The car cut through the black night like a knife, tires hissing on rain-slick asphalt. We were miles from the nearest town — the last flickers of civilization fading behind us.
Randall drove, staring into the dark. I sat beside him, silent. Just the two of us in the black BMW.
"There's three of us, Jen," he said with a crooked smile. "But don't mind Louis. He won't say much."
I stiffened. Glanced over my shoulder. The back seat was empty.
"There's no one there, Ren," I said. "Where did you see Louis?"
He slammed the brakes. We lurched forward.
"Come on. I'll show you."
We stepped into the cold night air. He walked to the trunk and popped it open.
Inside lay Louis — tied up, unmoving. Something jammed in his mouth.
"Oh my God— What the hell did you do?!" I gasped. "Untie him!"
Randall just smirked.
"He's not just tied up," he said, studying my face. "He's dead."
He rolled the body, and I saw it clearly — not a gag, but a jagged piece of metal pipe rammed between Louis's teeth, blood dried around the edges.
I froze. The world tilted.
Randall turned toward me, calm. Playful.
"You know the best part?" he whispered. "Now... it's your turn."
He pulled a knife from his coat. The blade caught the moonlight.
And I screamed.