"So where are ya heading?" Jim asked, his turning down the secluded dirt road. It was his favorite spot for murdering thus far. Granted, it may have also been his only one thus far...

The woman had hardly said a word since he picked her up. She seemed bored, constantly staring out of her passenger window. It was all wrong. He liked to get them comfortable before doing the deed.

"Just the bus station," she said.

"Really?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "What's a pretty little miss like you needing to ride a gross bus for?"

"My mother's in the hospital."

Shit, he thought. It's okay. Deep breaths, you can fix this.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jim said with faux concern. He checked his gas light. The red light had flashed long enough. Just a little bit more...

Like an answer to his prayers, the truck began to sputter. It shook, the arrow on the speedometer slowly descending to zero. He frowned, hoping the woman wouldn't see glee behind his mask. He didn't want to make her nervous.

"Dammit," Jim barked as he banged on the steering wheel. "I'm out of gas. We'll have to pull over."

The woman shrugged, silent as ever. Something about her gesture made Jim nervous. He had never seen a hitchhiker look so indifferent. Yet, he liked it. She was his first true challenge.

Jean stood to the side as Jim fiddled with the oil pan of his car.

He really is a moron, isn't he? People are usually a little suspicious of hitchhikers but he's treating me like a long lost friend. Shame, since I'll be slitting his throat any moment now.

"Excuse me?" Jim called, breaking her thoughts.

Jean blinked, turning in his direction. The man had a goofy grin as he looked back at her, a streak of grease on his cheek. A true idiot

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Well, I was wondering if you could give me a little help over here. It's a tad complicated."

"Putting gas in your car is complicated?"

"I never said I was a mechanic"

Jean sighed, walking over to help the dimwitted man. The closer she got, the more she noticed something... off about him. His demeanor, the way he hid a hand behind his back. She had practiced the same thing a thousand times before. It was a ploy - a bad one at that.

"What the fuck?" Jean furrowed her brow, backing away. "You have a knife, too?"

"What?" Jim began to sweat profusely. He wiped his forehead, revealing the gleam of a butcher's cleaver in his closed fist. "Ah shit, wrong hand. But it's not what it looks like. I just keep this to check the fuselage and... wait, did you say 'too'?"

Jean reddened, pulling her jacket closer to her body. The chilling sensation of the blade's flat side brushed against her side. So much for keeping her weapon a secret.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," she started. "What's it to you?"

Jim smiled, still cheery but different. Somehow more pleasant.

"You're the Hitchhiking Murderer!" he said. "I've heard about you while watching TV. I must say, I'm a fan of your work."

Jean stood flustered. "I... uh, thank you?"

"Jim Miller," the man extended his hand. "I'm still new to the scene but I guess you could say I'm your opposite. I like to kill hitchhikers, rather than be one. I'll tell you, I never thought we'd cross paths this way. You're even more beautiful than the rough sketches of you on the ten o'clock news."

Jean blushed. He can't be serious.

"Thanks," she paused. "So, are you not going to try and kill me?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess not. We don't have to compete in the same pool for our victims so there's no need to be territorial, right?"

"I guess."

"So it's settled." Jim smiled. "We're cool."

"Right..."

Jean backed away, her eyes still glued to Jim's knife. He appeared friendly but if she learned anything, it was she couldn't take chances. Yet, something told her he would stick to his word. He may have been a killer, but he was the earnest type.

"Hey," she said, standing on the edge of the forest. Her voice echoed in the brisk night air as Jim perked his head up in anticipation of her words. "Next time, don't make it so obvious that you'll run out of gas. I could see you glancing at the meter every few seconds. And for the love of Christ, don't show your knife until you're about to kill someone. It's reeks of amateurishness. Don't give a bad name for the rest of us."

Jim nodded, giving her a thumbs up. "You got it! Maybe one day, I'll show you how much I've improved. I'll earn my name as an established serial killer and make you proud."

Jean fought back smiling herself. Stupid as ever

"Yeah," she said, melting into the safety of the foliage. "Maybe one day."