"DETOUR":
I had just finished a long day of exploring the city on my own. My feet were sore from all the walking around, and the sun was setting low, making the streets seem a little bare. It felt like a quiet nudge that it was time to make my way back to where I was staying. I opened my application and requested a ride. The car arrived pretty quickly. The driver rolled down his window and checked my name. "Hop in," he said with a nod.
I got in the back of the car and buckled in. He glanced in the mirror and smiled as he saw me. "First time here?" he asked as he pulled the car away from the curb.
"Yeah," I said, keeping my answer brief. I was not in the mood for much conversation at the time.
"Hm. You look like someone who could definitely use a little fun. Got a boyfriend waiting for you at home?" He chuckled softly at that.
The question caught me off guard, and I adjusted my position. "Um, no," I replied, looking out the window at the passing buildings.
"Good," he said, his tone a little too enthusiastic. "I can be your boyfriend for tonight. I can show you some of the real places to go in this city, some of the ones that tourists don't even know about."
Thoughts swirled in my mind. I didn't want to appear to be impolite or get him mad—after all, he was the driver. "Oh, that's alright. I just need to get to my hotel. It's been a long day."
"Come on," he urged, turning the steering wheel slightly more sharply than necessary. "It won't take long. You'll love it. Trust me."
I hesitated. On the app, it said we were still on route. "Alright, but just quick," I said, trying to sound as casual as ever. But inside, I was thinking about everything. Why did I agree to go with him? I should have said no right off the bat.
His grin looked even wider in the mirror. "That's the spirit. You'll thank me later."
We drove along familiar streets, but then the roads changed. We passed fewer buildings, heading towards a bridge I had never seen before. "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice steady, though my hands tightened around my bag.
“Just a nice viewpoint,” he said. “Best spot in the area. Relax.”
The car hummed across the water. The city lights twinkled behind us. We stopped at an isolated area that offered a view of the bay. The view was nice but out of the way. There were no other cars around. He parked the car. He turned off the engine. "Come up front," he said. "Better view from here."
I stayed put. "I'm good back here. We should head back now."
He chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers running over my skin. “Don’t be shy. Let’s take our picture together. To remember the night.”
Prior to giving a response, he reached back and took the phone from my hand. "Hey!" I exclaimed.
He bent down between the two seats to take a selfie of the two of us. “See? Fun already,” he said, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Give that back,” I said firmly, reaching for it.
He kept it out of reach and continued to smile. “Come to the front first."
My pulse quickened. Something was off. This situation was not right. The location was not populated, was dark. I unbuckled and opened the door, stepping out into the space. "I need my phone. Now."
He also got out, around the car. "Ok, ok. But let's enjoy the view for a minute."
I stepped back. "No. Take me back to my hotel."
He moved closer to me. "You're being silly. We're having a good time."
And then He reached for me, grabbed my arm, and pulling me towards him. His other hand was on my face, trying to get me to kiss him. His fingers touched my chest, and everything suddenly made sense—this was not a tour, this was dangerous.
Panic gripped me. "Stop!" I shouted, pushing him back hard with both hands. He stepped back, looking taken aback.
"What? Come on—"
"No!" I shouted, still louder. "Take me back, right now! This is not okay!"
He looked at me, his smile melting into an even colder stare. "Fine. Get in."
However, I didn't move. "Unlock the car. I'm getting my stuff."
He pressed the key fob, and I grabbed my bag. "Drive me back," I said, trying to keep distance between us. My tone was shaking but strong.
He muttered something under his breath and got in. I slid into the back, the door open until he started the engine. "Go," I said.
The trip back was silent, tense. I observed every turn, my finger resting on the emergency button of my phone. He flicked a few glances in my direction through the rearview mirror but remained silent. My thoughts ran with a litany of possibilities. What if he does not take me back? What if he stops somewhere else? Time ticked by, with each minute feeling longer.
