The Long Drive Home

The highway stretched endlessly before me, empty except for the occasional set of headlights in my rearview mirror. The same headlights I'd been seeing for the past hundred miles. The same ones that slowed when I slowed and exited when I exited.

It was supposed to be a simple business trip. Drive to Oakridge for the meeting, drive back the same day. Six hours round trip, nothing I hadn't done a dozen times before. But as night fell and the rain began, something about this particular journey felt different.

The headlights first appeared around 9 PM, just as I was leaving the city limits. A large vehicle—an SUV or truck—keeping a consistent distance behind me. Not unusual on a major highway. But as the miles passed and the exits became fewer and farther between, the same lights remained.

At first, I told myself it was nothing. Someone heading in the same direction, maintaining a safe following distance in the poor weather. But when I slowed to 55 in a 70 zone, they slowed too. When I accelerated to 80, they matched my speed perfectly.

I took an exit I didn't need, circling through a deserted gas station before returning to the highway. The headlights disappeared briefly, then reappeared behind me once more.