Ilse, though, refused to allow her feet to command her actions. When they again seemed intent on rooting to the concrete, she forced herself up the small metal rung into the front of the truck, and slid into the passenger side. Inside the cabin it was surprisingly clean. She detected the faint scent of air freshener, trying to hide the odor of cigarette smoke.

“Mind shutting that?” the man said.

Ilse nodded numbly. Stupid! Don’t be stupid! Stupid! Don’t be stupid! She ignored her own thoughts and shut the door. A second later, the lock clicked.

“Sorry,” the man said. “Locks are finicky.” He brushed off any chance at anxiety with a wink and another smile. “Where can I take you?” he asked.

The man’s chin was covered in stubble, and he smelled of smoke and lavender from the air freshener. Two little dice dangled from his mirror, cottony, fluffy things. In the rearview mirror, Ilse noticed two strange canisters sitting on the back seat and… there, tucked beneath the canisters, she spotted what looked like the hilt of a bowie knife.

She swallowed, glancing toward the locked door, her fingers trailing down the cool glass, touching against the metal handle inside the cabin.

But she’d come this far. No backing out now.

The same road. Don’t be stupid. The same road. Don’t be stupid.

She ignored the thoughts again. “Oh, just to Three Lakes,” she said. “That work for you?”

“Dandy,” the man said with a nod and a wink. “Buckle up.”

He waited expectantly, a sort of hungry look in his eyes as she reached with a quavering hand toward the buckle past her shoulder and then pulled it, locking it in place. Alone, trapped, watched by a stranger with just a bit too much eagerness.

She felt like a specimen, the way Dr. Mitchell sometimes made her feel. But where Donovan’s attention was on her behalf, examining to help, to aid and care for, this man’s attention seemed of an entirely different and far more selfish variety.

Once she was buckled, the truck began to move, heading in the exact opposite direction it had been going before, taking her back toward town.

“Kinda late to be out on your own, isn’t it?” the man asked in a light, airy tone.

Ilse’s eyes fixed on the road. “Wanted some fresh air,” she murmured.

“Know what’s wrong with your car?”

“I’m not really a car person.”

“Oh… Well, I am. I can take a look if you’d like.”

Ilse swallowed. “No… No, that’s fine. If you could just take me back to town.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you want.” He shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment and then shifting down, taking more of her in.

Ilse stiffened in her seat, locked in place, feeling like an animal in a zoo, trapped in a cage.

“You know, I don’t do this for just anyone,” the man said, still conversationally. “I had somewhere to be—the opposite direction actually. But, you know, I suppose I can help a fellow citizen out.” He reached over and patted her on the leg. His hand lingered for a bit longer.