Finally, we arrived at my hotel. He pulled up next to it without a word. I immediately opened the door and jumped out quickly. I said, "Don't ever contact me."
He drove off slow, and I stood there, staring until I could no longer see his taillights. I was shaky as I walked into the house. Locking my door, I sat down on my bed, trying to catch my breath. What had just happened? It all flooded back: the questions, the drive somewhere, the grabbing. It could have been so much worse.
The next day, I opened the app to see that the ride was canceled in the middle, just as if it had never taken place to begin with. I felt sick to my stomach. Who was this guy? How many people had he done this to? While I did not report the incident immediately, I wondered if it was somehow my fault for consenting to the detour. However, the fear did not go away in a few days. I shared the incident with a friend, and they encouraged me to come forward.
Turns out, he had been removed from the platform for reasons, though, unfortunately, I never got the particulars of that conversation. Now, every time I'm considering whether to call a ride, that knot forms in my gut, rechecking the license plate, the face of the driver, sitting in the back, ready to exit when necessary. That night changed my perspective on life, this simple pick-me-up becoming a nightmare that I barely escaped.
It all began like any normal conversation. However, the way he was pushing, his isolation, and then moving suddenly—it all added up slowly until everything hit me at once. I was lucky that pushing him away worked. Not everybody is that fortunate.
"THE SECOND CAR":
I had just finished a night out with my friends at a bar. It had been a long night, and I was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks that night, so I got my phone and hailed a ride home through my app. The driver, a man by the name of Alex, nodded as I got into the back of the car. "Evening," he said, his tone unenthusiastic.
Everything seemed normal at first: no people on the streets, just the hum of the engine, and the streetlamps zipping by. But then, my gut started churning. You see, earlier that day, I had eaten a bad meal, and when mixed with my drinking, well, this was no picnic. "Pull over, please," I muttered, clinging to my mouth.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, furrowing his brow. "What, no, we're almost there."
But it was no use, and I vomited a little on the floor mat.
Alex slammed on the brakes, and the car came to an abrupt stop. "Are you kidding me?" he shouted, spinning around in his seat. His face turned red, veins popping out on his forehead. "This is the second time this week! Get out! Get out now!" I attempted to apologize, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. "I'm sorry. It was an accident. Please, take me home." But he was beyond consolation. He turned around, grasping my arm hard, and yanked the door open. "Out! I don't care. Walk the rest of the way."
I tripped on the sidewalk and stumbled. That's when I noticed that my phone and my purse were still buckled in at the back. "Wait, my stuff!" I shouted, but he continued speeding away with screeching tires. I glanced around. This was not where I lived. This was some rundown place with empty lots, a closed gas station, and a flickering light from an old building. But there was no sign of any people. My pulse quickened. How am I going to get home? No phone to call anyone.
I stood there for what felt like forever, hugging myself and trying to think. And then I heard footsteps. There were two people coming from the shadows. A man and a woman. The man was wearing a hoodie and the woman had short hair and a jacket. "You okay?" the woman asked, her voice curious but soft. "Looks like you need help?"
I nodded, grateful to see someone. "My ride kicked me out. I left my phone in the car. Could I get a lift home? I'll pay you later." The man smiled. "Ah, sure, no worries. Our car is over there. We can give you a lift." The woman nodded. "Yes, it is not safe to be alone on the street."
Still, I hesitated for a second, but what choice did I have? So, I followed them to a beat-up black car parked around the corner. The man opened the back door of the car for me. "Hop in," he said. As soon as I settled into the back seat, the woman got in the front passenger seat, and the man started driving the car. "What's your address?" he said. I gave him my address, and he started the engine. At first, it was okay. The woman turned around and started talking to me. "Rough night, huh? That driver sounds like a jerk."
"Yeah," I replied, attempting to laugh. "Thanks for your help." But as we drove, I noticed that we were headed in the wrong direction. The roads were becoming progressively narrower and more unknown. "This is not the way to my house," I said, sitting up straight. The man looked in the rearview mirror. "Shortcut. I told you, quicker that way." The woman smiled again, but this time her smile appeared artificial. I had knots in my stomach, but they were not from being nauseous.
