Page 25 of Not This Way

“Life,” he said quietly, “is a fleeting thing.”

As the truck sped into the night, the man felt his pulse race. With each passing mile, the grim reality of her situation would become more apparent, the way it did withallof them.

He peered ahead at the dark night roads. He liked to work at night, in the solitude and the quiet.

It was like working in the rain.

The world just seemed… smaller somehow when the streets cleared late at night.

The truck’s headlights pierced through the darkness ahead as it sped along the desolate road.

“It won’t be long now,” he said, hoping to comfort the woman, like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

Suddenly, a flickering red and blue glow appeared in the distance, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding landscape. The driver’s heart skipped a beat; a police traffic stop lay directly ahead. Two uniformed officers stood next to their patrol car, scrutinizing one other late-night vehicle before waving it through.

“Damn,” the killer muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he weighed his options. He couldn’t risk turning back now; it would only alarm them. But the thought of being caught with a captive victim in his truck sent chills down his spine.

“Stay quiet,” he hissed at the girl in the back, aware that her pleading eyes were still watching him through the rearview mirror. “Or I swear, you’ll regret it.” He showed her his knife, making sure she had a long look at the rust-stained ridge.

As the truck neared the checkpoint, the man of sorrows’ anxiety reached new heights. Desperation clawed at his insides, threatening to consume him. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants and tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself that he had talked his way out of worse situations before.

He glanced in the back seat, grabbed at the woman’s shirt, and pulled her forward.

She fell into the leg room between the back seat and the front, lodged in the dark, in the shadows.

The seat was now clear.

The car empty.

She let out a faint gasp as she fell, but then went quiet.

For now.

“If I go down,” he whispered, “I’ll cut your throat before they take me.”

She held her breath.

“Evening, Officer,” he said with forced cheerfulness as he rolled down the window. The first officer approached, shining his flashlight into the cab.

“License and registration, please,” the officer commanded, his voice stern and unwavering. The killer fumbled for the documents, careful to keep his trembling hands hidden from view.

“Been drinking tonight?” the second officer asked, leaning in closer to get a better look at the driver. The killer’s heart thumped in his chest, but he managed a convincing smile.

“Water only, I’m afraid. Long drive,” he replied, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

“Where you headed?” the first officer inquired, scanning the truck’s interior with suspicion. His eyes moved over the backseat.

But his angle didn’t give him the crucial glance into the leg space between the seats.

“Home. Just finished a delivery,” the killer lied, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves. He had always hated cops.

The officers exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as if they might ask to search the truck—an eventuality the killer knew he couldn’t afford. His right hand, hidden by his thigh, squeezed tightly around the hilt of his knife. He fought to keep his face neutral, but inside, his thoughts raced with panic and dread.

“Alright, just be careful out there,” the first officer finally said, handing back the license and registration. The killer exhaled in relief, nodding his thanks.

As he rolled up the window, he half expected them to change their mind. To try and stop him.

But it didn’t happen.

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