. A deer then decided to run in front of us, hypnotized by the headlights. The truck stopped abruptly, and it even seemed to jump.

“Cor blimey.” The driver muttered.

The man didn’t say anything. Nor did I. I noticed, however, that the man was moving his index and middle fingers in a circular motion. It almost had a beat, slowing down each time the two fingers came around again.

The truck driver cursed under his breath and honked a sharp and short honk, only once. I jumped and the man lurched forward. Startled, the deer started to move away.

But then it stopped and stared at the truck again, as if it wasn’t scared out of its wits two seconds ago. I noticed the man was doing that circular motion again.

Suddenly, I felt very uncomfortable in this vehicle, with this disgruntled truck driver and this mysterious man with a ratty jacket. Something was off. You could almost smell it, taste it, in the air.

It was either the hitchhiker or the deer that was the queer one. But people come in many shapes and sizes, and deer typically don’t.

I leaned in closer to look at the man once more. It was when he noticed me looking, and dropped his hand, when the deer actually began to move. Undeterred, it returned back to its forest habitat.

“Bloody stag!” The truck driver complained. He gave another, smaller honk before he nearly kicked the gas pedal. “No matter. We’re nearly there anyways.”

This man and his Cockney accent didn’t notice anything peculiar about the hitchhiker. I wanted to shout, _can’t you see it!?_, but I had no idea what the man next to me was capable of.

It was terrifying to not know. Would this man hurt me? Would he let me go? You can never quite tell with strange people.

I was contemplating that when the truck suddenly stopped. I looked ahead and I saw the magnificent marble pillars of Strawberry Fields. The sight of the hotel suddenly filled me with a sense of relief, which one does not usually feel after arriving at a hotel.

“‘Ere we are!” The driver cheered. “Enjoy your stay, miss.”

He tipped his newspaper cap in my direction and I responded, “Thank you, sir. I will.”

I felt the mysterious man trailing me, hunting me, even. I tried my best to ignore his very presence. It became a little harder when he snatched the back of my coat.

He pulled me in close, though in more of a sinister than a romantic way. I could tell under his hood or his mask or whatever it is that was hiding his face. His grip didn’t loosen as he pulled my face close to his. Or, at least, what was once his face.

“You didn’t see anything.” He growled in that wobbly, synthetic voice he had.

I think it was about then I lost consciousness.