Chapter 2: Wolves in the Dark

The girl shot me a wary look.

Her eyes narrowed, weighing if she should trust me or bolt. She clutched her tote closer, her shoulders rising defensively.

She mumbled, not exactly polite,

"Look, just mind your own business, alright? I told you, it’s government stuff. Not just anybody gets this shot."

Her voice was sharp, like she was repeating something she’d been told to say. 'Government stuff' sounded more like a password than a real answer. I swallowed a sigh—she was still clinging to her fantasy.

I couldn’t help it—I let out a short, bitter laugh.

The absurdity finally broke through my patience. The sound was harsher than I meant, echoing in the cramped car. I covered my mouth, but I knew my disbelief showed.

I glanced at her in the mirror, then, at a loss for words, clicked on my turn signal and pulled over to the shoulder.

The cold from outside seeped in as I rolled down my window an inch, breath fogging in the air between us. The tires crunched on gravel as I eased onto the shoulder, a thin mist curling across the fields. I put the car in park and tried to steady my nerves.

She clearly hadn’t expected me to stop so suddenly.

Her body went rigid, deer-in-the-headlights. Her fingers hovered, frozen on her phone. I saw her glance at the door handle, sizing up her chances.

She gripped her canvas tote so tight her knuckles turned white, like it could shield her from whatever she thought was coming.

The silence between us pressed in, thick and heavy.

"Wh-what are you doing? Why’d you stop all of a sudden?"

Her voice shook, fear slipping through the cracks. For a second, I saw my own daughter, all grown up and trusting the wrong stranger. The thought made my stomach turn.

I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, so I spoke up fast.

"Don’t freak out, I’m not a bad guy. I just need to talk for a second. You can’t go to this interview."

I held my hands up, palms open in the dim light. I tried to sound as safe and steady as possible, like a coach talking a player off the ledge.

"This is obviously a scam company, calling you out here in the middle of the night. I’m worried you’ll go in alive and not come out at all."

My words hung in the cold air. I couldn’t help picturing my little girl, older now, making the same mistake. I gestured out at the empty night. "Look around. This isn’t a business park—just empty warehouses and nothing for miles."

"Don’t you watch the news? It’s not safe—there’s pyramid schemes, trafficking, girls going missing all the time."

I rattled off every nightmare I could think of, voice hard with worry. I remembered a news story last week about a girl who vanished after a fake interview—her parents still searching, her face on every TV in the state.

"From your accent, you’re not from around here. This spot? Supposed to be a business park, but it was all abandoned warehouses a few years ago. There’s nobody out here but trouble."

I motioned at the darkness, the lack of any sign of life. “I grew up here. If a company moved in, I’d know. This is just empty Kentucky farmland—nobody comes out here unless they’re up to no good.”

"You look so young—I can’t just watch you walk into a wolf’s den."

I tried to meet her eyes in the rearview, voice pleading. "You remind me of my little girl," I added, my throat tight. "I wouldn’t let her walk in there, either."

"Let me do one good deed tonight. Don’t go. I’ll take you back to town for free, no questions asked."

I reached for my phone, ready to call her family if I had to. “You don’t owe me a dime. Let’s just get you somewhere safe, alright?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Her lower lip quivered, and she blinked fast, fighting to hold it together. The dashboard glow caught the tears, shining in the dim light.

She grabbed her phone and started dialing.

Her hands shook so bad she almost dropped it. For a second, I thought she might be calling the cops. My heart hammered in my chest.

After all, I’m driving an illegal cab, and cops are everywhere on holidays.

Last thing I needed was a ticket, or worse, on top of everything else. I cursed my luck, wondering how I always ended up in these messes.

But she was calling her boyfriend.

I relaxed a little as the screen flashed 'Tyler' with some cartoon frog as his photo. Of course.

"Hello? What now?"

Tyler’s voice was muffled by wind and bar noise. The tension in the car stayed thick, but at least I wasn’t about to be cuffed in a ditch.

As soon as the call connected, I let out a slow breath.

Maybe I could reason with the boyfriend, get him to see sense.

But the girl lost it, bawling with the phone on speaker.

She broke down, sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. The sound was raw, all her anxiety boiling over. She pressed the phone to her ear, voice cracking.

"Babe, the driver stopped before we even got there, right on the side of the road. Is he going to rob me or something?"

She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to slow her heart. Her fear was real now—no more bravado.

"Babe, come save me!"

She sounded desperate, like she finally realized how far from home she was. Her plea echoed in the car, making me feel like the villain in a bad movie.

……

I’d never been so speechless.

My mouth hung open. I wanted to explain, to defend myself—but what could I say that wouldn’t sound like a lie?

