What started as a routine hitchhike became a nightmare when I realized the man driving—Arlen, or so he said—wasn’t who he seemed. A strange chemical smell in the van, unsettling questions, and a move toward the glove box triggered my instincts. Without thinking, I jumped from the moving vehicle and ran.

A jogger found me, and soon after, police discovered the van abandoned. Inside were zip ties, a GoPro, and deeply disturbing clues: blood, a child’s bracelet, and videos suggesting prior victims. “Arlen” was actually Denny Caldwell, a missing man tied to potential serial crimes. The footage captured horrors—some victims never identified. Though I escaped, I was left shaken and traumatized.

Weeks later, cryptic packages arrived: a photo of the bracelet, a flash drive with motel footage from a place I’d once stayed. Denny was taunting me. Then came news—his decomposed remains were found in the woods. A notebook nearby revealed chilling thoughts: he believed I hadn’t escaped, that I carried him with me.

For a long time, I lived in fear. Therapy helped. So did Bear, my roommate’s loyal dog. Volunteering at a youth center was the turning point. There, I met Eddie and began helping others—especially kids facing darkness of their own. Through art and shared stories, I found healing.

Later, detectives arrested a man named Vincent Holloway—the drifter who gave Denny his final ride. Vincent described Denny as “pure evil” and admitted to destroying the van. But he also recorded a message: “She’s a light. He picked the wrong one.”

Two years later, my art show Escape Velocity told my story and others’. It stood as proof that survival isn’t the end—it’s the beginning. Courage doesn’t erase fear. But it burns brighter than the monster who tried to put it out.