𝗣 𝗬 𝗥 𝗢 𝗠 𝗔 𝗡 𝗜 𝗔 | BOOK THREE

T H I R T Y - S E V E N

[third person]

A woman had been sitting in her car, parked on the side of the road for nearly four hours by the time the sun began to rise. She was driving her damndest to get away from the troubles back at home—an argument over money and the question, could she and her boyfriend afford the apartment they lived in now that he had just gambled away half of the money they saved to even qualify for the apartment. She was angry, but yearned to just go home and sleep for days. It was almost spring—almost. The days were still cold, meaning that the nights were even colder. Her car had started to make a sputtering, broken down sound during her drive. She had pulled over, like a responsible human being, and called for a tow truck. She was only twenty minutes outside the outskirts of town, it shouldn't take four hours to get to her. Maybe they went in the opposite direction? Or maybe an even bigger call came in. All she knew was that two hours ago, her car ran out of gas and she was freezing. Her toes were numb, an ache spreading up through her shins clouded her mind, and her hands trembled from the cold. When she got home, she was going to take a warm shower and maybe never get out. A light approaching from behind her car caught her eye in particular. It was a larger vehicle with flashing yellow lights above the cabin. A tow truck. She exhales with joy and climbed out of her car, stepping outside. The tow truck pulls up behind her car and the driver climbs out, nodding to her. It's the early hours of the morning, about five am, not that the woman would know—her cellphone died twenty minutes ago, the battery was already pretty low when she left for her drive. The man approaches the woman and they nod to one another, exhaling sharply in the brisk morning air.

"Thank you so much for coming to help," The woman says, extending a hand towards the driver.

"No, the pleasure is all mine," He says, taking her hand in his own.

He twists her arm around, spinning her so her back is facing him. Her arm is used as leverage against her back, shoving her against her car. A grunt escapes her lips and she gasps for air. Something sharp presses to her neck, cold and dangerous.

"Walk to the truck and get in the passenger seat, quietly." He whispers, pressing his lips against her ear.

He releases her arm and allows her to walk. She follows his instructions and climbs into the passenger's seat of the truck. He reaches inside her car and finds a purse containing a wallet, checkbook, and an array of cards. He pockets the wallet card and checkbook and returns to the tow truck. He climbs in and takes his seat behind the steering wheel. He still has the knife in hand and points it at her for the entirety of the three hour drive he takes her on. It's almost eight a.m. when he pulls the to truck over into a secluded Forrest area, protected and hidden behind a large row of trees, making her climb out. When she climbs out, she can hear the busy interstate just beyond the other side of the trees, but they're too far hidden away, thick behind the brush. He takes her hand in his own and retrieves the knife from his waist band, raising it to her throat.

"Walk into the grass," He says sharply. "And strip."

She walks into the grass, shivering as it brushes against her thigh. She unzips her thick winter jacket, then removes her fleece top beneath that. She reaches down and removes her jeans and stands in nothing but her bra and underwear. The man approaches her, tilting his head. He takes in the sight of her, smiles for a moment, then stops. His hand moves quickly and the woman makes a strangled gasping noise. The blade of his knife is colored red with her blood. Her throat is slit wide open, reaching deep into her neck. Blood fills her windpipe, strangling her. The blood gushes quickly and she collapses to the ground. When the man is good and sure that she's dead, he returns to his truck and grabs a box of matches and bottle of lighter fluid and burns what remains. After the fire is long-since put out, he returns to his truck and retrieves the card from his pocket, an eyebrow raised. He grabs his cellphone and dials a number, raising it to his ear.

"Hi, yes, my Daughter wanted me to call to see if I could come in and withdraw some money from her account. She needs some cash but cannot make it there today on time so she wanted me to come and collect it. Um, yes, her name is Marie Caldwell." He says.

He drives away out of the thicket and returns to the interstate. He drives a three and a half hour drive into the heart of Chicago and returns to his apartment, a run down apartment with little to no belongings. He climbs into his bed and sleeps for a little less than ten hours and wakes around nine at night, while the rest of the world is just going to sleep. He stands, showers, gets dressed, and returns to the outside world and a minimum wage job he hates. He has a plan, a plan that should make him some money and get him out of the Hell he is stuck in now.