What defines Ethan

Rain was pouring so hard that Ethan considered pulling over until it passed. The wipers were swishing as fast as the setting allowed but it wasn’t enough, the rain continued falling, blurring the windshield, the road ahead, the world. The water ran down the windows like a waterfall, headlights refracting off every drop of rain, creating a light show in the night, limiting his visibility to a couple of metres. 

He regretted his decision to storm out of the house. Storming out during an argument was one thing, but storming out during an actual storm was another. He had no idea where he was, or how long he’d been driving. He was in such a rage that he just sped off, not really caring if he skidded into a tree or blew through a red and was collected by a truck and by the time he’d calmed down he realised he was not in the right headspace.

It was a stupid fight. One they could work out, and even if they couldn’t, there were more mature ways to deal with it.

Through the curtain of rain he saw bright lights and he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. It could have been a building, stadium lights or truck headlights but as he got closer the lights formed into the neon sign of a diner. 

Ethan pulled into the parking lot and found a space near the entrance. Opening the car door, the cabin was filled with the sound of rain relentlessly pounding the roof and the road and Ethan hurried to the door. 

Minutes later he was back in the car, coffee in the drinks holder and the radio on. He sat back with his eyes closed, simultaneously listening to Taylor Swift and the constant, hollow rhythm of the rain on the roof. 

As the song ended and the news took over, his phone buzzed and he glanced at it. It was another message from Megan but he didn’t bother reading it. He knew it would be something along the lines of how sorry she was and to come home. 

Same story. Same Story. Different Day.

In tonight’s top story, police are still on the hunt for the man known as the Oak Grove killer. Responsible for a spate of deaths beginning three years ago, he has murdered seven people so far, police…

The phone buzzed again. Another one from Megan, and he wondered if her pleadings had turned to anger. Threatening him, his things or leaving him. Maybe all three. She wasn’t beyond vindictiveness.

He wasn’t ready yet. Time, and coffee, were helping but the idea of dealing with her, their relationship, he wasn’t ready for that.

But he had nowhere else to go and he couldn’t spend the rest of his night in the car.

...score a late goal to steal victory from the jaws of defeat and propel them to the top of the ladder in a wet and wild match.

Noticing his windows had fogged up, Ethan took a drink of his rapidly cooling coffee and turned the key in the ignition. The car growled to life and he turned the demisters on, letting the car warm up and the fog recede.

The rain had settled, coming down in a steady pattering and Ethan opened his phone, checking the maps app to see where he was.

“Whoa,” he said when the GPS pinpointed his location. He was an hour south in a suburb he’d never visited before. 

Putting the car into reverse, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed north, back the way he’d come. He passed by closed businesses, minimal lights on ensuring that they were still in the public eye, and then into suburbia. Houses, cars, lights on, dinners cooking, tvs on, family life.

A pang of regret mixed with anger struck Ethan, feeling it in his heart and he almost turned the car around but he tightened his grip on the wheel and continued on. Soon suburbia thinned out and he passed by a sign that said Now leaving Oak Grove and he was driving along a windy, single-lane road surrounded by tall trees that made it seem darker than dark. The headlights illuminated the trees behind the falling rain, giving him glimpses of long green grass and the skinny, finger-like branches reaching down, as if they were trying to pick up the car.

There was nothing here. No houses, no cars, no signs. Nothing man made except the road and it was at this moment he felt like the only person on Earth. Only him and his thoughts.

Those thoughts were on the argument and he was so distracted by it, he almost missed the man on the side of the road, dressed in a sweater and had his hand out, and thumb pointing up. He drove past and Ethan looked back, though he couldn’t see him in the dark.

Poor guy, stuck in this weather. He looked soaked to the skin. Should I stop? Dad told me to never pick up hitchhikers. But Megan said I never take a risk.

Before he realised what he was doing, the car was pulled over to the side of the road, idling in the rain, and he was looking in his rearview mirror, waiting.

Nothing.

Maybe he imagined it.

For some reason his heart was thumping in his chest, and he watched from the mirror, anticipation growing as the immediate area behind him lit up a devilish red. Just as Ethan was about to take off he saw the man fade into view, as if materialising out of nowhere.

The man approached and Ethan almost took off as a reflex. He realised how ridiculous and dangerous this was. Who was this man? Why was he out in the middle of nowhere in the driving rain? How did he get here? Can I just leave him here after stopping? Why am I picking him up? He could be the Oak Grove killer. No one deserves to be abandoned here. His car may have broken down, or maybe he had an argument with his girlfriend.

All these thoughts crowded his mind, fighting to be front and centre and force him to make a decision but in the end, the decision was made for him.

Knock. Knock.

He was at the window, peering in and Ethan pressed the button to lower it. He was greeted with the sound of falling rain, dripping from branches and leaves into freshly formed puddles. It filled his car, drowning out the sound of the radio.

