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Deadly Twenty-Four Hours
墨書 Inktalez
May 12, 5:00 AM
I waited for ten minutes at the entrance of the bar before my ride-hailing car finally arrived. I quickly opened the door and got in, only to find that the driver was a grim-looking man with a piercing gaze. I glanced at him, tossed my pink curls, said nothing, and resumed playing on my phone.
Bored, I scrolled through the news, watching stories about people and events that had nothing to do with me flash by under my fingertips. Suddenly, a police wanted notice caught my attention. I clicked on the news video and studied the photo closely; the more I looked, the more familiar it seemed.
I suddenly lifted my head to look at the driver in front of me—his face was identical to that in the wanted notice! The same features, the same scars, and the same chilling gaze were staring back at me from the rearview mirror!
"Hey! What are you looking at?" he asked coldly, his large hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white from the pressure.
"I... I wasn't looking at anything," I stammered, swallowing hard as I tried to keep my voice steady. Then I turned to pretend to look out the window while secretly fumbling for my phone. The news said he was a brutal fugitive who had killed three people; I needed to call the police immediately!
I could feel the driver's gaze flickering towards me occasionally, and overwhelming fear made my hands shake uncontrollably. It took all my effort to finally open the dial pad on my phone.
The atmosphere in the car was suffocatingly tense; I could hear my own rapid, shallow breaths. The emergency number was dialed but not yet connected. In my mind, I screamed: Pick up! Pick up!
The driver’s eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror as he glared at me, his expression filled with menace. "If you dare to call the police, I'll randomly choose someone to run over! How about that pregnant woman?"
His cold, hoarse voice gripped my heart like a vice. I looked up in shock; sure enough, a hundred meters down the road stood a pregnant woman, her hand unconsciously caressing her swollen belly.
Just then, the call connected, and I heard a voice on the line: "Hello! This is 110 Police Dispatch Center. Do you need assistance?"
The driver’s gaze bore into me through the rearview mirror, filled with danger. Then he suddenly swerved towards that pregnant woman! I realized this madman was not just trying to scare me; if I spoke to the dispatcher now, he would indeed crash into that innocent woman!
I had to make a choice—immediately!
Should I abandon calling for help and give up what might be my only chance of survival, or sacrifice an innocent stranger?
The dispatcher’s voice continued asking on the line: "Hello? Are you in danger? Is it safe for you to talk?"
Those few seconds felt excruciatingly long and torturous for me.
The sunlight pierced my eyes painfully, and I bit my lips hard enough to draw blood.
With all my strength, I hung up the phone; both it and my hope of survival plunged into darkness.
Almost simultaneously, our car swerved sharply just before hitting the pregnant woman, horns blaring around us. I slumped back in my seat, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief wash over me, but more than that was a deep sense of helplessness.
"Give me your phone!" The driver’s eyes remained fixed on me; I could almost hear the sound of ice cracking in his gaze. Slowly, I handed him my phone and watched helplessly as he flung it out of the window.
"Please... let me go!" I begged him through trembling sobs. "I promise—I swear I'll never call the police!"
But he didn’t say another word; he just occasionally glanced at me coldly through the rearview mirror as we continued driving further away from familiar roads.
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