1.

The night was fierce, dark. Piercing the blue skies that were just floating above. Stars injected like sprinkles, spread out over a vast void.
But below the night, headlines shone brightly. Two pairs. Deep blue. Shimmering and reflecting over the lasting pools of rainfall still left on the concrete.
A broken window introduced the nocturnal wildlife to heavy tunes of Pearl Jam and other nostalgic rock legends. Peter wouldn’t have it any other way.
He loved the night, he loved the road. Even more so, he loved his ride. Most of his savings, he drowned into boasting upgrades to his shiny Mustang. The engine was roaring audibly underneath the red-stained, midnight blue sprayjob, blasting his drive over the empty highway.

In the distance, nothing was left to be seen. Just the empty road that was yet to come, the excitement of a freeing escape. In his cloudy hind mirror, Peter vaguely noticed a pair of dirty-yellow headlights trail in his path. Lights merely fading within the slight forest fog, chasing shadows fleeing into the banks.

The craziest events passed through his mind. Thoughts of feelings, confusion and regret, occasionally broken by a scream of a lyric. Echoes in the night, but none he could escape. His solitude was noticeable, even more so after losing Julie recently. Peter’s eyes flashed over to the lost headlights in his mirror. His solitude must be even more draining.

2.

Finally, the undisturbed flow of clouds was broken by the prominent presence of moonlight. In front of Peter, the road was still empty. Behind him, an approaching truck had appeared. Emerging from the fog, a bright-red cab revealed itself. The decorations over the grill and from underneath the windscreen transformed the road back into the festive season. Green. Blue. Red. The lights flickered, endlessly.
The cab felt familiar, yet Peter couldn’t quite place it.
Its presence was kind of disturbing to be honest. Peter longed for solitude. Him and the road, that’s all he asked, not some lonely cab driver drowning their sorrow of loneliness into the night. This night was his to experience. His life to flee, undisturbed.

They passed a sign along the road. “TRONDHEIM 157 KM”, it read.
The E6 was long, Peter knew that, but he figured he’d be further along already. His Mustang only needed to drive him back into Steinkjer. Yes. Born and raised, but far from the town of his dreams.
He had driven this road countless times before. One of his uncles lived all the way up in the north. About a 4 hour drive, on a good day at least.
Julie also lived up the road, a bit closer than his uncle. Her family’s lumberjack farm only took him up to 50 minutes north over the E6. They’d been together long enough for him to know how to make it in 40 though. Of course this wouldn’t matter any more these days, and this final ride home sealed that destiny—their end and his new beginnings.

3.

Peter calmly brushed the brakes. His ripped boots dripping on the pedal and his eyes locked on his hind mirror. Locked on the stalking headlights behind him. Dancing in his stained mirrors and blinding his sights.
It was Julie’s truck. No, wait. Julie didn’t drive a truck. Fuck, where did he recognise it from?

For about 10 minutes, Peter waited for the truck to pass him by. For the flashing Christmas lights to pass over to the other lane. For the muddy, bright red cab to disappear behind the horizon afar. He was faster, clearly needed to be somewhere. But none of that happened. Its presence lingered, not speeding up, not slowing down. He was there for him, not losing track of Peter for a single second.

It took him a while before finally finding an exit into some godforsaken town. He needed to lose this guy. What was his deal already?
The orange blinking flashes lit up the trees along the road. The sparse droplets falling from the sky started to dance in the same rhythm, colouring orange and blue on a fixed interval. Peter was scared. His blood-stained hands glued to the wheel, trembling underneath his calm facade. His heart was pounding in his chest, he felt it resonating through the car. What did he want from him? Why him? What’s he done?

At first the truck appeared to be trailing off again. His signals didn't turn on. He seemed to be passing by, to lead its own path into the endless horizon. But no. After Peter's mustang turned the corner, the truck followed. No doubts, no haste. Calmly, the truck continued to stalk him.

4.

The festive lights had been flickering long enough for Peter's mind to zone them out. He wasn't even noticing the dead, yellow Christmas wreath anymore. Just the headlights remained, burning straight into his retina. They appeared to be never losing track of him, just casually haunting along. He figured he would be seeing these lights for a lifetime, lighting up his dreams at the closing of his eyes—forcing them open in the quiet of a summer night.

