The Passenger

Daniel hated driving at night, but the storm had left him no choice. The rain hammered against his windshield, the wipers struggling against the relentless downpour. The empty highway stretched ahead, shrouded in darkness, the occasional pair of headlights flashing past, momentary ghosts in the storm.

He had been on the road for hours, exhaustion setting into his bones. The coffee in his cup holder had gone cold. The rhythmic drumming of rain against metal made his eyelids heavy. He turned up the radio—static. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, searching for anything to keep his mind occupied.

Then he saw her.

A woman standing by the roadside.

His hands clenched the wheel. She wasn’t waving, wasn’t moving—just *standing there*, watching. Her long coat billowed in the wind, her dark hair clinging to her face, soaked through like the rest of her.

Daniel’s breath hitched. There was something *wrong* about the way she stood. Too still. Too expectant.

A part of him screamed to keep driving.

But he didn’t.

His foot eased off the gas, and before he could rethink his decision, he pulled over.

The woman didn’t hesitate. She opened the passenger door and slid in without a word.

The cold air followed her.

Daniel swallowed. “Rough night to be out.” He forced a chuckle, but the sound fell flat.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes dark. “Thank you for stopping.” Her voice was soft, almost distant, as if spoken from somewhere far away.

He nodded, shifting in his seat. “Where are you headed?”

She hesitated. “Home.”

Daniel frowned. “Where’s home?”

A pause.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Just drive.”

Something about her unsettled him, but he shook it off. Maybe she was in shock. Maybe she’d been in an accident. The storm could make anyone desperate.

The highway stretched endlessly before them, each mile marked by the rhythmic swoosh of the wipers. Neither spoke.

Finally, unable to bear the silence, Daniel cleared his throat. “Were you waiting long?”

The woman turned to him, a slow, deliberate movement. Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

“A very long time.”

A shiver crawled down his spine. “You sure you’re okay?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared ahead, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee.

Then, suddenly, she spoke.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Daniel felt his grip tighten on the wheel.

“…Should I?”

Her smile widened. “It’s been years.”

The rain intensified. Daniel’s mind raced, searching for a connection. He didn’t recognize her. He was *sure* of it.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted.

She tilted her head. “You didn’t stop last time.”

His breath caught.

“What?”

She looked at him, expression unreadable. “Ten years ago. This same road. This same storm.”

A dull thudding began in his chest. His fingers trembled slightly as he stole a glance at her hands. Her nails were caked with dirt. Her skin was impossibly pale, as if it had never felt the sun.

A memory slammed into him.

A woman—*this* woman—standing in the rain, waving for help.

And him—driving past.

His heart pounded against his ribs. “No,” he whispered.

“You left me there,” she continued, her voice calm, almost amused. “Alone. Cold. Waiting.”

Daniel’s stomach twisted. His pulse roared in his ears. He wanted to deny it, to say it wasn’t true—but the memory was *there*. He had been younger, reckless, in a hurry to get home. The storm had been just as bad.

He had seen her.

And he had kept driving.

“You… you can’t be—”

The car *jerked violently*.

The tires lost traction. The wheel wrenched itself from his hands. The headlights spun wildly as the world tilted. He heard himself scream. Metal crunched, glass shattered—

Then silence.

The rain had softened to a drizzle. The car lay crumpled in a ditch, steam rising from the hood.

Daniel’s head throbbed. Blood trickled down his temple. He gasped, trying to orient himself.

His hands clawed at the seat beside him.

It was empty.

The passenger door hung open, rain dripping onto the torn fabric.

Daniel sucked in a ragged breath, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He turned, heart hammering—

And then he heard it.

A whisper. Soft. Near his ear.

*"You stopped this time."*

The sound of footsteps faded into the rain.

Daniel stared into the darkness, his breath hitching, his mind unraveling.

He had stopped.

But it didn’t matter.

She was already gone.

And this time, *he* was the one left waiting.

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