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“So, why didn’t you call someone first? Don’t you have an insurance company that could help you out with something like this?” I ask as she hesitantly climbs into the passenger side.
I notice the way that she eases into the seat, like she was expecting the interior of my car to be just as shitty as the standard-issue sedans of the great unwashed. Trying to impress women with cars is beneath me, but it’s still kind of fun to see how they react, anyway. It’s an easy way to make women like you. They seem to associate nice cars with power, and power turns them on quite a lot.
“I really just need to charge my phone enough to call a tow truck. Do you have a USB-C cord?” she asks, her voice shaky and uncertain. She’s kept her arms crossed this whole time, and I’m sure it isn’t just because she’s cold. I wouldn’t be shocked at all if she had a knife under her coat.
“You’re not getting a tow tonight. Nobody’s going to come out here to get your car until the snow stops. You might as well just go home and wait until the morning,” I reply, turning the key in the ignition. “I can take you home, but I need to stop somewhere first.”
She glances over at me, her eyes wide and distrusting. “Um, where do you need to go? If it’s any further than the next three exits, I’ll try to get someone else to get me.”
Under different circumstances, I would laugh. “You think anyone else is going to come out here if a tow truck won’t? Come on, it won’t be long. It’s cold out here, and I doubt you’ll be lucky enough to get someone else out here who is willing to help for at least another hour.”
She looks at me questioningly, backing herself into the passenger side door as if she’s going to bolt out at any minute. It’s not like she has anywhere to go, and it would be unwise of her to try to get away from me in the first place. I’d catch up to her, no doubt. She’d be better off just doing what I say.
But that isn’t what’s going on, so I guess I should just drop it.
“I just need you to stay in the car while I do what I need to do. It won’t take that long, and you can forget all about this afterward. Deal?”
After thinking to herself for a minute, she sighs heavily. “Okay, fine, but please don’t stop anywhere else if you don’t need to. I’m really freaked out from the crash. I just want to go home.”
She straightens herself in the seat, perhaps growing more comfortable or trying to make herself look bigger, like a cat. I always thought it was tragic seeing the way girls have to behave around men, but it’s even worse in person. I hate to think of all the situations where she felt like this was necessary.
There’s no good way to alleviate the tension between us, but I chalk it up to an overflow of fear, panic, and adrenaline. She’s taking deep breaths in order to calm herself, but her hands still shake no matter how hard she tries to control them.
I start the car, pulling off the side of the road with as much caution as possible. Driving in this weather was stupid to begin with, but driving in the snow in a Rolls Royce was an even worse idea. It’s not like I can’t afford to get it fixed, or even replaced, but I’d be far less nervous about crashing it if it was any of my other cars.
It’s going to be difficult to convince this woman that I mean no harm. I’m sure she already expects ill will from any man who is too eager to help. Claiming to have a meeting with someone under such conditions on the outskirts of the city won’t help my case, either. If I were a normal person with a normal occupation, I could just pull out my phone and show her the endless list of meetings and obligations I have as avery important businessman.
But I’m not, so I remain a threat until she’s out of my car in one piece.
As long as everything goes well enough, she won’t have a reason to call the cops on me. That’s my number one priority right now. I just need to keep the meeting as short as possible so she doesn’t have the chance to talk herself into anything. She’s already questioning of my intentions, which is fair enough on her part but still makes me nervous.
She’s so quiet during the ride that she refuses to have a conversation with me. It’s not like I’m that upset about that either, to be honest. Based on the way she’s dressed, she probably works in a corporate environment, which leads me to assume that we have nothing in common. I’d hate to try to discuss whatever it is she finds important.
To be honest, she’s pretty attractive from what I can see in the dim light of the car, and she smells like expensive perfume. At least I know she has taste. I would have rather met her under different circumstances so I could get her to trust me more.
I don’t interact with people on the outside of my profession very often, and with time I’ve forgotten how to have a normal conversation with them. I’ve spent so much time in the underground business world that I forget the limits other people have set on themselves and their lives.
Most people are perfectly fine accepting the bare minimum from life, so long as it keeps them out of trouble. They accept shit pay at shit jobs so that they can buy houses that would bankrupt them if they did so little as break their leg. They overindulge in beer and entertainment to numb them from how unremarkable and mediocre they are.
People in my circles chase everything that they want with the risk of prison, torture, or death. Every mission could be your last, but the reward is always good enough to make you forget the stomach-twisting panic. It’s sort of like having a baby that way. Besides, you get to feel like you’re a part of something bigger than yourself. Even if you’re still working for a boss at the top, that boss would die for you. That’s the difference between us and them, and I’d take that risk every day for the rest of my life.
The ride from her car to my meeting place is only about twenty minutes, but she stares straight out the window the whole time. The closer we get, the more nervous I am that she’ll assume the worst when we arrive. I run through ideas of how I could make her more comfortable, maybe ease her anxiety a little, but I realize there’s nothing I can do for her. Taking a vulnerable woman to an abandoned lumber yard in the middle of a snowstorm is something that would make a true crime fanatic salivate.
“Um, where are we going, exactly?” she asks, breaking the silence just as I’m about to take the exit into the city
“It’s an old lumber yard. Don’t freak out though, okay? I’m going to get in and out of there as soon as possible. I don’t want to be there either, I promise.”
She sighs, choosing to continue her vow of silence as we drive onward into the darkness.
The road that leads to the lumberyard is eerie and desolate. The moonlight casts a forlorn blue glow across the fresh snow, and the trees tower overhead like vindictive, ancient gods. She must be feeling the same way, because I could swear that she’s screaming telepathically for help.
3
Holly
When we pull into the lumberyard, I feel a foreboding chill start at the base of my neck and work its way down my spine. The snow hasn’t slowed down at all, and the scarce streetlights in the surrounding area lend no more visibility than they had on the drive here. I can see hardly ten feet in any direction. Given the circumstances, you’d think this man’s wife was giving birth inside the pavilion in the middle of the yard. What could possibly be so important?
This place looks exactly like somewhere that a film student would direct their first movie about a murderous cult. It’s uncanny how staged it looks. Everything from the pavilion to the rotting lumber feels like it was put there specifically to cause unease and disquiet. The fact that I’m here with someone I met hardly a half-hour ago doesn’t help. I’m supposed to trust him right now, but should I?
