The Cab Driver Series — The Escape

Read the prequel The Cab Driver Series — The Kidnap

Jared’s fate had not let go of his hand just yet. He woke up to the sound of woods being chopped. The sharp whack of the axe as it sliced the wood, brought him back to consciousness.

He could hear the crickets. The chopping sound created intervals between the crickets’ chirping. He could hear himself breathing.

He opened his eyes slowly, his vision was blurred. He tried hard to make of what was above him. He could see two tall trees, leaves swinging as the wind cruised by them. He turned back his head and saw his right foot bandaged. Well, it wasn’t so much as bandaged as it was neatly wrapped by a cloth.

He heard footsteps approaching. The footsteps crunched on the dead leaves as he reached closer. “Here, have some water.” Greg said, offering him a half-filled water bottle. Jared looked at him, then looked at the bottle. Greg was now wearing a black jacket.

Jared tried to raise his left arm to reach the bottle but couldn’t. He realised his hands were tied with a rope.

Greg laughed hysterically, mocking Jared’s condition. Jared frantically moved his hands, his wrists rubbing against each other, trying to open the knot. He couldn’t.

“Don’t-Don’t even try, man. You can’t open it.” Greg advised. Jared struggled for a few more moments and then gave up.

Greg crouched, reached the bottle’s mouth to Jared’s lips and placed it there. He tilted the bottle upward and water ran through Jared’s throat, spilt a bit outside too. This was the only good thing that happened to him in the last three hours. He drank until the bottle was empty.

Greg got up and threw the bottle away. He walked to the car and took out a bottle of Four Roses from the glovebox along with the Glock. He walked a foot or two away from where Jared was tied, opened the bottle, chugged a few sips of the bourbon, and spat it on the wooden logs. Placing the bottle down, he removed a packet of Newport from his denim pocket and popped a stick in his mouth. He lit the cigarette and threw the burning matchstick into the log. He walked towards Jared, crouched, and blew the smoke on his face.

“So, what do we do with you now?” teased Greg.

“P-please just please let m-me go. You can have my money, my watch-” Jared pleaded as he was cut off by Greg, “Jesus fucking Christ, you really think I got you this far in the middle of fucking nowhere, to let you go? Your dumbness amuses me, Jared. It amuses me.” said Greg, sticking his face less than an inch away from Jared’s.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT THEN?!” Jared screeched as he burst into tears.

“I want to have some fun” Greg tittered and continued, “I have a problem, Jared. I have a pretty serious problem. I like to have fun. But it’s not the fun you and your friends might have. It’s not the fun most people have. It’s the kinda fun Jefferey Dahmer had, the kinda fun Ted Bundy had, the kinda fun Charles fucking Manson had. Now, don’t worry I’m not gonna rape you or anything. I’m not Dahmer. I just wanna,” Greg paused for a few seconds and stared into empty space, his face brightened, “I just wanna play a game!” he yelled, widening his arms.

Jared stopped crying and looked at Greg’s face.

Perplexed by his offer, he couldn’t muster up an answer. Greg flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the bonfire.

“Raise your hand if your answer is no.” teased Greg.

“What’s in it for me?” Jared inquired.

“Nothing absolutely! The game is for me. The fun is mine. You’re just a pawn. If you play with me, I’ll make your death quick and painless, but if you don’t,” Greg moved closer to Jared’s face, “I will make sure your last breath begs to come out.”

The hair on Jared’s nape rose, his face dropped cold as he saw the devil in Greg’s eyes.

“The game is not too complicated, its just riddles. Riddles are fun, right?” said Greg. He walked towards Jared, stashed the gun between his denim and lower back, crouched, pulled out a carving knife from his jacket’s pocket and kept it on the ground.

“You better answer correctly.” commanded Greg, as he peered into Jared’s eyes.

“Yes” answered Jared, faintly.

Greg smiled at Jared’s confirmation. He rubbed his palms in excitement and cheered, “Alright! Let’s start.”

He looked down at the ground, peering at the knife, “I am a small portion, a tiny part. Having only one of me is never enough for fat boys. Who am I?”

Jared’s eyes were glued to the knife, sweat rolled down from the back of his ear to his shirt collar.

