The Man in the Backseat (#FreeYourShorts #horrorthriller)

Septem

         Your captor finally emerges after what feels like several agonizingly long hours, but it's probably only been a few minutes.

        "You thought you could get away," he rumbles, his voice like low and distant thunder, "didn't you?" He chuckles softly to himself, as if this whole situation is just a joke to him.

        As if your life is just a joke.

       "Mrrrrrr," you say against the fabric, twitching erratically as if you've been struck by lightning.

       He laughs again, louder this time. "Really, it's funny how you actually thought you could escape from me." He's standing beside you in the blink of an eye, gripping your chin and jerking your face so you're looking directly in his eyes. "No one, and I mean no one, escapes from me."

        "Mmmmmm!" you protest, tugging your face away so you don't have to look in the wicked glint of his dark eyes. You're more afraid than ever, the fear tackling your mind to the ground.

        He pulls something long and sharp from his back pocket, holding it up so you can get a clear glimpse of it.

        A knife.

        "MMMMMMM! MRRRRMMMM MMMMM!" you scream, trying desperately to get as far away from the deadly weapon as you can. But you can't move.

        Which is exactly what he wants.

        He steps behind you in one fluid motion and presses it to you neck, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to threaten you. "So now you must be punished. I'm doing the world a favor, really. One less person to worry about, am I right?" He presses harder when you don't answer. "Am I right?"

        You let out a small gurgle and start to cry again. There's no getting out of this. There's no going home. There's no tomorrow. No getting married. No children. No job. 

        No more life.

        But there's a small chance you could survive. If only you could get out of these binds...

        And then you think of something.

        Three...

        Two...

         One...

         You tilt your head slightly forward, careful not to let the knife press too hard against your skin. And then you throw it back with as much force as you can muster.

         A sickening crack resonates through the room, followed by an infuriated roar. Seizing the precious seconds you have, you pull as hard as you can on the binds.

         And then one of your hands pop out.

        You quickly unfasten your other wrist and ankles, jump down from the platform, and run to the door he came in from as fast as you can. You tug on the knob, but it won't budge.

        It's locked.

        You can't get out. You were so close, but you're not going to make it.

        Then he's behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground as you kick and thrash and scream. You squirm as hard as you can for one last time, but you don't know that.

        And he begins to slice.