The Weekday One Hundred

“Pass this car,” he said, his breath hot against my neck.

He was right behind me. Snuck in while I was in the convenience store getting a midnight coffee. Stupid me for not checking the back seat. Stupid me for not locking the doors.   

I pressed down on the gas. Seconds later, we were the only ones on the road.

“Suppose you pull over now,” he said.    

I asked him if he was going to hurt me. He didn’t respond. Not a good sign, I thought.

I asked him if he had a weapon.

“I don’t need one,” he whispered.