He gulped in anxiety as he was completely blank, “I-I don’t know.” he muttered.

Greg picked up the knife and jabbed its tip into Jared’s right leg.

He screamed in pain as Greg carved a small chunk of flesh off his leg. He clutched Jared’s screaming mouth by the jaws, held the flesh in front of his horrified eyes and said smilingly,

“A slice.”

Jared winced at the pain with closed eyes and wailed. Greg flicked the piece of flesh away and placed the tip of the knife on Jared’s under-chin, “I’m disappointed in you Jared, you got the first one wrong. The first one! Come on, I need you to do better.”

Greg took the knife off Jared’s face and kept it on his lap. He reached in his left pocket, pulled out the Newport pack and tapped it on his knuckles. He then lit a cigarette and blew the first smoke on Jared’s face.

Jared coughed feebly and spit on the ground. “They don’t touch when you say TOUCH, but when you say SEPARATE, they do touch. What are they?” asked Greg.

Jared stared at the ground, a short line of spit jutted from his lips. Greg calmly gripped the handle of the knife,

“Answer me, Jared.”

Jared clenched his fists and started jerking his body, trying to break free, “I don’t know! I DON’T KNOW! Just ki- just fucking kill me…I d o n ‘t-” Jared broke down as he began to accept his fate.

Greg held Jared’s face and wiped his tears off. “Come on, I don’t want you to lose it now. You’re ruining the fun, Jared. Think. Calm down, think.” Greg consoled Jared as he repeated the riddle once again.

Jared felt something on his right hand, the rope was loosened a bit.

All he had to do was to slowly, and carefully, slide his little finger out of the rope. One by one he thought he could manage to get all the fingers out.

All right Jared, this might be your only chance. You’re not gonna die tonight. He’s not gonna kill you so fast, so this is it. This is the time. Play the game. He thought to himself.

He could feel Greg’s eyes on him as he smoked his cigarette. The riddle sounds oddly familiar, I’ve read it before. Middle school? It was in The Everything Kids book, wasn’t it? They don’t touch when you say TOUCH, touch…separate…touch…separate…parate…pe…lips?

“Lips?” answered Jared as he lifted his head up and looked into Greg’s eyes.

Greg’s face lit up and he grinned, “Brilliant, Jared. Lips.” he responded and clutched Jared’s jaws by his hand and stubbed the half-smoked cigarette on his lips.

Jared howled as the burning tip perished slowly. Greg stubbed the cigarette harder onto Jared’s lips, breaking the tobacco rod. His body quaked as he fought the pain.

Greg was crouched on Jared’s left leg.

Jared noticed that and pulled his leg back a few inches, cocked it, and kicked Greg in the nuts.

Greg fell back and screamed, with his hands clasped on his groin. Jared, with whatever energy was left in him, tried to get up, shivering as he did and picked up the knife.

He limped towards Greg and stabbed him in the shin.

Greg moaned in pain. He pulled the knife out of Greg’s shin and tried to cut the knot. It took a few seconds but it got the job done.

Greg laid on the ground, wailing, trying to get up. Jared realised that the gun was strapped to Greg’s back, he could not risk doing that. Everything he had worked for until now would go to waste. After what he’s done, Greg wouldn’t blink an eye before shooting his brains out. He had to think quick and get out of the woods.

Stab him with the whiskey bottle? No, no time for that. He will get up and then my ass is grass.

He dragged himself a little closer to Greg and stabbed him again in the shin, this time — deeper. Greg could not stop screaming.

Jared turned around and started hobbling away.

He kept looking back as he tried to pace himself as fast as he could but his gunshot leg wouldn’t help him at all.

He sweated profusely, his heart-rate was so fast he thought it would pop out any second. He wept in pain but the need to survive kept him going.

He could barely see what’s in front of him, leaves brushed against his body, all his hands could feel were the rugged tree branches. His vision started blurring as his heart struggled to pump more blood, he had lost a lot of it. He stopped and crouched down, gasping for breath.

No, I’m not dying here. Not like this. Come on, get up. Jared coughed as he struggled to breathe.

“Jared!” a faint scream came from the woods following “You’re not getting away with this!”