“Thanks for stopping!” 

He sounded normal, not a killer. 

What does a killer sound like?

 Just a guy in a bad situation. He was wearing a hoodie with the hood drawn over his head and Ethan could only catch a glimpse of a week's growth on rough skin; he guessed the man was in his 40s or 50s.

“No problem. What happened?” Ethan asked, turning down the radio.

“My piece of crap car broke down. Do you have a phone I can use so I can call a tow truck?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ethan said grabbing his phone. He had no signal, which didn’t surprise him given the area. He moved it around, holding it up higher, trying to capture even a single bar but no luck.

“Sorry, no signal.”

The man’s head dropped, “No problem. I’ll wait until morning,” he said and turned to leave.

You did your best. You don’t owe him anything more, his mind said.

“Wait,” Ethan called.

The man appeared at the window again.

“Where were you heading?”

The man pointed down the road, the same way Ethan was going, “Legana,” he said.

Ethan looked at his maps app. The road led to a branch with Legana to the left and his home on the right. It would add at least 30 - 40 minutes to his drive.

“As long as I can find a phone or get a hotel for the night,” the man continued, “I can sort out the car in the morning.”

Ethan chewed on his lip, deciding.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to give me a ride,” he said. “It’s not an ideal place to pick up hitchhikers.”

He was right, but Ethan had been raised to be a good person and this guy was stuck, soaking wet, in the middle of nowhere. At least that is what he thought to justify it. But in the back of his mind he could hear his own voice telling him that he was just delaying so he didn’t have to go home. “I can’t leave you out here on your own,” he said. “Hop in.”

The man clasped his hands together and shook them like he was giving a small prayer, “Thank you. Thank you,” he said, pulling the door open and climbing in.

He was taller than Ethan thought, his knees pressing against the dash. He pulled his hood back, revealing a mid-40s man with short, greying hair, slick and wet. The man held out his hand, “Gary.”

“Ethan,” he said, shaking his hand. He put the car into drive and pulled onto the road. The rain still fell at a constant beat, the wipers swishing and swooping and the car splashed through puddles.

It was after five minutes of driving in silence that Ethan realised how tense he was. His hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel so tightly and he forced himself to loosen up, to relax. The man was harmless, what was he worried about? .

“What made you stop?” Gary asked, breaking the silence.

Ethan shrugged, eyes on the road, “My girlfriend said I don’t take risks.”

Gary laughed, “Is that all?”

“I’m in no hurry to get home.”

“I can tell.”

Ethan looked over at him, eyebrows raised.

Gary pointed at his phone, “Map says you’re going right at the fork, not left.”

“Suppose so.”

“Trouble with the missus?”

“How’d you guess?”

Gary indicated around them, “Dark, stormy night. No one is driving in this weather unless they have too.”

Perceptive.

“Yeah, we had a dumb fight.”

“Married or a girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend.”

“Name?”

“Megan.”

“Live together I guess?”

Ethan nodded.

“How long?”

“How long?”

“You been together.”

“Oh, umm,” Ethan thought back to when they met. Was it three or four years ago? “Four ye-no wait. It was two years ago. Around the time I got my job.”

“Happy?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you happy with her?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

Ethan was focused on the road before him, cats eyes reflecting off his headlights, but he felt Gary’s eyes on him, staring, waiting.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

“What do you do?”

“Huh?”

“Job. What do you do? You said you met your girlfriend when you got your job.”

“Oh, I’m just an admin assistant.”

“Like it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Gary grunted a laugh, “Can’t say anything I described anything I like as ‘fine’.”

“Well it’s a job, you know?”

“True. It is.”

“Plus we need the money.”

“Why?”

Ethan shrugged, “Savings. House. Kids.”

“You want kids?”

“...yeah.”

“Does she want kids?”

“Yes.”

“She’s older than you.” It was a statement, not a question.

Ethan nodded, “How’d you guess?”

“She’s the one pushing for kids, isn’t she? Feels her biological clock is ticking, probably the last of her social circle without kids, she sees them, wants her own but pushing late 30s it becomes riskier with age.”

Jesus, this guy.

“I suppose so,” was all Ethan could say.

“You should leave her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Simple psychology, Ethan. You’re not happy with Megan. You forgot how long you’d been together. And not by a year, but two, indicating the relationship feels long. You described your relationship as ‘fine’, she’s forcing kids on you because of social pressure and her own failures. They are not your problems, they’re hers and she deals with them by projecting them on to you.”

“Wh-why are you asking me this?” Ethan stammered. Of all the hitchhikers he could have picked up, he had to get Sigmund Freud.

“I always ask them.”

“Them? Who?”

“Don’t change the subject?” 

“What?”

“Are you happy? Is this a minor bump in an otherwise smooth road?”

