Page 8 of Caught in the Middle

Chapter Four

Although now sitting in the front passenger seat, Lucy doesn't say a single word in Oliver's car for another three hours, despite Oliver's efforts to make conversation.

What do you study? Do you have a boyfriend? What do your parents do?

But Lucy still had a very bad feeling about this, and tried to concentrate on listening to her fight or flight instincts instead.

This man, who she has never met before in her life is taking her to an unknown destination, and is asking her to trust him, because he's going to save her life. But what are the chances of that?

She couldn't help but think the worst. Things like this don't happen to girls like her. She could easily go through her whole life with nobody knowing who she was, in a dead end job, meet a boring husband and have plain looking children. And she was okay with that. She didn't want to make the front page of the national newspapers as an idiot student who got into a strangers car and subsequently murdered.

But she couldn't shrug that small, niggling feeling somewhere in her heart that he was telling the truth. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why though. He’d just gone from holding a gun to her head, to being absolutely normal.. Softly spoken. There was now a charming air about him. Just like that.

But she had watched a documentary a few days back (avoiding studying as usual) about Serial Killers, and how one of the main traits of a psychopath is how charming they were, and that's how they managed to lure their victims to their death.

Take Ted Bundy, for example, he was very good looking, well-spoken and friendly. Just like Oliver is.

Yet he murdered loads of college girls.

She glanced subtly over at him, watching him drive down the busy motorway they were now on. He didn't seem stressed or agitated, his lips twitching as he hummed whatever top ten track was on the radio.

Lucy had never believed in God, but at that moment she begged him not to make Oliver a murderer.

Finally, after a lot of deliberation, she tried to think rationally. If he was a murderer - and that was a very plausible option - she should try and be nice to him, try and get him to see her as a human who just wants to go home. Maybe, if she can get him to like her, he might let her go.

'Oliver, when will you tell me what's going on?'

He seems taken aback at her sudden desire to talk.

'I promise, as soon as we get to our destination, and I know we are safe, I'll tell you everything,' he pulls his eyes away from the road for half a second to look at her, 'you just have to trust me, okay?'

She nods, hoping to convince him that she does. She watched him as his jaw clenches and unclenches, and he grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

'Listen,' he blurts out, 'I'm really sorry that I pulled my gun out on you earlier, I'm feeling real guilty about that.'

'It's okay, I understand.'

'No, it's not okay, I thought you might have been... well, a set up, but that's not an excuse. I should never had pulled my gun out on a lady, especially not one that I'm meant to be helping.

'Don't worry about it, honestly.' She tried to force a smile, although her gut churns when she remembers how scared she was just a few hours ago.

Even though she was pretending that she trusted Oliver entirely, Lucy tried to stay alert and remember the exact route they were travelling.

You know, just in case.

Despite her best efforts, however, when the sun began to set, she could feel her eyes getting heavier, and her desire to stay alert and in control was over powered by her hangover.

She didn't know how long she had been asleep for before she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to rouse her.

'Lucy,' a now familiar Irish voice whispered, 'we're here, wake up.'

It took Lucy only half a second before she woke up with a start. Angry at herself for dozing off, her whole body tensed, ready to pounce, ready to fight whatever was about to happen to her.

She frantically took in the view out of the windshield, and it didn't ease her mind in the slightest.

In fact, quite the opposite, they were in the car park of a very dodgy looking council estate.

High rise apartment blocks towered over them, and she could smell the strong stench of weed seeping through the small crack in the window. Although she couldn't see very well through the darkness, she could make out groups of figures huddled in different areas of the communal basketball court in front of them. She could just see the red light from the tips of their cigarettes or joints.

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