[ WP ] you are a traveling serial killer who preys on hitchhikers , you unknowingly pick up a hitchhiking serial killer .

Quone sits low; picks the leather from the steering wheel, unravels strands of cotton holding the lining in place. Thoughts from another life drift through focus. 
 
 The cigarette lighter heats and the car has a chemical air. Choking, synthetic. Cigarette smoke clears the alien fumes and breathes comfort. 
 
 Rubbish on the ground outside holds Quone's gaze - sandwich wrappers, bus tickets. A dirty place is a rest stop, the trash goes uncollected. A white heat throbs at the corner of Quone's mind - one last little mischief. 
 
 -- - 
 
 Accelerating; other lives regain the lead on the other thoughts. Legs under a table. A late baptism; scripture and punishment. Cars stream past, the images waver at the sound of car horns. Straighten up, the lane curves here. 
 
 -- - 
 
 A thumb, thick fingernails. Older than usual. 
 
 *Hop in the back, passenger. * 
 
 *Got any smokes? * 
 
 Cigarette lighter. Suffocation 
 
 *Where you headed? * 
 
 *Where do you need to go? * 
 
 *Just up from here, a few miles along. * 
 
 -- - 
 
 *Say what part of town are you from? * 
 
 *I'm a foreigner, passing through. I spent some time here as a child. * 
 
 Eyes in the rear view mirror. 
 
 -- - 
 
 *This is the place, down this way. * 
 
 *Sure. * 
 
 This will be an easy one, a deserving glint in his eye. Easy holds little reward. 
 
 -- - 
 
 *See it, just on down there? Let's get out and take a look, it's been a while since I've been here but I left some smokes last time. The door should be unlocked* 
 
 -- - 
 
 I see the need for deliverance in some. To those, I give freely. In sin I absolve strife. 
 
 This soul has begged entry, walked into my open arms. 
 
 *Watch your step, it gets dark inside* 
 
 It's a first for them to walk into their own grave. 
 
 A burning spreads through Quone's lower back. 

