Just Another One

It was fifteen minutes to ten at night. As soon as I arrived at the bus terminal, I sat on one of the benches and placed my backpack on the ground beside me while I waited for the bus that would take me home. Relieved that I hadn't been late, I took my time to undo my ponytail, remove my gloves, and put them inside my backpack. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and unlocked the screen. Two percent battery left.
Damn it, I should’ve charged it before going to practice...
My fingers quickly typed on the screen.
"Mom, I just left volleyball practice and arrived at the station. I should be home in 40 or 50 minutes. If I disappear, it’s because my phone battery died. Love you, ki..." – The phone's logo flashed on the screen, which then went dark before I could hit "send."
I put the phone back in my backpack and looked around. Silence dominated the place, interrupted only by the occasional arrival of vehicles heading to residential neighborhoods. At the far end of the terminal, an elderly woman was reading something on a bench. Behind her, against the wall, a couple exchanged kisses and farewells as their bus arrived. The tall grass across the road swayed in the wind, shifting from side to side.

Turning my head the other way, I was startled by a boy, about seven years old with dark hair, standing at the far end of the station, staring in my direction. Exhausted, I managed to muster a friendly smile at the child, who kept the same expression and didn’t move a muscle. I turned to see if anyone else noticed the boy’s presence, but I only saw the woman still engrossed in her book and a man now alone, smoking against the wall.

When I looked back, the boy was running toward me at an astonishing speed. Shocked, my body froze, unsure of how to react. As he approached, details became clearer—the serious look far too mature for his age and a small scar on his eye. Instinctively, I leaned back, curling up on the bench. His gaze seemed to pierce through my soul, and just as he was mere feet away from me, he changed direction and passed right in front of me. I turned my head to follow him and saw him sit next to the elderly woman reading. Shortly after, he turned toward me, letting out a small chuckle as the woman gently stroked his hair, her eyes never leaving her book. I sighed in relief, and soon after, the bus headed to “Saint Peter” arrived.

After waiting for four passengers to disembark, I boarded. Despite the late hour, the bus had few empty seats. I chose to sit in the middle, near a window, placing my backpack on my lap. Around me were older people dressed in formal attire—suits and skirts—all carrying a Holy Bible. The last passenger to board was a bald man who looked about 40 years old, with a scar on his forehead and wearing a heavy jacket. Upon entering, he scanned the bus with his eyes, and when he spotted me, he began walking in my direction. My throat went dry as he sat beside me.

The man began to whistle while forcibly slipping a piece of paper into my hand. As I was about to protest, I felt something sharp press against my ribs. Looking down quickly, I noticed the tip of the object emerging from his jacket.

At that moment, all I wanted to do was cry. I didn’t want to believe this was happening to me. I’d read dozens of similar accounts, but never thought I’d be the victim. Trembling, I unfolded the piece of paper and read its contents:

"Read carefully and don’t make a sound. The bus driver knows me and is with me. If you scream, we’ll announce the robbery, and it’ll be worse for everyone. So shut up and pay attention. We’ll get off at White Stone station, holding hands like father and daughter. Then we’ll go into the woods or somewhere else to have some fun. If you behave and stay quiet the whole time, I might let you go. Otherwise, you’ll stay in the woods forever."

I swallowed hard. Tears began to form at the corners of my eyes. The knife’s tip dug deeper into my ribs. Slowly, I lifted my head to face the demon beside me. There was no emotion visible on his face. When he noticed I was looking at him, he turned to me and, without changing his expression, gave the most insincere smile a human could offer.

An indescribable feeling overtook me for a brief moment. I resisted the urge to spit in his face and looked back down. My hands were cold with sweat, and my legs trembled. Was this nervousness? Fear? Anger? Or... everything at once?

I glanced around. Everyone on the bus remained in the same positions as when they boarded. Some older women sat reading their Bibles, a young woman was on the phone, and others stared out the window. Among those standing, most were elderly men clutching their Bibles, staring blankly at the bus wall as if still in a church service. I started whimpering softly to catch the attention of an elderly man in front of me. The scarred man noticed and pressed the knife a bit harder against me. I let out a groan of pain, which made the elderly man glance in our direction. The scarred man stroked my face with the back of his hand, wiping my tears as he said:

— "It’s going to be okay, sweetheart... You’ll find a better boyfriend. He didn’t deserve you." — Then, he turned his head toward the elderly man who was staring at us. — "Young people... they break up and think they’ll never find anyone decent again."

The elderly man let out a brief chuckle and looked forward again. I tried once more to grab his attention with heavy, labored breathing, but he never looked at me again. Taking a deep breath, I tried to assess my situation rationally and logically. I couldn’t. I couldn’t because even if I screamed, and by some miracle, the scarred man didn’t subdue me immediately, no one would believe me. He would tell his story, everyone would believe him, and I’d still be stuck in the same situation.

As the bus meandered through the city, my heart raced until the driver announced:
— "Old Village!"

A large number of passengers got off the bus, taking my hope of a happy ending with them. When everyone had disembarked and the bus moved on, the young man I had spotted at the terminal stood up beside the scarred man. At first, I was suspicious of his action, as there were plenty of empty seats on the bus, but by this point, my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, operating on its own without regard for consequences.

I began to stare at the young man, who was gazing out of my window without blinking. Simultaneously, I kept an eye on the scarred man, who continued staring straight ahead with the same psychotic expression. When the young man finally met my eyes, mine were already full of tears again, forming an expression that conveyed despair and hopelessness. The young man looked at me with perplexity, glanced around to see if anyone else noticed my expression, turned his attention back to me, and then fixed his gaze on the scarred man. From a distance, one could easily mistake him for a statue.

