119. Creepy Taxi Driver

A few seconds later, Ashley saw it.

Read.

Josh had seen her message. Relief surged for a blink of a second—like a gasp of air in drowning lungs. She stared at the typing bubble, waiting, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

But then… the screen dimmed.

Ashley tapped it. Again. Once more.

Nothing. Black screen.

“No—no, no, not now…” she whispered.

The battery had died. Her only connection to Josh was gone, just like that. Swallowed by the same darkness that enveloped the road outside.

A low hum filled the taxi, only broken by the muted rattle of the tires on uneven pavement. Ashley gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles paled. She glanced sideways, then back to the rearview mirror. The driver’s eyes no longer met hers. Instead, his gaze was set forward, rigid and unblinking.

Ashley swallowed, her throat dry and tight.

She turned to the window again, watching the trees smear past like streaks of ink. Her breath left fog on the glass. Her chest tightened as the minutes dragged like hours. Her thoughts were tangled, darting, clawing for logic, safety, escape.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady. “How much longer until we arrive?”

No response.

Ashley’s heart stuttered. She leaned forward a little, to try to ask again. Her voice is firmer, but not aggressive—desperate to sound normal. “Sir? How much longer to Bel Air?”

The driver’s fingers shifted slightly on the wheel, as if irritated. Then, finally, he spoke. Cold. Clipped. “Few minutes.”

That was all.

Ashley leaned back, her breath trembling in her lungs. She looked down into her bag, trying to appear casual. Inside, her hand brushed against a pen—thick, metal-bodied, heavy in its click. Not much. But something. She really needs something sharp right now.

So she slid her fingers around it quietly. Every fiber in her body was bracing for the worst. Imagining the actions she might need to take if the driver did something bad to her. A leap out of the door. A scream. A fight.

Even though she didn’t know what she would do. She only knew that she had to survive no matter what. Her grip on the metal pen tightened as her focus became more alert.

But then—suddenly, she saw a change.

The taxi she was riding in reached the end of the alley and found a main road. The blinding light  from the street poured through the windshield. Headlights from passing cars. Neon signs. The orange wash of streetlamps blooming like flowers in the fog.

Ashley blinked, her pupils narrowing. The noise of the city returned like a distant wave—car horns, the drone of engines, the buzz of life. The air felt different. Less dense. Less suffocating.

She leaned forward quickly, craning to look out the windshield.

And there it was.

She knew this street. A billboard for a diner she’d passed before. The dark blue of the pharmacy’s sign. The recognizable turn at the corner with the Chinese restaurant and a flickering red lantern in the window.

The taxi kept going. And then, just two turns later they arrived at the gates of Bel Air.

The security officer stepped forward as the taxi rolled up. Ashley rolled down her window just enough to show her ID, her voice dry but firm. The guard nodded, raising the bar. They were in.

The taxi pulled into the driveway, and the circular lobby entrance came into view, its tall glass windows glowing like a sanctuary.

The car slowed. Stopped. “We’re here,” the driver said flatly.

His voice didn’t match the relief flooding Ashley’s chest. It was too level. Too hollow. Like someone reading lines written by someone else.

Ashley fumbled into her wallet, retrieving her card. Her fingers still trembled as she tapped the reader.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, almost ashamed of her own suspicion now.

She opened the door, stepped onto the paved drop-off zone, and inhaled the familiar scent of jasmine from the planter near the entrance.

But as she turned to close the door, her gaze was pulled back—drawn by some invisible thread—back to the man behind the wheel.

He was looking at her now. His eyes locked onto hers through the glass. Cold. Unblinking.

And then—he smiled.

Not a polite smile. Not even a smug one. It was a grin. An expression that didn’t belong to someone who was satisfied with finishing a job.

Ashley froze. Her heart pounded again, harder now.

The man didn’t blink even once.

Just held her in that stare, lips parted into that thin, tight, spine-chilling curve.

Then, some time later, he drove off.

Ashley stood there for several seconds, rooted. The glass doors behind her whispered open, sensing her presence. Warm light spilled across her shoes. Still she stood. Her skin prickled. Her mouth had gone dry again.

He had done nothing. Said nothing. But the way he looked at her… like keeping something terrible inside his head.

With a slow exhale, Ashley turned and stepped inside the building. The doorman nodded and asked if she was all right—perhaps noticing her pale face, her damp hair clinging to her temples.

She nodded, lying with her smile. “Just tired.”

The elevator ride up felt longer than it should. The hum of the machinery reminded her too much of earlier. Too much of being trapped.

As she entered her apartment and locked the door behind her with a trembling hand, Ashley finally let her breathe out fully.

She saw Josh strolling toward her from the direction of the kitchen, his steps calm, almost careless.

“What’s going on? Why did you send me a message like that and then turn off your phone? I had no way to reach you.”

Ashley shot him a quick, irritated glance. He sounded more annoyed than concerned—like he’d missed the entire point of her panic. Like he hadn’t really read her message.

Without stopping, she brushed past him, heading toward the stairs. “I didn’t turn it off. The phone died.” She snapped. “You should be thankful that it wasn't me who died.”