Don't Get Into Cars With Strangers

Dear diary,

I've heard that there's no rest for the wicked. In my case, this appears to be true.

The moon is shining like a hollow lamp in the sky, the air is frigid and heavy, and I cannot possibly get a wink of sleep. I've been staring blankly out of the window for the past few hours, and my bright digital clock tells me it's 3:10 am.

I am writing this because I fear that if I do not I will surely lose what is left of my sanity. I killed him. I pushed the sharp blade into his soft flesh, piercing his lungs. I killed him, and I meant it.

Let me explain, before you consider me a complete monster. It began last week, when I was walking home from school with my best friend Alex. Her sleek black hair was, as ever, tied up in a high ponytail, her model-esque face perfected with several layers of makeup. I was always jealous of her, and if I am honest, a little in love.

My short blonde hair was spiked up with gel, my sky-blue eyes focused on the road ahead, illuminated by the dim evening light of the sun. Red and orange hues signaled the golden hour, and a strange atmosphere lingered in the air.

We chatted about school, and I tried not to show my jealousy as Alex regaled me with tales of her weekends escapades, including kissing Danny Jones at Gabrielle's party. I hadn't been invited, as usual. I'm not exactly a loser, but I'm not exactly, not a loser, either. My alternative taste in clothing and lack of traditional femininity probably didn't help.

My friend's slightly high-pitched story telling was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up beside us and window being rolled down, followed by a man speaking in a gruff tone.

"Hi, gorgeous" He smirked as we turned around to see the perpetrator looking at us through his open car window. I was not impressed by the tattered state of his red truck.

Deep green eyes focused on Alex, who, with slightly flushed cheeks, muttered a 'hello'. The man put greasy hands through tussles of brown hair, not moving his gaze away from her for a second.

"Need a lift, ladies?" He offered.

Now, given that this man was at least thirty years old, and we're sixteen, my immediate response was a firm 'no', but Alex seemed to have different ideas. She rolled her eyes at me and told me to be cool.

"There's another mile until we get to yours" Alex batted her eyelashes.

I had a lot of trouble saying no to her, one of my many flaws, so I followed her into the truck despite my every instinct telling me to run.

If I had been watching myself in that moment I would have been shouting obscenities, howling how stupid I was being. I didn't want to let her get in the truck alone though, and that's how I justified the awkward journey.

Predictably, the man did not proceed to take us straight home, despite our telling him multiple times where I lived, and how my mum was expecting us soon; since Alex usually came back to mine after school, my mum had started cooking for both of us.

We drove down a narrow, winding road, overlooked by trees and the ominous shadows they cast, eventually pulling up outside a small wooden house.

"I'm just getting some cigarettes, wanna come in for a minute?" The man opened his door, waiting for our response.

I followed Alex's lead and walked with her to the front door, feeling my heart race like a formula one driver, and my legs start to shake. This was definitely dodgy, to say the least.

Inside the house I was first struck by the smell, pungent cigarette smoke and alcohol. Did he soak the walls with beer and vodka?

The hallway was dimly lit by exposed light bulbs, which poorly illuminated the tattered grey wallpaper and dirty mirrors on the walls. Alex and me stood awkwardly for a few moments, while the man clattered around in the kitchen.

"I think we should just leave" I whispered to Alex, hoping she would see reason.

"It's fine, Leah"

She whispered back, checking her hair in the mirror as though we were back in the school bathroom, and not in some strangers dingy house. "Chill out" She turned around to face me and leaned closer to press her soft lips against my cheek.

Okay, so I know escaping a pressing threat is more important than pursuing a crush, but, what could I do? I'd been fantasizing about those lips for years.

Her glistening brown eyes fixed on my face, as her pretty smile widened, and I hesitantly nodded, trying to calm my breathing.

"Fine" I smiled.

When the man returned the smell of smoke intensified, the culprit being the lit cigarette in his mouth, and two straights in his right hand. He balanced two beers in his other hand, as he handed us each a cigarette. I wasn't about to say no; I needed something to relieve my anxiety. I should have said no.

I took in a deep drag, letting the sharp inhale of smoke fill my lungs, and with my free hand I gladly took one of the beers.

I thanked the man, realizing in that moment that we didn't even know what he was called.

"What's your name, anyway?" I questioned, before gulping down the alcoholic liquid, trying to pretend we were just having a friendly conversation.

"It's Tim, yours?" He lent back against the dark kitchen door.

"Leah" I reluctantly informed, suddenly beginning to feel a little...hazy.

I'm not a light-weight; I can down straight vodka without puking, so I knew something was wrong. I tried to dismiss it as nothing, just stress, but it didn't dissipate.

"I'm Alex" My naïve friend smiled, flashing pearly white teeth.

"Now we know each other" Tim grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Once I'd let the beer fill up my grumbling belly, I decided it was time to go. I was feeling worse and worse with every moment, dizziness confusing my thoughts. This had gone on too long, and I’m not dumb; Tim was not good news. My phone pressed against the edge of my hip through my jean pocket, reminding me of it’s presence. At least I could get hold of my mum.

“We should probably go” I put out my half-smoked cigarette on the moldy looking ashtray which lay on the oak cabinet to my right. “My mum will freak out if we’re really late” I tried to lighten the mood, and keep from falling over.

“How about another drink, first?” Tim offered. “I’ve got stronger stuff, you know” He winked at Alex, who looked at me with begging, glossy eyes that were hard to read.

“Sorry, we should go, right Alex” I looked at her with an expression meant to communicate let’s get the hell out of here!

