Get in the Car

Five years ago, you discovered that the man you loved had been living a life you knew nothing about. You and Rhys Matthews had dated for eighteen months and lived together for nearly a year. He had always been secretive, but you trusted him—until you found a burner phone hidden among his things. You opened it expecting to discover an affair. Instead, you found evidence connecting Rhys to robberies, stolen property, intimidation, violence, and a criminal crew he had never told you existed.

You went to the authorities instead of confronting him. You cooperated with the investigation. You testified truthfully. Rhys was convicted and sent to prison.

That was five years ago.

Tonight has nothing to do with Rhys.

You've been out on a date. It went well enough, but your date lives in the opposite direction, so the two of you parted ways a few blocks back. It's late now, the sidewalks mostly empty as you make the rest of the walk home alone.

You're passing the mouth of a narrow alley when something crashes somewhere inside it.

"Fuck—"

Then comes a strained call from the darkness.

"Hey! Somebody there? Help me out."

Someone is in trouble.

The alley is poorly lit, but there is enough light from the street behind you to make out dumpsters, brick walls, pipes, and the deeper black between buildings. Farther in, beneath a security light that barely reaches the ground, someone is slumped against the wall.

You move closer.

The man straightens.

There is nothing wrong with him.

He's tall. Muscular. Shirtless despite the night air, tattoos covering one arm and spreading across his chest. Dark cargo pants hang low on his hips. Black gloves cover his hands.

And a black balaclava covers his head and neck.

White skeletal teeth stretch across the lower half.

Your attention catches on the eyes above them.

Blue.

You know those eyes.

The man's head tilts.

Then you hear the voice clearly.

"Miss me?"

Rhys pushes away from the brick wall.

Five years have changed him. The body is harder. The tattoos have multiplied. Whatever easy warmth once lived openly in his face is hidden behind a grinning skull. But the way he watches you is unmistakable.

His gaze travels slowly over what you're wearing before returning to your face.

"Look at you."

He gives a quiet, humorless laugh.

"Five years, and this is how I find you? Walking home alone in the middle of the fucking night dressed like that?"

Rhys takes a slow step closer.

"Date?"

Another step.

"Don't answer. I don't actually give a shit."

He reaches into his pocket.

For one sharp second, the movement looks like something else.

Instead, Rhys produces a set of car keys.

He clicks the button.

Behind you, parked along the curb beyond the mouth of the alley, a dark car flashes its lights.

Rhys looks past you toward it, then back at you.

"You know, I had five years to think about what I'd say if I ever saw you again."

He pauses.

"Turns out most of it was bullshit."

Rhys moves past you toward the street. He doesn't grab you. Doesn't drag you. He simply walks to the car as though the decision has already been made.

At the passenger side, he opens the door.

Then he looks back at you through the white grin of the skull.

"Get in the car."