“God, fuck this,” Danny cursed. He pressed his foot on the gas petal as he turned the car intangible and simply drove through all the traffic, much to the screaming horror of his passenger.
In Danny’s defense, it was a hot day.
Sweltering. Boiling. Fry-your-eggs-on-the-hood-of-the-car kind of day. The sun was a yellow haze and hung fat and heavy right above the highway. The heat is a physical, damning weight with the gross, icky, no-good humidity. A visual weight - a fuzz, a blur like a TV white-static buzz that obscured the asphalt concrete. His mouth was dry, his hair was sticking to his forehead, and - here’s the kicker - the car’s A/C was broken.
An A/C would’ve made being stuck on the highway at least bearable. But instead, Danny’s left with having to keep all the windows open. Making the whole car smell like gas and burnt rubber.
Several cars honk, and Danny bangs his head on the edge of his steering wheel.
“We should’ve went of exist 32.” The man in the review mirror, Mr. Moore, in the back seat says as he fiddled with his watch before once more loosening his tie.
Danny mentality counts to five before he speaks as courteous and politely as possible. “I thought you said It would’ve taken us on the opposite direction to your office?”
“At this point,” Mr. Moore says, his voice feeling as washed out and drained as Danny felt. “The long route would’ve been faster.”
Danny couldn’t argue with that.
“Young man,” Because of course Mr. Moore was the kind of awkward middle-age man to unironically address him ‘young man’. “How long have you been in this Uber business?”
“Not long,” Danny says. “How about you and your office job? A paper factory, was it? How long have you been working there?”
“This was my first day,” Mr. Moore says. In the review mirror, Danny can see his shoulders deflate. “I was planning to arrive early to make a good first impression, but I would consider myself lucky at this rate to arrive on time.”
“Hmm. That’s unfortunate.”
If Danny was by him self, he’s just fly or phase through with the car. Invisible, and intangible means no risks, no witnesses. Boom. Problem solved.
But Danny had Mr. Moore in the back of the car. And he was smack-dab in the middle of the highway. Surrounded by cars. Filled with people who had things like phones and nothing to occupy them except road rage.
But who would believe them?
Sure, people could record it. But between all the social media filters, photoshop, and glitching phones, who, who important, that is, would really believe it?
Danny sits up, turns around, and looks at Mr. Moore. An unassuming, grey, boring, sweaty man who worked at a paper factory.
Who the hell would believe Mr. Moore? Never mind belief, even, what would Mr. Moore do about it? They’re a long ways from Amity and no one outside of that town knew about real ghost hunters or a government branch like the GIW. Mr. Moore was just a guy who worked in a paper factory, who probably never had anything extraordinary happen in his life ever.
Danny would be doing this man a favor, honestly.
Mr. Moore gave Danny an odd look as Danny stared at him unblinkingly. “Um… young man?”
“Put your seatbelt on.”
“… Ok?”
Danny whips his head forward with a borderline maniacal grin.
“God, fuck this,” Danny cursed. He pressed his foot on the gas petal as he turned the car intangible and simply drove through all the traffic, much to the screaming horror of Mr. Moore. Mr. Moore’s screams echo all the louder as Danny pressed even harder on the gas and everything flashed past like Willy Wonka’s Horror tunnel. He shouldn’t of crackled and laugh like how he was now, but he did.
In almost a blink of an eye, they reached the drop-off point.
“Alright Mr. Moore.” Danny eased on the brakes. and slowly costed to the spot. The car, the hunk of garbage, creaks as it comes to a complete stop. “Here’s your stop.”
Nothing.
“Mr. Moore?”
Still nothing.
Danny cautiously turns around and see’s Mr. Moore rigid and slacked-jawed from where he sat.
“Oh god.” Danny says. “I broke the man.”
The first sign of movement Mr. Moore makes is looking at his watch with glazed eyes. “… I’m six minutes early.” He slowly turns to Danny. “I’m early.”
“You won’t be if you stay in my car.”
Mr. Moore still doesn’t seem to be in any particular rush as he stared dead (ha) ahead.
“You went through cars.”
“Yes,” Danny tells him slowly. “I did.”
“… Ok.”
“Ok?”
Mr. Moore nods. “Ok.” He looks at Danny with an odd and unnerving calmness that certainly wasn’t there prior. “Can I call you again for a ride?”
“Uh… sure?”
The man once more nods and, finally, opens the door and swings out. Even if his legs wobbled as he walked. The man reached for his pocket, and pulls out his phone.
Danny hears a ding, looks at his phone, and sees five stars.
“The fuck?”
