The Killer in the Backseat

Laura had worked late at the office. It was past eleven on a Tuesday night, and the drive home took her along a stretch of rural highway that she had driven a hundred times before. She had her cruise control set and the radio playing softly when she noticed the pickup truck behind her. It was the only other vehicle on the road, and it was following close. Too close.

At first she thought nothing of it. Just another late-night driver heading the same direction. But then the truck suddenly flashed its high beams. Bright, blinding light flooded her rearview mirror. She flinched and adjusted the mirror. The truck dropped back a little, and Laura relaxed. Probably just an impatient driver who realized she was already going the speed limit.

A mile later, the truck flashed its lights again. And again. Then it pulled up right behind her, so close she could see the grill in her mirror. Laura felt her heart rate climb. She speed up slightly, hoping the truck would pass, but it stayed right on her bumper. The driver flashed his lights a third time, then a fourth.

Laura was genuinely frightened now. She reached for her phone and dialed 911, keeping one hand on the wheel. She told the dispatcher her location and described the truck. The dispatcher told her to keep driving toward the nearest gas station and that a patrol car was on the way.

The truck kept flashing its lights. Laura was crying now, convinced the driver was some kind of road-rage lunatic. She could see the lights of the gas station up ahead. She pulled into the parking lot, tires squealing, and the truck followed her in, pulling up right beside her.

The truck driver jumped out of his cab. He was a big man in a plaid shirt, and he was running toward her car, waving his arms. Laura locked her doors and screamed. But the man was not trying to hurt her. He yanked open her back door and dragged out a man who had been crouching on the floor behind Lauras seat.

The man in the backseat was holding a large hunting knife. He had been hiding there since Laura left the office, waiting for her to reach a dark, isolated stretch of road. The truck driver had seen the mans arm reach up from the backseat and had started flashing his lights each time the man rose up, forcing the killer back down into hiding.

The truck driver held the attacker on the ground until the police arrived. Laura sat in her locked car, shaking uncontrollably, unable to process how close she had come. The man in the backseat was later linked to a series of attacks on lone female drivers in the area. He had a specific method: he would hide in parked cars at office buildings and shopping malls, waiting for a woman to get in alone. The truck driver, a retired police officer named Frank Derringer, had noticed something wrong from a quarter mile back and had followed Laura for twelve miles, flashing his lights every time the killer moved.