Sometimes driving at night takes me to another world. Especially when the twinkling lights of civilization are abandoned.
Nothing but darkness enters my vision. Only my headlights and the noise of the car remind me that there is anything in this world.
Until I see a shape in the distance.
Slowly walking down the road, like a ghostly hitchhiker, she doesn't show any awareness that a car is approaching. I can easily speed past her. I should easily speed past her.
Instead, I slow down and lower my window. "Excuse me? Miss? Hey!"
She looks over, no apprehension on her face at a strange man speaking to her. Now that I'm closer, it's easy to get a better look.
The better look makes my stomach lurch.
The young woman—she can't be more than twenty—appears as if she just escaped some sort of disaster. Barefoot, wearing a bloodstained white dress. The only thing that makes it clear that she isn't an actual ghost is the shaky way that she breathes and the trembles rippling through her body.
"Are you okay? What happened?" I ask quickly.
My girlfriend Emily thinks that I go looking for trouble. She says that I have a compulsion to help people. Sometimes she says it with affection, other times with frustration.
"You always put yourself last, Jason. You can't just help every stray that you meet."
She was right. I knew she was right.
But this time I didn't have a choice.
The young woman tilts her head as if she can't understand what I'm saying. Maybe she doesn't understand. Trauma or maybe she speaks another language.
My hand fumbles around until I locate my phone. I hold it up so that she see. "Hey, do you need me to call someone?"
"No."
The toneless word startles me. She looks like a survivor of a car wreck, but sounds so sure that she doesn't want any help.
"Are you sure?" I ask urgently. "Look I think I should call anyway..."
My words trail off as I notice that my phone is dead. And that's just strange. The battery hadn't been low at all.
In fact, everything is very silent. Aside from my car, there is a quiet that is almost suffocating. No wind, no noise at all. And the darkness of this road is overwhelming. The overcast night isn't helping things. My headlights make it seem like we're the only two people around. Like this patch of light is the only thing left in the world.
"Your phone isn't working, is it?"
I raise my head at her words. Her voice is rough and deep, somewhat contrasting with the sweetness of her face. It's like she wore her voice down during decades of vodka and cigarettes. Utterly unsurprised, she leans closer to the window. A bloody gash is illuminated on her face.
"No." I shake my head. "I don't know what's wrong. It was just fine a minute ago..."
She tilts her head and dark curls shadow her face. "Things tend to die around here."
My throat constricts at her ominous pronouncement. At that moment, I really wish I had just stayed home while Emily visited her parents. But I had to decide that I didn't want to spend Christmas alone. I had to go visit my own mother. And now I find myself in the middle of nowhere with a disturbed person.
I take a deep breath. Even if there is obviously something not quite right about this woman, it shouldn't matter. Her head is injured, she probably has trauma. She needs help.
So why did I feel the need to speed the other way?
She looks at me with dark eyes, darker than midnight. My insides burn as her gaze fixes on me, captures me. I could drive away, find the nearest phone and call help for her.
But I stay.
"I need to get away."
"I didn't think you looked like you wanted to stay on the side of the road," I quip nervously.
"I don't," she says, as if not understanding my bad joke.
Drive away, drive away, drive away...
I nod and open the door for her.
She slips in, as if it isn't strange to get into a stranger's car, as if this was the one thousandth time it happened. The door shuts and for a moment it's just the two of us breathing.
I'm being stupid. There is no reason to be unsettled. She's been hurt and I'm being an asshole. I start moving the car and try relaxing.
"How are you doing?" I ask. "Are you in pain?"
She looks at me as I speak a foreign language. "Why would I be in pain?"
"Your...um...well you head," I say awkwardly.
Her fingers fly up to the gash. "Oh." She rubs it, almost self-consciously. "I forgot."
I worry her head may have suffered damage. "Are you feeling sick or anything? I had a concussion once and I threw up like it was my graduation party all over again."
"I don't feel sick at all," she says. "I'm fine."
I struggle not to scoff. She is far from fine and I'm fairly convinced that she has a concussion. But I don't intend to argue with an injured young woman.
"Is there anywhere that I should take you right away? I'm thinking hospital."
She shakes her head fiercely. "No. Not there."
"I don't think you're thinking clearly."
Her face freezes and she jerks back from me as if I am the enemy. "I have never thought more clearly in my life. Who are you to tell me differently?"
"I think I'm the guy who is giving you a ride in the middle of the night," I say irritably. "Would you rather walk?"
She reaches for the door handle. "Actually yes."
My heart sinks. Years of struggling with temper problems and I unleash it on a poor traumatized woman. "Look I'm sorry. It's late and I didn't get much sleep last night. I'm just...sorry."
Her hand moves from the door. "No, it's all right." She exhales. "You are nice enough to give me a ride. Leave me at the nearest bus station and I'll be good."
I raise an eyebrow, eyes drifting from the midnight road to discreetly examine her. Her dress is a simple sleeveless dress—totally inappropriate or this kind of weather. Her bare feet are twisted up, but dark stains coat her skin. Nothing about this feels right or good. I need to get her to a hospital.
But if I spook her, she might do something dangerous. I have to play it cautiously and find a way to convince her.
"So I'm Jason," I say, striving for casualness. "And you?"
"Freddie."
I smile at the name. "Freddie and Jason meeting, huh? What are the odds?"
Her head leans back against the seat. "Not too high—they faced off a decade before Batman and Superman."
I laugh—mostly relief that she can talk about something normal—and nod. "I think I liked Freddy and Jason better."
"It wasn't an even match." She shakes her head. "Jason is just some kid who died in a lake. He's made a monster from drowning. Freddy was already fucking powerful."
I snort. "Freddy was a child murderer who got his ass kicked by teenagers."
She gazes out the window. "But that's not what he really is," she says quietly. "Haven't you ever seen Wes Craven's New Nightmare?"
I frown. "I think. Once. Some of it."
She looks back at me. "In that movie? Freddy was always more than just a cartoonish movie killer. He was an old evil. The movies contained him, but when the movies stopped, he regained his true power. But do you know the truly fucked up thing? That old evil, the kind that man can never understand? He thought he was Freddy because of the movies. That's why he appeared as him, trying to kill the actress from the original movie."
I blink. "That...is a very fucked up plot."
"Isn't it?" Her hands brush her knees. "Do you know what I always wondered? What happened to Freddy's actor after Freddy manifested. He was never seen again in the film..."
I squint my eyes, trying to see in the darkness ahead. "Really? I'm starting to think I need to watch that movie again. I just thought it was the standard silly slasher shit."
"It was so much more..."
I don't know if I'm actually that eager to see the movie now. But I don't want to insult her weird taste in movies. "You know what horror movie I liked? I always liked that movie where Busta Rhymes kicked Michael Myers ass."
Her nose crinkles. "Did you make that up?"
I laugh a little. "No, I..."
My words die. The quiet that surrounded us is broken by the noise of another car. I look in the rear view window and a chill ripples through my body. A car is following behind us—sans headlights. Anything could have happened to the headlights. But there is something about the way the car is trailing us. I speed up slightly, only for the car to speed up. I slow down, trying to convince myself it's nothing.
Freddie looks back and her face grows wan. "Drive faster."
"What?"
She whirls her head back to me, brown eyes full of fear. "If they get too close, it will be bad."
"Why? What aren't you telling me?" My eyes drifted back to the pursuing car. "Did they hurt you."
She exhaled. "No."
"Then why do you care if they catch up?" I grimace. "Are they going to hurt you?"
"No."
"Then what is it?" I ask in exasperation.
"If they catch up...they'll hurt you."