I was just about to speak when a string of curses exploded from the phone.

Tyler’s voice roared through the speaker, making me wince. The language was rough, straight out of a backwoods bar fight.

"Screw you! Damn illegal cabbie, lay a finger on my girl and see what happens! Do you even know who Tyler is?"

He spat his own name like it should mean something. Maybe to his buddies, it did.

"You mess with her, you’ll be dealing with me and my buddies. We know people out here, man. Don’t test us."

The bravado was thick—probably surrounded by friends, a beer in hand, with no clue how real things could get. I rolled my eyes, biting back a retort.

He had a heavy Kentucky accent, but I understood every threat.

His drawl made it sound almost cartoonish, but there was no mistaking the anger. It was like something out of a bad reality show.

What kind of couple is this?

It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so sad. The whole thing felt like a prank gone wrong, except I was the only one who knew the stakes.

I couldn’t take it anymore—my patience snapped.

I slapped my hand on the steering wheel, the horn letting out a half-second blare before I caught myself.

"Who the hell do you think you’re yelling at, kid? Do you even know what’s going on here?"

My voice was sharp, my nerves frayed. I didn’t care if he got offended—I was done playing the villain.

"If I were really a bad guy, would I let your girlfriend call you for help? I’m trying to save her, alright?"

I pointed to the open phone. “If I meant harm, you think I’d let her call you first?”

"Your girlfriend’s being played—do you get that?"

I tried to hammer it home, my voice rising. “This is how people get hurt. You want to see her on the news tomorrow?”

The girl started crying harder.

Her sobs grew louder, tears streaming down her face. She hiccupped, barely able to speak.

"Waaaah, babe, he overheard the company’s secrets and now he says it’s all a scam."

She pressed the phone closer, as if Tyler could reach through and pull her out. Her hysteria made the car feel smaller, the air thicker.

The guy on the other end sounded fed up, annoyed now.

His voice shifted from angry to tired, like he was over it but didn’t want to admit it.

"Don’t you have a brain? Didn’t your mom tell you not to talk outside?"

He scolded her like a bratty brother, not a boyfriend. I pictured him pacing in a cluttered kitchen, shaking his head.

Then he turned on me, his curses even nastier.

His words got meaner, more personal. He called me every name in the book, like he thought I’d just back down if he got loud enough.

"Damn illegal cabbie, don’t think we don’t know your tricks. Scam or not, that’s our business! Mind your own business! Shut up!"

"Drop her off, take your money, and get lost. Stop sticking your nose in!"

I felt like a fool for trying to do the right thing.

I threw my hands up. So much for good intentions. Maybe next time, I’d just keep my mouth shut and drive.

Fine, you want to walk into the fire that badly?

I muttered, “It’s your funeral, not mine.”

I’ll take you there. Whatever happens, don’t blame me.

I threw the car in gear, my patience gone. The road ahead seemed darker now, like the world was closing in.

I floored it, the car roaring up toward fifty miles an hour.

The tires slipped a little on icy blacktop before catching. The engine growled, the speedometer needle climbing as the darkness pressed in around us.

The road cameras and streetlights faded away, and the sounds of fireworks and New Year’s parties disappeared into nothing.

Off in the distance, a few fireworks still glimmered over town. Out here, it was just blackness and the dull hum of the car. The music from the city was gone, muffled by miles of empty land.

I kept speeding up.

It wasn’t just the road I wanted to leave behind—it was the weight of responsibility, the helplessness of knowing I couldn’t save everyone. The car ate up the miles, the world blurring by.

All I could think was, what rotten luck tonight. Just drop her off and go home.

I clenched my teeth, counting down the seconds until this mess was over. Maybe I’d hit the all-night diner for coffee before heading home to my family.

It was New Year’s Eve—my wife and daughter must be waiting for me to come home and celebrate.

I pictured my wife tucking our baby into bed, maybe humming a lullaby. I’d promised I’d be home before midnight. I hated breaking that promise, especially tonight.

And Caleb, my younger brother, just out of college and still jobless.

Caleb crashed on my couch these days, sending out resumes and getting nothing back. He used to be full of plans, but lately he just stared at the TV, lost. I tried to help, but there was only so much I could do.

Even though my job is alright, last year most people at my company had their pay cut, and with the job market so grim, I don’t dare quit.

Every office conversation was about layoffs or cut hours. I stopped checking my email on weekends, just in case.

I muddle through, paycheck to paycheck. After the mortgage, there’s barely enough left to live on.

The American dream was now a tightrope, every month hoping I didn’t slip. Even nights like this, the bills pressed down, heavier than any passenger.

