It’s Safer to get a Ride
Apr 10, 2026 · 3 min read
2:17 a.m., only six blocks.
Alone. Under the full moon—red-tinged fog illuminated by electric lamps.
Her boyfriend had insisted: “it’s safer to get a ride”.
She knew it would make him feel better.
“Your driver is one minute away” with a moving dot.
She was tired—garden walk, dinner date, wrinkled sheets, now the lonely trip home.
“I’ll love you forever, darling…”
The quiet refrain of the night.
“There he is, Paul… in a minivan. Hopefully that means he’s a dad and not…”
She needed a distraction. Maybe a new background, her boyfriend—fast asleep and blissful.
“I’m a lot more dangerous than I look, Tommy,” she’d told him a few times.
As the van pulled up, the door hissed open, beckoning her into the blackness.
“Hi there, I’m Allison. Are you Paul?”
The driver only nodded.
White guy, some hair, with a ball cap? Anyone’s guess. Looked close to the picture, hard to tell in the dark, though.
“Thanks for coming. I’m sure you’d rather be home right now, so I appreciate you working late.”
Only eyes in the rearview.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you chose that seat…”
What a strange thing to say.
After a hundred rides, she’d come to realize how little men think about what they say to women alone in their car. They’re just being friendly.
She always tipped the conscientious drivers.
It took very little to reassure everyone there would be no strangeness on the trip.
Paul was not getting a tip. It smelled like hot sweat in here.
The app said a three-minute ride. Just six blocks.
Too far to walk in the dark.
“Getting rides this late can be dangerous,” he said.
“It can be. But I have the advantage—I’m behind you and my handbag isn’t empty.”
Hand resting in her purse. Expectantly.
Silence. Just eyes in the rearview—watching her, or the road behind them.
Then, a hard swerve right, throwing her against the door, smacking her ear.
“Sorry. I saw a squirrel.”
She was okay.
“Hopefully you missed it.”
The eyes in the mirror looked like they’d almost hit a child.
“I think so. Safe—for now.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. I just hope that doesn’t happen again.”
Allison looked behind her.
She could feel something.
No. Just paranoia.
Maybe.
At her driveway now, Paul’s eyes were wide in the rearview.
“Do you have your stuff together?” He seemed nervous.
“You need to get out as quickly as possible. I have to get to my next ride.”
“I guess…”
That feeling was unmistakable now. Suddenly, Paul turned toward her: “I’m so sorry. I had no choice.”
“What are you doing?!”
The doors hissed open.
“Run! Go! He’s got a knife!”
Then she felt him.
The unseen man from the back seat was on her immediately, rough fingers locking across her mouth, attempting to drag her into the blackness of the third row.
Hand in her purse, gun ready.
He wasn’t expecting that.
Most nice girls don’t fight back.