I’m not sure what I was thinking as I was driving down the highway. My thoughts wandering all over the place. You know those moments when you’re completely lost in some other world inside your head that when you finally come to, you’ve driven miles with no memory of how you ended up where you are. That’s the place I had been living in for God only knows how long. I’m always amazed that I haven’t gone careening off a cliff or driven into a ditch or even rammed into the back of someone else’s car when I’m off on vacation inside my mind like that. So far, so good, though, and the place I had been visiting was one of darkness and pain, and it’s probably for the best for everyone that I’m not wandering around that minefield too long. Not my typical trip into the void, that’s for sure, and not one I should visit often either. I think the isolation of driving alone at night along this relatively empty highway has led my imagination off into some unusually twisted scenarios. Survival being the topic holding them all together. That is the goal for everyone, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure life is just a game of who can live longer anyway, and at this moment, there are a lot of people losing, and I’d prefer to keep playing for a while longer.

Perhaps I just knew it was all going to be alright, or maybe I was just in the mood to tempt fate a little for once instead of feeling controlled by her plan, but in what can only be described as a lapse of judgment, I’m finding myself pulling over and picking up this strange man walking there on the side of the highway. There’s nothing for miles, and I can’t imagine being caught in the storm that’s working its way in this direction. Help your fellow man is still one of those things we’re supposed to do, and we all take a leap of faith every now and again, don’t we? I’ve never done anything like this before, and my mother is somewhere clutching her pearls at the mere idea of me noticing some man hitchhiking on the side of the road, much less picking him up. You learn early on as a little girl that it’s dangerous for us. Not out there in the wild with bears or mountain lions. Those are easy to avoid. No, I’m talking about out there in that everyday world with those biped creatures that were born with a Y chromosome. Learning how to traverse the streets always alert to the potential predator around the next corner, and I’m positive that one of the rules etched in those stone tablets is, “Thou shall not pick up hitchhikers.” Well, rules be damned, and I’m willing to give this one the benefit of the doubt. Surely he’s not out to kill some random woman driving by. I mean, how do you even prepare for that possibility? It can’t be easy. Was he just walking there, fingers crossed that some idiot like me would pick him up? Probably.

Pulling over onto the shoulder, I run through every scenario in a split second and consider driving off before he can reach the door, but it’s too late, and I smile up at the man peering in at me. I can only assume he’s consulting his own survival handbook, which doesn’t take long since, to him, I’m obviously not a threat. I’m just some woman dumb enough to pull over and let him in my car. I should know better. I do know better. He smiles and thanks me as he slides into the seat, shoving his backpack between his knees and holding his hands up to the vents letting the heater warm his fingers for a bit. Smiling again, he asks where I’m headed, and I let him know I’ve got at least another hundred miles to cover tonight before I make it to my destination. He’s just grateful that he’s going to end up that much closer to his targeted location before the sun comes up.

I can’t imagine traveling like that. Always at someone’s mercy and taking the risk of climbing into a stranger’s car. Of course, I could tell how quickly he relaxed sitting next to me. What did he have to worry about? I was the one taking the risk this time. I guess he was trying to make me feel more comfortable sitting back and attempting to hold a casual conversation. However, all I could think about was how I instantly landed in enemy territory the second he opened the passenger door and began to assess every possibility of the situation I had just volunteered for like an idiot.

I keep catching myself scanning him out of the corner of my eye. At one point, I see something flickering in the light, exposing what could only be metal at his waist. Is it a knife? Holy crap, what if it is a knife? Of course, it is. I can’t expect someone out on the road at night willing to jump in the car with a total stranger not armed in some manner. All those thoughts from before start banging around inside my head, and every possibility plays like a movie. How quickly could I react if he moved to grab it and set it up against my throat? Surely he wouldn’t hurt me, at least not while I’m driving, right? That’d be a stupid decision. Those are the actions that would end up with both of us dead, and quickly too. No, as long as I’m driving, he wouldn’t threaten me like that, or at least I don’t think he would.

I imagine a hundred different scenarios of what could happen if he pulled that knife from his waistband. Some as simple as digging the dirt from under his nails and looking at his hands that wouldn’t be such a bad idea for him to consider. Cutting off that loose string from the cuff of his hoodie would definitely be another option. But how would I react if he went to reach for it? I’d probably run us off the road in the process of jumping back from him. All of those other thoughts that weren’t so practical leading the charge in that instant. The ones where he forces me to pull over, knife pointed at my neck as he tells me all the things he could do to me once I do. Would he force me from the car and leave me there on the side of the road as he drove off in my car? That’s a highly unlikely scenario. Surely, he’d kill me first, but how? Slit my throat from ear to ear? That seems like a messy option. He’d have to plan that one outside the car because I can’t imagine sitting in a puddle of my blood here on the driver’s seat is a smart plan. He’d want to get out of the car eventually, and it’s kind of difficult to hide a bloodstain that big on a pair of jeans. Hell, it’s difficult enough to hide those small stains when you find yourself leaking or unprepared, and well, I’d suspect this would be a much bigger issue than any of those I’ve experienced. No, he’d have to pull me out of the car first so he wouldn’t make a real mess in here, right?