My once-stable life, just work and home, is now a constant scramble.

I’d pictured my thirties with a house, maybe a dog, weekends grilling out. Instead, it was hustle and worry, chasing dollars wherever I could.

But I’m a man—what else can I do but grit my teeth and keep going?

I caught my reflection in the rearview, lines a little deeper than last year. I faked a smile, the kind you use for family photos, and kept driving.

Luckily, we have a car at home, so I use my off-hours and weekends to pick up as many rides as I can.

Not glamorous, but it kept the lights on and the baby in diapers. My wife pretended not to worry, but I knew she checked her phone every half hour, just in case.

Later, since the rideshare apps took such a huge cut, I turned them off and started driving under the table for more cash.

Cash was king—no app fees, no taxes, just a handshake and a twenty slipped under the seat. Risky, but the bills didn’t care.

Thinking of my wife, daughter, and brother waiting for me, my heart twisted.

They were my anchor, my reason for pushing through the exhaustion. Every time I felt like quitting, I pictured my daughter’s tiny hands reaching for me and found a little more strength.

I’d planned to go home, but then this girl flagged me down, desperate for an interview.

She’d waved both arms under the neon glow of a 7-Eleven, shivering in the cold. I almost drove past, but something in her eyes made me stop.

Turned out it was a big order—twenty miles away.

Most rides were quick hops around town, but this one would drain my gas tank. Still, I needed every dollar. I did the math, hoping it’d cover groceries for the week.

I asked for thirty bucks, and she agreed, calling people the whole way.

No haggling, no hesitation—just a nod and a flood of texts. I wondered if she even had the cash, or just trusted in that first paycheck.

On this road at night, there weren’t just no cars or people—there weren’t even birds.

It was the kind of empty that makes you question your own existence. Only the wind through broken fence posts and the occasional crackle of ice under the tires. Even the stars seemed distant, watching from another world.

The last fifteen minutes, I tore through in five.

I put my foot down, ready to be done. The car bounced over potholes, headlights catching nothing but emptiness. It felt like driving off the edge of the world.

During those five minutes, the girl noticed I’d gone silent, so she finally hung up and started typing on her phone.

Her fingers moved quick, probably texting her boyfriend or Googling the company for reassurance. Every so often, she glanced up, maybe realizing how far from safety she’d come.

Maybe she felt guilty, because she finally spoke, voice timid—her boyfriend’s anger still hanging in the air.

She twisted the strap of her tote, cheeks burning, eyes glued to the floor mats. "Sorry, driver. I was just anxious, and since you’re an illegal cab, I got scared."

She gave a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice quivered—she was trying to make peace, even if she wasn’t sure how.

"My boyfriend has a bad temper and says mean things. Don’t take it personal."

She shrugged, apologizing for the world. “He just worries about me, that’s all. Sometimes he gets carried away.”

I just pressed the gas, eager to drop her off and get my money.

I nodded, lips tight. I just wanted the night to end, to get her out of my car and out of my life.

You can’t talk sense into someone dead set on doing something reckless.

People only listen when they’re ready, and she wasn’t there yet. I kept my eyes on the road, jaw clenched against helplessness.

Navigation said we were almost there.

The blue arrow blinked at the end of a winding country lane. I slowed, scanning for anything that looked like a real company.

We passed an old tobacco barn, its roof caved in, the paint long since peeled away.

I hesitated, then pulled over.

The tires crunched on gravel. The silence was so deep it hurt, broken only by the tick of the engine cooling and my own uneven breathing.

There wasn’t a single streetlight. As far as my high beams reached, it was just empty fields.

The darkness swallowed the road, fields stretching out like an ocean. My headlights caught broken fence posts and the shadow of a low building in the distance.

Pitch black, endless, like a mouth in the night waiting to swallow everything.

It was the kind of night where you could believe anything lurked just out of sight. My skin prickled, every instinct telling me to leave now.

Only in the distance was a low building with a faint light.

A single bulb flickered in a window, casting a sickly yellow across the frozen ground. It looked abandoned—like something out of a horror flick, not a job interview.

Everything was eerily quiet.

No crickets, no hum of traffic—just the suffocating silence pressing in. Even the car seemed nervous, its engine a shaky counterpoint to the night.

Only the car engine made a low, anxious hum.

The dashboard lights glowed weakly, throwing our faces into blue and green shadows. I drummed my fingers on the wheel, torn between warning her again and letting her go. Out here, in the dark, the world felt smaller—and so much more dangerous.

I watched her step out into the black, the door slamming shut behind her. For a second, I thought about calling her back. But the night swallowed her up, and all I could do was watch.