“What are you? My shrink,” Ethan said with a short, halfhearted laugh. He was trying to bring levity into the conversation. But he could still feel Gary’s intense gaze on him, like he was looking into his soul.

“Do you feel she is unfair to you? Treats you poorly?”

A car was coming the other way, the first one he had seen for what felt like an age. The headlights lit up the car’s cabin and Ethan looked at Gary. The man was serious looking, the lights from the oncoming car cast half his face in shadows, but showed a pale crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. He shrugged, “I suppose no worse than I treat her.”

“What was the argument about?”

Ethan waved a hand, like he was a Jedi trying to mind trick Gary, “Oh, something stupid I did.”

“See.”

“What?”

“The argument was about something stupid you did. Be honest with yourself, Ethan, How stupid was it?”

Ethan thought about the argument. He’d come home from a stressful day at work, his boss having dumped something on him at the last minute and bullying him into finishing it before he went home. That already had him off-guard and he forgot to tell Megan he would be late home and in turn forgot to pick up dinner because the shops had closed by the time he finished. He arrived home and she started on him, questioning where he was and why he didn’t tell her. Suspicious he was cheating on her or something equally silly.

For a reason he couldn’t pinpoint, he told all this to Gary and he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was cathartic. A release and he felt like he was breathing easier. No longer huffing and puffing, ready to blow the house down.

“That’s not a healthy relationship, Ethan. Sure you made a mistake in not telling her, but it’s not worth the blow up, is it? You know how you deal with something unforeseen like that occurring? You go get your favourite take out and unwind by reminiscing about the good times.”

“She doesn’t eat takeout,” Ethan said lamely.

“Of course she doesn’t. Health nut?”

Ethan nodded.

“You’ve had numerous arguments, and they’re escalating aren’t they?”

Ethan nodded again, “How did you know?”

“Because no one storms out and drives an hour away over an isolated argument. This has been building in you Ethan and it’s time you let it go.”

Ethan said nothing and they drove on in silence. Of all the things he expected to happen when he picked up a hitchhiker, this wasn’t one of them. They came to the fork in the road and Ethan took it left, the sign pointing to Legana.

“You work a job you don’t like-”

“-How do you know?”

“You said you were ‘just an admin assistant’. You think it’s low work.” Ethan huffed and Gary continued. “And you only do it to build a future for a woman you don’t love.”

Ethan remained silent.

“What are you truly passionate about Ethan?”

“How about this rain?” Ethan said, “I wish it would ease up, I can’t see a thing.”

“You’re doing fine. Don’t change the subject.”

Ethan sighed, “I don’t know.”

“Now come on, Ethan. We’re doing so well. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“Why are you even asking?”

“I told you why.”

Ethan couldn’t remember, instead he said, “You’ll laugh.”

“Don’t deflect.”

Just humour the guy.

“I wanted to be a writer.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Ethan shrugged, “I find it embarrassing.”

“To be an author?”

“Telling people I write.”

“Are you published?”

“No.”

“When you do, would you be embarrassed to tell people?”

Ethan thought about it, swaying his head from side-to-side as he did, “No.”

“You would be proud?”

“I’ve had a long-held dream of visiting a bookstore and seeing my name amongst the greats; Christie, King, Woolf, Tolkien, Stine.”

“Eclectic list.” 

“Some of my favourites.”

“What do you write?”

“Hmm?”

“Genre. What genre do you write?”

“Oh. I’ve written some children’s stories and a couple of mystery’s.”

“Does she approve?”

“Who? Megan?”

“Yes Megan.”

“She thinks it’s stupid. That I’m wasting my time.”

As he said it, he felt tension releasing in his chest, like it was easier to breath. How long have I been living with this?

Just ahead of them street lights appeared and they hit the main street of Legana. The road was mostly empty.

“You can let me off here,” Gary said, pointing to a dark intersection.

Grateful and relieved, Ethan pulled over and Gary opened the door and climbed out. Looking back in, the light reflecting off his crescent moon scar.

“There are two things you need to ask yourself.”

“What’s that?”

“Who is Ethan, and what defines him.”

Ethan didn’t reply and Gary continued, “You are very lucky tonight.”

Ethan frowned. What does that mean?

Gary shut the door and Ethan drove off, looking in his mirror as the figure of Gary, standing there in the rain, got smaller and smaller until he disappeared.

“What a strange, strange experience,” Ethan said, turning up the radio and catching the tail-end of the latest pop hit and the news was back.

Breaking news on the Oak Grove killer. Celia Hammond, wife of recently murdered Keith Hammond and survivor of the attack, has given police a description of the killer. A sketch of can be found on our website, but he was described as over six feet tall, short grey hair and a distinctive crescent moon-shaped scar on his cheek.

It was then Ethan realised what Gary had said earlier; I always ask them.

Them?

His victims.