How, though? I mean, it’s not like he can get out and come around the car to make me. I know I’d be scared as hell, but I’d like to think that if he got out of the car, I’d drive off before he could get to me. Of course, an intelligent attacker would take my keys first, and if that were the case, I’d be screwed for sure. Thinking of all the items within reach of me, the closest thing to a weapon I might grab is an umbrella, and surely that damn thing has wiggled its way under the seat too far for me to grab easily. Nope, there’s nothing, and I’d be screwed. Maybe I could get the knife first? I know it’s there.

What if I just reached over and grabbed it now? I wonder if he’d react as quickly as he’d need to in order to keep from being in danger? I doubt it. I am just some woman sitting here chauffeuring him closer to his destination. He’d never think I’d do something like that. I wonder if he’s the kind of man that would think I was reaching for his, well, you know. Shaking my head, I push all of those ridiculous and fear-fed thoughts out of my head. I don’t have anything to worry about. He’s been friendly so far and not threatening in any way. I’m just letting the entire situation get to me, and I really should probably focus on driving and my destination, or I’m going to get us both killed.

I’m not exactly sure what he’d been talking about while my mind was off wandering in “what if” land, something about his family. He’s either on his way to see them or on a mission to escape them. I’d be lying if I said I knew. We’d been driving for a while now, and my stop was only another half-hour down the road or so. This passenger, did he even tell me his name? Surely he did, another thing he said that I hadn’t paid any attention to because my mind kept walking in and out of possibilities. I think it was something simple like Joe or Jack, and honestly, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like we were going to be friends and hang out when this ride was all over, that much I knew for sure.

I regretted the decision to pick him up more and more with every word he spoke. I should have known better than to think I was up to spend so much time with one person in such close proximity. I’m not really what you’d call a people person, and I know it. I guess I didn’t expect him to talk the entire time either, and my loathing of Joe or Jack was growing. I thought maybe he’d catch a few winks or at least take a breath and shut up for a few minutes but not this one. A real Chatty Cathy, he is for sure. I thought about kicking him out more than once along the way, but instead, I sat and ground away layers of enamel from my molars quietly, just allowing my irritation to grow with each mile. This started as a good deed but was quickly beginning to feel like a punishment for God only knows what but a reprimand nonetheless. It was when he started recounting all the ways his parents had wronged him that I was done. Reaching back behind his seat, I pulled out a bottle of water from the small ice chest and asked if he was thirsty. We only had a little further to go, and surely that would shut him up; it’s a little difficult to steadily tell some stranger way too much information if you’re constantly sipping on some water. One can hope anyway.

After his third or fourth drink, it was, as I had expected, blessed silence. I have had way too much of whatever his name is today, and I think that sacred rule of not picking up hitchhikers has many more reasons than safety behind it. Not having to listen to some random person’s life story has to be on that list, and if it’s not, it definitely should be. I’ve added it to mine, and it’s one that will be at the top when it comes to never picking up some stranger off the side of the road in the future. Even the safety option will move down a peg below that one now.

Looking over at Joe or Jack, it appears he’s dozed off for the last leg of our ride together, and I lose myself in thought with all of those possibilities resurfacing again. The knife at his side catches the light of the passing lamp posts as we move closer into town, and I consider reaching for it before we get to our final destination, but I think better of it. It’s not going anywhere, and looking over at him, neither is he, at least not until we get where we’re going. My fears of the “what ifs” dissipated over the miles I had spent listening to his life or at least pretending to listen. Every word barely even registered existence as he spoke it. It’s the destination that’s the most important to me, and there are at least another twenty minutes left of this drive.

I almost forgot he was there or that I had picked him up until his light snore began to irritate me more than his talking had been. I can’t wait to get him out of my car, and as the last miles melt away, I can’t help but smile. I’ve been looking forward to this retreat for a while, and I need time to work through some of this built-up stress I’ve been carrying around since the last time I stayed here. That seems like forever ago. I click the garage door opener and look over at Joe or Jack or whatever his name is as I pull into the space, and he’s in some blissful dreamland, and I suppose he can stay there for a bit longer. He’s not going to bother me anymore, his ride is over, and he’s made it just as far as I had promised when I picked him up on the side of the highway. For now, it’s time to get settled in, I’m sure he’ll wake up soon enough, and about half an hour later, he finally opened his eyes.

Looking down at him tied to the table, I smile at my luck. Let the stress relief begin, but first things first.

“Hello, Jack. Let’s see if we can’t work on keeping you quiet for a little while,” and I enjoyed the noises he was trying to make through the gag I had shoved in his mouth while he was still sleeping. However, it was when his eyes caught sight of the needle and thread that I actually giggled for the first time since we met.