Fuck! Get up Jared, get up. Move. he said to himself as he struggled to lift himself up and continued limping ahead.

After limping for about twenty steps, he saw a road down below, shining under the streetlights.

He started moving faster. Before he could realize, his feet were on the road.

He could feel the solid concrete. With his fuzzy vision, he could barely see what’s in front of him. Dangling on the road for a few seconds, he turned left and limped ahead.

Bright lights flashed from a distance, blinding him completely. He clenched his eyes and the last thing his ears could hear were screeching wheels.

Unbuckling the seat-belt in a panic and slamming the door open, he got out of the car and rushed towards Jared.

Oh shit, oh fuck. Fuck! he cursed his startled self. “…he-hello?” he said, shaking Jared’s arm. Oh God, please don’t die. Please don’t die! What the- he said as he examined Jared’s body, his stab wounds, the gunshot leg. He could die any second, he knew he had to rush him to his hospital.

About twenty feet away from them, Greg got out of the woods and noticed Jared and the man.

He started limping towards them. The man heard Greg’s tottering footsteps and looked towards him.

“Hey…hey I know how this looks but I swear- wait what in God’s name?!” he exclaimed as he saw Greg’s condition.

“It’s okay, he’s my friend” Greg pointed at Jared, “what happened to him? Is he alive?” he questioned.

“He’s barely breathing, I’m a doctor and my hospital is about twelve miles from here. Look, I’ll take care of everything. I’m not drunk or anything alright? I.. I didn’t do it purposely I’m…believe me please, I’ll take-” he blabbed as his lips quivered in fear.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. My car is over here somewhere, just take us there and we’ll follow you.” Greg answered.

“That, that does not make sense. I have my car, we should not be wasting time, he’s unconscious. He could go into a coma if we waste any more time. We can come back for your car but we need to get him to the hospital now!”

Greg broke the eye contact and looked away for a few seconds, pondering over his foiled plan. “Fine, let’s go,” said Greg, bending down and lifting up Jared’s arms. They placed Jared in the back seat and drove off.

“Please do not press charges, I will lose my license, I’ll pay for every-” he trembled as Greg cut him off, “It’s fine. I said it’s fine. I just want my little friend over there to be okay. In a way, I am glad we found you.” Greg concluded as he cracked a smile at the man.

“I’m, uh, Thomas…Tom. Dr. Tom Miller. I am a Neurological Surgeon at the White River Community Hospital.” said Tom.

“My name is Greg.” Greg deadpanned.

“So, what do you do Greg?” Tom wondered.

“Cab driver. How far are we?”

“Not too far, may I ask something? You and your friend look like you’ve fought a beast in the woods. I couldn’t help but notice you both have wounds on the leg, and a lot of bruises. What happened?” hesitated Tom.

“We, uh, go into a fight with some people. Can you pull over? I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” asked Greg. “Oh no!” Tom grieved and pulled the car over.

Greg stepped out and walked around the car back to Tom.

“You ask a lot of questions, doc. You shouldn’t have stopped there. You should have just driven away. Here are some things you should know. This guy?” pointing towards Jared, “he’s not my friend. I got him into the woods to torture him and kill him. I’m a killer, doc. I’ve killed many. Gosh, I could give you a number right now but my head is spinning, all because of this asshole. He stabbed me in the leg. Anyway, I’d love to get to know you, play a little game with you someday but I honestly don’t have the energy.” Greg concluded, as he pulled out his gun from behind, “I’m sorry doc, oh and by the way, my name is not Greg.” he revealed, fixing the mouth of the gun on Tom’s forehead.

He splattered his brains on the front-seat. He opened the door, pulled out Tom’s body, dragged it and stuffed him into the boot.

“I’m gonna have fun with you later, Dr. Tom Miller.” He snickered, as he shut the boot.

He got in the car, grasped a handful of tissues from the box on the dashboard and cleaned Tom’s remains from his seat. As he was about to switch off the front-seat lights, he noticed an aux wire napping on the car mat. He reached for it and plugged it into his phone.

He, then opened his music library and tapped the search icon.

Now Playing — Killing Machine by Judas Priest ♪

He pulled out the Newport pack from his pocket, lit one, and drove off.