The car stopped in front of an apartment complex that looked deserted. The windows were boarded up on some floors. "Where are we?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I just need to grab something. Go inside for a second." I shook my head. "No, take me home." But he turned off the car and got out, coming to the passenger side to let me out. The woman remained seated in the car, staring. "Come on," he said, changing to a harsher tone. He touched my wrist. "Do not make this harder than it is."
Panic built up inside me. I tried to struggle free, but he was too strong. "Let go!" I yelled. Finally, the woman said, "Do what he's telling you to do. It will be over soon." That gave me a chill. He began to drag me towards the building. His grip was like a vice. We went up creaky stairs to a door on the second floor. In the room, it was dark. There was only a lamp to light it. There was trash on the floor. There was a mattress in the corner. There was no furniture. "Sit down," he said to me. He pushed me down onto the mattress.
I backed up to the wall as much as I could. “What do you want? Please, just let me go.” He shut the door before turning to me, pulling out a small knife from his pocket with the blade shining under the light. “We are going to have some fun first. You should not have gotten in the car if you did not want this.” The woman was standing at the door, crossing her arms as if she was guarding me. “Scream if you want,” she said. “Nobody will hear anything here.”
My mind raced. I couldn’t fight him. He was too big, and he had the knife. But I had to do something. He moved closer to me with the knife, reaching for my shirt. “Don’t even think about moving,” he growled. I waited until the moment he was right over me, then kicked as hard as I could, the full force of my foot connecting solidly with his knee. He grunted in shock and stumbled backward, the knife going out of his hands. “You little—” he began, but I stood up, grabbing the lamp, and swung it as hard as I could against his head. It cracked loudly, and he went down to the side.
The woman lunged at me. "Stop!" she exclaimed. I sidestepped her and headed for the door, but it was locked. She pulled my hair, trying to stop me from running away. I felt a stinging sensation, but I elbowed her in return. She gasped, still holding my hair, and I managed to free myself by fumbling with the lock that my wet hands were struggling with, but I managed to open it and ran out, slamming the door behind me.
I ran down the stairs with shaking legs, bursting out into the night. The man yelled at me from the stairs, shouting, “Get back here!” Footsteps followed me. I avoided looking back. I sprinted across the street and took cover behind a dumpster in the alleyway. Heavy breathing filled my ears as I panted for breath. They were outside and yelling something in my direction; how did they know my name? Probably because of our earlier conversation. The man muttered, “Where is she?” The woman answered, “Forget it, let's go; someone might call the cops.”
I crouched in the darkness until the voices went away and the car drove off with its engine roaring. I was sobbing in tears, but alive. Eventually, I came out and went to the school, which was nearby. It was relatively early in the morning when I arrived, and a janitor was opening the school. "Help," I whispered, falling at the doorway. "What happened?"
"They came quick. I gave them a statement. Told them about the car and the people.” They said the driver who left me like that would also be charged, for abandoning me like he did. I was looked at by a doctor. I had bruises and cuts but no broken bones. I was picked up by my friends and went home."
That night, everything changed. Now, I make sure that I double-check all rides, share locations, carry pepper spray, and so on. But there are times when I’m alone, and I hear those footsteps in my head, see that knife. I managed to escape, fear never truly escaped me.
"TOO PERSONAL":
I currently work in the city, and I get there by using Uber. It is very easy. I only have to touch my app, and then I’m good to go. However, this particular drive changed everything for me.
I stood on the side of the sidewalk after the long shift, phone in hand, and waited for the tiny vehicle icon on the map to get closer. Finally, when the silver sedan-like vehicle approached, I made sure it had the matching plates, got in the back, and fastened the seatbelt. The guy was dressed like the typical male in his mid-thirties, a bit on the heavier side, round face, and a smile that showed way too many teeth for comfort. "Hi there," he said, looking back over his shoulder, "Going to Elm Street, right?"