The young man stared at the scarred man until a noise caught everyone’s attention. At the back of the bus, the child who had startled me at the station had tripped and hit their head against the wall, now crying uncontrollably. When my captor turned his head to see what had happened, I turned to the young man, who was looking at me. As quickly as I could, I whispered:
— "Help me..."

The scarred man returned to his original position, placing his disgusting hand on my leg. I turned my head forward again, noticing that the young man had understood my message; his discomfort was evident, and his body became much more restless. Deep down, I hoped that man would do something to save me. Anything.

And then he did something that made my heart race and my blood pressure plummet.

The young man turned and started walking toward the driver. My breathing accelerated, waves of nausea struck me, and I wanted to scream to stop him, but my captor pressed the knife harder against me as the man got closer to the front of the bus.
They’re going to kill us all, for God’s sake!

I was beginning to struggle to control the tremors in my body, and cold sweat dripped from my forehead. The young man took a few more steps and reached the driver’s cabin. My unconscious let out a small cry, which made the scarred man grip my leg with such force that it left a red mark of his palm on my thigh.

Before the young man could say anything to the driver, he turned around, pulled his phone from his pocket, and walked back toward us. When he got close, he looked at me, smiled, and spoke loudly enough for the entire bus to hear:
— "Carla?! Is that you? Oh my God, it’s been ages!"

My mind took a few moments to process the situation.
— "Denis? Wow, you look so different!" — I smiled back.

For the first time, I saw the scarred man lose his composure, and I no longer felt the knife’s tip against my side.

— "Where have you been? Come here, let’s move to the front; there are empty seats there." — The man grabbed my backpack and extended his hand to me. As quickly as I could, I passed by the scarred man without daring to look back and followed “Denis” to a seat at the front.

Once we sat down, I told him everything that had happened since I got on the bus. The young man’s expression grew increasingly perplexed as I detailed the horror I had endured in such a short time. When I finished, he pulled a water bottle from his backpack and offered it to me, saying he knew a place where I could find shelter and report the monster who had tried to abduct me.
— "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, but all I want is to go home..." — All I craved at that moment was my mother’s embrace and the comfort and safety of my bed. — "I’ll do it tomorrow morning."
— "By tomorrow morning, that bastard could be long gone. Or worse... making more victims." — He didn’t break eye contact with me. — "Don’t worry, I’ll go with you and make sure you get home safely afterward."

I spent several seconds staring at the man in front of me. My body begged for the safety of my home, but... he was right. If I had a chance to prevent other girls from going through the nightmare I had endured, I couldn’t be selfish enough to let the scumbag get away. Finally, I nodded.

A few minutes later, the driver announced:
— "White Stone!"

I glanced back briefly. The scarred man was glaring at us, his body radiating pure hatred. Step by step, he walked toward the exit and disembarked. It felt like a ton of weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Just as I was recovering from my daze, I was caught off guard again.
— "Let’s go, this is where we get off." — The young man had stood up and was now holding out his hand for me to follow.

— "This is where we’re getting off?" — I asked, hesitant.
— "Yes, there’s a police station nearby. Since the area is a bit forgotten and deserted, not many people know about it. But you’re safe with me and will be even safer once we’re there. Come on."

As soon as the young man got off the bus, I paused on the stairs. The fear of encountering the scarred man again returned as swiftly as it had vanished.
— "Miss." — I turned toward the driver. — "Are you staying or getting off?"

I looked back at the young man, who was holding out his hand for me to step down. Only then did I notice he was holding my backpack in his other hand. With trembling legs, I descended the bus stairs. The young man handed me my backpack, and together, we watched the bus disappear into the deserted darkness of the road. I scanned my surroundings. No sign of the scarred man.

I followed the young man, talking about our lives along the way. I told him about my passion for volleyball since I was a girl, my parents’ separation, and the dog I got for my birthday. We walked until we approached what looked like an abandoned building, but with lights on.
— "That’s it! The building is a bit old, but the police work all night there."

I glanced around the building. No other structures or residences in sight. I kept following the young man as he shared more about his life. By the time we reached the door of the building, he had already told me about winning a school math competition, never using drugs, and coming out to his family as gay. As soon as we entered the building, I turned to him and asked:
— "But... I saw you kissing a girl at the bus terminal... — Memories came rushing back like a storm. — "You were smoking too..."

The young man looked down. I kept staring at him, waiting for answers. Then I glanced around. The door behind him, the vast empty space I found myself in, and the absence of anything resembling a police station. The young man started laughing softly.
— "Oops... looks like I’ve been found out..." — He kept staring at the floor. — "You were right, uncle. She’s as smart as she is beautiful."

I heard a door creak open behind me. Chills ran down my entire body. Dropping my backpack to the ground, I felt the urge to vomit. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, I turned to face... him. The demon who had haunted me. The monster who had made my life hell for what felt like an eternity. In that instant, my heart went numb. I fell to my knees on the floor.
— "She wanted to play the clever one..." — The scarred man approached, holding a baseball bat. — "Now, she’ll get double the fun."

Home. Safety. Hope. I no longer knew what those words meant. From the moment I heard the man behind me unzip his pants and shut the warehouse door... I knew nothing anymore. I was nothing anymore. And even faced with such a horrific fate, I knew I wouldn’t be the first or the last. Far from the last. I was just another one.