With them now slowly driving over country roads, Peter's mind flashed back to last week. He was at home some days. Then he was at Julie’s as well. Wasn’t that earlier? He recalled the scent of fresh timber sneaking into his nose. Yes. He was at Julie's.
There was a heavy evening. He lost her right? He did, yes. What had happened exactly? Even though his memory disorder seemed to have gotten better these last few months, Peter didn’t quite remember. Yes, it’s true. His new medication worked wonders this last winter. It must've been the moment, the panic. The sweat dripping down his back, or his head burning in flames.

Where the hell was he by the way? Was there even a town here?
In the corners of his eyes he noticed some signs of life under the blinding headlights behind him. Broken down fences and fields of green uncovered. But up ahead, the country was rough. The trees were tall and the forest dense. Merely the tiny, winding road carved its way through nature’s creation. He needed to get out of here, back on the lit main road. And above all, away from this truck.

5.

The truck remained ever present, the headlights just the same. Some dark, abandoned side track had shown hope for a way to turn around, but at the end of the road, Peter was met with mere disappointment. His mustang came to a halt. His heart did too as soon as he saw the truck ever calmly turn the corner. It emerged vividly from behind the trees.
For him. Just for him.

He had nowhere to go. In a hopeless effort, Peter tried to turn his car around. His scratched hands reached for the gearbox, which was rumbling and scorching under the heat of the engine. Peter sat stranded across the dead end—his eyes waiting for the truck to act, while his hands were frantically searching for a solution. From behind the wheel, he tried to get a glimpse inside the cabin, but just a pitch black void was to be seen. A nothingness nearing him, closer and closer.
He fiddled and turned the car. The wheels loudly turned underneath the gravel-and-dirt composition below his feet. In front of him, the truck surged forward. His mind and heart were racing, his eyes watering, and his body was irresistibly shaking. The approaching cabin roared underneath the violent harmony of agony. He would get out. He would drive home. He would be safe. He would, right?

In a brief moment, his dread was released. Headlights invaded. Wheels spun. Glass shattered, and steel bent. The frame collapsed as the world spinned around him. Peter closed his eyes in search of tranquility, in search of God. Yet nothing but the metallic taste of blood and a burning headache entered him. Nothing else before the blackout. Before descending into darkness and fading into the forest.

6.

Softly, slowly, Peter regained a grip on his senses. His ears were ringing, but gradually tuning to the eerie humming around him. His eyes felt heavy, his head painful. It was as if he had been beaten down and kicked right in the skull. His legs were numb. His arms were burning. What the hell was going on?

The space around him faded into vision when his eyes carefully adjusted to the dimmed lights.
A chamber, large for a bedroom, tight for a living room, but sterile for both. The walls were monochrome, soft grey or dark white. Whatever you wanna call it. All around him were walls. There was no sign of a door or entrance within the lifeless bounds. There was however a sign of something, vaguely stowed away in the corner. Light brown shades of wood contrasted sharply against the walls. An axe—dripping in maroon red blood—appeared below the wooden handle. Its steel sharply reflected the ambient light, fading into a pool of red.

The other side of the room was messy, dirty. Chips and splinters of wood were widely spread over the floor underneath what seemed like the leftovers of a load of logs. The nasty shade of brown was smeared over the walls. Even the fresh smell—contained in new, wooden furniture—lingered around the room.

“Hello?” Peter asked hesitantly.

The echo of his voice clearly resonated through the chamber, but a reply never came. He wanted to get up, get out, but rather found his arms tightly bound behind his back. His feet were also strapped together, tied to the chair he now found himself in. It gripped, pulled. It hurt. What the fuck?

“Hello?”

His voice sounded more urgent, scared even.

“Get me the fuck out of here”

Peter erupted into screaming.
Disbelief, fear, and regret danced around his head. They played with his mind and memory—his reason. But all madness disappeared as soon as the room started to shake. The floor began bumping up and down, trembling from left to right. Something wasn't right. The room was moving.

A metal hatch slid open. Behind it, a shadow appeared. Its figure vaguely spoke underneath the faint flickering of colourful lights.

“You're awake,” a deep, familiar voice said, “You shouldn't have come tonight.”

“I.., huh?” Peter replied confusedly, “Who are you?”.

“Her blood is on your hands, Peter,” the voice almost screamed, aggressively, “Your hands!”

The hatch loudly slammed back to a close and the shaking trailer turned pitch black.

Faintly, Peter's screeches were heard, muzzled underneath the starry night. The emptiness was fierce, the darkness haunting. Peter was alone again, chasing the highway on a journey unknown.