"Yes, that's me," I replied, settling in. I picked up my phone and intended to scroll through the various messages.
As we set off, he went on with the smile. “You look familiar. Have I picked you up before?”
I shrugged. "Maybe. I take a lot of rides."
He nodded, glancing back at his reflection. "Yeah, I remember that now. You used to work at that coffee shop downtown, didn't you? What made you quit?"
I stopped, my thumb frozen on the screen. But how did he know about the coffee shop? This was years ago when I was new to the job. I don’t talk about old jobs with people like this guy. “Um, I don’t think so,” I said, attempting to be cool.
"No, it's you," he repeated, chuckling as if it were no big deal. "From that little town up north, yeah? You went to Lincoln High, graduated, and then got a degree in art history at the state college. Good choice."
My mouth went dry. These were facts; they were truth; and I had never told anyone like that in front of a stranger driving a car, nor ever. I shifted my position; I kept my eyes fixed on the door handle of the car. "How did you know?"
"Oh, yes, we talked about that last time," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "You've got two little sisters, don't you? And you're single, though? Yeah, surprising for a girl like you."
The car suddenly looked small. My fingers gripped my phone more tightly. Family. Relationship status. Never came up. "I don't remember talking about that," I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.
Again, he laughed, with the same expression staring back at him from the mirror. “Come on, don't be shy. I pick up a lot of people, but you're one of the stand-out ones. What was your roommate's name again—the guy. Were you and he close?"
It was a blow. My roommate was a friend, nothing more. But how does this person know he even existed? He looked in his rearview window to make sure of his reflection. His eyes lingered a second too long in mine for a person driving a car. "Please, just look at the road," I muttered.
"Sure, sure," he said; but this did not stop him from talking. "You like to go out to that bar on Main Street, right? Yeah, the one with the music? I bet you have a real good time there."
Every word made my skin got cold. This was not normal. Drivers were supposed to ask about things like traffic or their music, not people's life stories. And he knew too much. How was he doing it? Had he researched me or followed me or something? The buildings were going by at a slower pace than normal, as if the ride was slowing down on purpose.
‘Tell me more about your art degree.’ He went on to ask. ‘You paint or something? I'd love to see your work.’
“I don’t want to talk,” I said resolutely, as my hands trembled a little while I invoked the ruse of texting. Who do I even text? Should I text a friend? That app had a safety button, what if he saw?
He said nothing for a block, and then: "Your name is pretty. It suits you. You're beautiful, you know that? Smart too. My favorite passenger."
I didn’t reply to that. The compliment had felt awkward on me, like a trap. We were passing by my residence, but now I did not want him to know where I lived. What if he came back?
Naturally, as we were approaching my street, I said, "You know, you can drop me off at the end of the street near the blue door." This was my landlord's doorway, not mine.
He slowed his vehicle, and it came right up to my door, though. But how was this accomplished? I hadn't given him the number. "No need," he said. "I know which one is yours. Don't want you walking far."
The doors were still locked. I half-expected this and grabbed the handle again. Once, twice. Nothing. He moved in his seat, turning to face me fully, that he smiled even larger. "This has been our longest ride together. Have a good night. Hope I get to see you again soon."
Click. The lock cracked open. I grabbed my bag and ran out. I did not look back until I heard the engine of his car start. He was driving out slow, looking at me in the side mirror of his car.
Inside my apartment, I closed the door, stood against it, and breathed hard. That man knew things he shouldn't know. I immediately went into the Uber app and reported him, going into detail, including the questions he posed to the passengers. They told me they would investigate the matter and ensure that I do not get his service again.
And so for weeks, I took the bus. Crowded. Slow. Safe. I never saw him again, but sometimes I wonder if he's out there, picking up another woman, smiling at her just that same way. Remembering too much.