Midnight Murderer

Barty pulled in his hand when a dark green Ford Escort rolled to a stop beside him.

The headlights were dim, even though it was the middle of the night. Smoke from the exhaust billowed gutturally around the car as the driver stalled the engine. Barty pulled open the passenger door and stuck his head in.

"Need a ride?" the driver asked. It was a young man—around the same age as Barty, he would have guessed—with slate chips for eyes and long black hair that was combed back. He wore dark jeans, a black sweater and his skin was almost deathly pale. His smile didn't quite meet his eyes, but Barty didn't care.

He looked like a good enough victim.

"Yeah. Are you going south?"

"About as far south as south goes. Jump in."

"Thanks." Barty jumped into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. He didn't put on his seatbelt. He never did.

They set off driving in silence. The driver didn't say much, and Barty didn't ask any questions. He didn't usually try to get to know the people whose cars he jumped into, especially when there was no point. It wasn't like he'd know them for very long. He kept his eyes on the road, waiting to spot the bright neon signs of a petrol station.

It was his usual trick. He'd wait until he knew an unmanned petrol station was coming up, then he'd ask the driver to pull in so he could grab a drink. Most of the time, the driver would get out too, either to take a leak or put in petrol, or just to get some fresh air. It was the perfect time for Barty to strike.

"Hey, can we pull into that petrol station? I'm starving." Barty asked, when he saw a familiar sign looming up ahead.

The driver soared straight past it. "Sorry. Places to be."

Barty's brow furrowed. That had never happened to him before.

They continued to drive in silence, going past several more petrol stations. As the minutes turned to hours, Barty began to wonder if this particular drive was worth it. He was about to open his mouth to ask the driver to pull over so he could get out, when the engine started sputtering.

"Oh dear," the driver said placidly. "Looks like there's something wrong with the car." He pulled to a halt on the side of the road, and switched off the engine. "I better take a look at it."

He climbed out of the car and went to open the bonnet, and Barty raised an eyebrow. This is so weird, he thought. The driver didn't sound surprised at all when the car started making funny noises. Most people would panic or worry at the idea of being stranded without a working vehicle in the middle of the night.

"Could you come out and take a look at this?" the driver asked, popping his head over the bonnet to look at Barty through the glass.

Barty climbed out of the car. "I don't really know much about cars. Hence why I was hitchhiking a ride."

The driver pointed into the underside of the bonnet, where the engine and the oils and god knows what else sat there. Barty didn't have the foggiest clue what he was pointing at, or what he was supposed to look at.

"Get a closer look. Do you see a drip?"

Barty leaned forward, humouring the driver more than anything else. He couldn't see anything. "I don't—"

Just as Barty spoke, a length of rope or cord or something was thrown around his neck, yanking him back and causing him to choke. He gasped in shock, reeling back into his attacker, trying to dig a hand into the rope that was strangling him. Thinking quickly, he plunged his free hand into his pocket, grabbing the handle of the knife that was hidden there.

He threw his hand back, trying to swipe at his attacker. The blade found purchase, because the driver yelled out and dropped the rope in shock, staggering back. Barty spun on his heel, throwing the rope as far away as he could and massaging his throat.

The driver stood up straight, wiping his cheek. A long, straight cut marred his pale face, dripping blood. Barty held out the knife, daring his attacker to make another attempt.

"You carry a knife," the driver stated, glancing between Barty's face and the weapon. "Why's that?"

"Because I was going to kill you, you dickhead!" Barty snapped. "Why are you hiding rope to strangle people with?"

"Because I was going to kill you," the driver replied.

There was a long silence. Barty lowered his weapon, his eyebrow raised as he took a good, long look at the driver. "What's your name?" He asked slowly.

"Regulus," the driver said. "What's yours?"

"Barty." Barty couldn't help but suddenly notice how handsome the driver was, even with the bright red blood running down his cheek and into the collar of his sweater. A smile crept onto his face. "Do you...do you want to…"

Regulus shifted from foot to foot, his cheeks flushing suddenly. "Do I want to…?"

"Do you want to go for a drink with me?" Barty asked suddenly. "Clearly we have mutual hobbies."

Regulus grinned. "Sure."


Written For:

- August Auction, Day 16/Auction 3: Barty/Regulus

- Assignment #4/Religious Education Task #4: Write about meeting someone new

- Writing Club/This or That: Murder 8. (object) Knife

- Writing Club/Film Festival: 29. (plot point) Car (or transport) breaks down

- Writing Club/Elizabeth's Empire: 20. (color) red

- Writing Club/Angel's Archive: (colour) Dark Green

Word Count: 885