Alex shrugged and, with a sigh, agreed, clumsily walking with me towards the door. Tim was standing in front of our escape before we could even register his movements properly, and it was at this point that I truly began to get scared. My fear intensified immensely when he chortled, shaking his head mockingly at us, and continued to grow when my once clear vision began to fade, my head filled with a strange, swarming sensation.

“What did you think was going to happen?” He had us there, I mean, what were we thinking?

“I’ll...I'll call the police” My threat was somewhat dulled by the fact my words were slurred, as I stood in front of Alex in a vain attempt to protect her.

“Will you?” He cocked his head to the side, jamming a rough hand into my pocket and forcing the phone into his grip.

“Hey!” I reached to try and grab it, but I’m five-foot two, and he was a grown man, so he easily dangled it above my head. I prayed in the back of my mind that Alex still had her phone, but before I could try and assess that possibility, the man grabbed my wrist and threw me to the cold floor with a loud thud.

“Ouch” I exclaimed, nursing my now aching arm.

With blurred vision I watched as Alex stumbled up the stairs, pursued swiftly by Tim. By the time I managed to get back on my heavy feet they were out of sight, and I could only barely hear shuffles from upstairs.

I checked the door. Obviously, it was locked. With a sigh I assessed my options. I could try and climb out of one of the small windows visible from the crack in the door that led to the dark living room, but then what? I couldn’t leave Alex with him for the time it would take to get home, and, frankly, I wasn’t even sure where we were. I needed to get Alex, and, if she had it, her phone, safe.

With this goal in mind I made my way up the stairs, moving as fast as I could, despite feeling like I'd just downed half a liter of spirits, as the sounds of yelps echoed from upstairs. At the top of the stairs was a long corridor, with as little light as the rest of the house, which led to three rooms behind old wooden doors. Frantic shouts for help and unnerving banging sounds were soon replaced by the creaking of a door, out of which Tim began to emerge.

I instinctively crouched down so as to avoid detection, trying my best not to hurl. What the hell did he give us? I watched with bated breath through the gaps in the top of the stairs as Tim locked the door, before disappearing into another room.

Once he was gone I rushed towards the room Alex was in, yanking at the door, begging it fruitlessly to open. Not wanting to make too much noise, I silently looked around for anything I could use as a lock-pick. Nothing.

“Alex” I whispered through the door.

“Leah” Her voice was hoarse and chocked with tears. “He hurt me” She sobbed.

Tears welled up in my own eyes as I heard my friend’s distress, and I vowed to get her out of there. My goal was suddenly clear; stop Tim by all means necessary.

I didn’t know exactly what his goal was, to murder us? Torture us? Worse? Whatever he wanted to do, I wasn’t about to let him, so I tiptoed back down the stairs and into the kitchen, looking around the discolored tiles until I found a knife rack. I pulled out the sharpest knife I could see and made my way back upstairs to search for our captor.

“Leah” His voice echoed my name in a sing-song tone. It came from downstairs. “I just want to talk” His heavy footsteps pounded on the wood of the floor, moving closer and closer to the stairs.

“Are you up there?” I could hear the smirk in his chilling voice as I hid, my back pressed against the wall, wondering whether or not the world would stop spinning by the time he reached the top of the stairs.

The footsteps grew closer with each thud produced by his boot hitting the steps. I readied the knife, my heart pounding painfully against my heaving chest. You have to do it, I reminded myself.

His boot hit the top step, and I could just about see his body emerge onto the hallway. Before he could hit me with the large wooden bat in his hand, I struck. The knife penetrated his abdomen, hitting muscle and tissue.

He gasped in pain, looking at me with wide, surprised eyes. My eyes, however, were suddenly focused on the shining keys hanging out of his jean pocket. I grabbed the keys and pushed his bleeding body down the stairs, listening to each blood curdling thud until it hit the bottom.

I rushed with unstable legs to the room Alex was in, trying to work the keys with my shaking hands until the door opened. When I rushed inside the first thing I noticed was the blood. Lots of it. Alex had been stabbed in the stomach. Her wrists were tied tightly to a metallic bed-frame, her limp body laying strewed out on a tattered mattress.

“Alex” I exclaimed, rapidly untying her and checking for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there.

Her eyes opened slowly as she looked at me with a sickeningly pained expression on her unnaturally pale face. I realized with horror that she had finished her beer, and the cigarette, so, whatever drugs Tim put in them, Alex had gotten a full dose.

Once help came the shock seemed to wear off, and the reality set in. I sat in the back of the ambulance, my head still fuzzy, holding Alex’s sweating hand, as we whizzed to the hospital. Panic set in during the torturous hours of waiting, and waiting, and waiting, until a doctor finally emerged into the waiting room to tell us the situation.

“She’ll be fine” He assured, sending a wave of relief through my entire body.

“Thank you” I began to sob, all of the emotions from the day creeping up on me, causing me to finally crumble and cry.

I went home the next day, after spending the night in hospital with Alex and her parents. Despite the praise I got from my own and her parents, I just felt numb, as though it had all just been a dream. I wish it was.

The day after the ordeal probably would have been better if it hadn’t been a Saturday, if I had been distracted by school, but it was the weekend, and I had too much time to think. That’s what I’ve been doing since, and it is now 3:30 am, Sunday morning.

She’s safe, I should be plenty able to sleep, but the flashbacks keep playing over and over in my mind like a rerun of a bad movie. The blood, the fear, his face, it’s like I never really got away.

Despite all of that, the worst part is the enjoyment that killing him brought me. I hate to admit it, but, it made me feel alive. I’m glad I killed him, and I’m not sure I know myself anymore, but there's another reason I cannot sleep. Another fact I feel will turn me into an insomniac. The two bodies the police found in his basement.