The rain fell in sheets, relentless, as if the sky itself wept for the world below. Route 17 stretched endlessly through the forested hills, a slick ribbon of asphalt reflecting the occasional headlights that pierced the night. It was here, in the cold and the dark, that Lila stood, shivering, her thin jacket plastered to her skin. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one a battle against the pain radiating from her side. Blood seeped through her fingers where she pressed them against her ribs, mixing with the rainwater that dripped to the ground.

Lila hadn’t always been alone. Just hours ago, she’d been laughing in a dimly lit bar on the edge of town, her friends’ voices a warm cocoon against the autumn chill. They’d been celebrating her twenty-third birthday, toasting to dreams she hadn’t yet dared to voice. But the night had turned sour when a man at the bar—someone she didn’t know, with eyes too sharp and a smile too practiced—had lingered too long at their table. Her friends had brushed it off, but Lila felt the weight of his gaze. When she stepped outside for air, he’d followed.

She didn’t remember much after that. A blur of motion, a sharp pain in her side, and the world tilting as she was dragged into an alley. She’d fought, clawing at his face, but he was stronger. When she woke, she was here, on the side of Route 17, the rain washing away the evidence of her struggle. Her phone was gone, her purse too. The gash in her side throbbed, and her legs trembled as she forced herself to stand.

She couldn’t stay here. She’d die if she did. The cold was seeping into her bones, and the blood loss made her vision swim. She stumbled toward the road, her sneakers squelching in the mud. A car approached, its headlights cutting through the downpour. Lila raised a trembling hand, her voice hoarse as she called out, “Please… stop…”

The car slowed, then sped past, its taillights fading into the night. She sank to her knees, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. Another car came, then another, each one a fleeting hope that dissolved into the storm. She didn’t know how long she stood there, waving, pleading, her strength ebbing with every passing minute.

Then, a pair of headlights lingered. The vehicle—a sleek, black SUV—pulled onto the shoulder, its wipers beating a steady rhythm. Lila’s heart leapt, though her body protested as she staggered forward. The passenger window rolled down, revealing a woman behind the wheel. Her face was half-shadowed, but her eyes were sharp, assessing. She wore a dark cap pulled low, and her voice, when she spoke, was calm but firm.

“You okay?” the woman asked, leaning slightly toward the window.

Lila’s teeth chattered as she tried to form words. “Please… I need help. I’m hurt.”

The woman’s gaze flicked to Lila’s hand, still pressed against her side, where the blood had stained her jacket a dark crimson. Without a word, she unlocked the door. “Get in.”

Lila didn’t hesitate. She climbed into the passenger seat, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. The interior of the SUV was warm, the air scented faintly of leather and coffee. She sank into the seat, her body trembling from cold and relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the heater.

The woman didn’t respond immediately. She pulled back onto the road, her hands steady on the wheel. After a moment, she glanced at Lila. “What happened to you?”

Lila swallowed, her throat dry. “I… I was attacked. In town. They left me out here.”

The woman’s jaw tightened, but she kept her eyes on the road. “You’re bleeding. There’s a hospital about twenty miles up. Can you hold on that long?”

Lila nodded weakly, though she wasn’t sure. Her vision was starting to blur at the edges, and her limbs felt heavy, as if the rain had soaked through her soul. She leaned her head against the window, the cool glass a small comfort against her feverish skin.

The woman drove in silence, the only sounds the patter of rain and the soft hum of the engine. Lila’s eyes drifted to her rescuer, trying to place her. There was something familiar about her—maybe the way she held herself, confident yet guarded. Her cap obscured most of her face, but her profile was striking, with high cheekbones and a determined set to her mouth. Lila’s foggy mind struggled to make the connection, but she was too tired to chase it.

“What’s your name?” the woman asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Lila,” she murmured. “Lila Harper.”

The woman nodded, as if filing the name away. “I’m Jo,” she said simply.

Lila didn’t press for more. She was too focused on staying conscious, on keeping her hand pressed against the wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. The miles stretched on, the road a blur of rain and shadows. She didn’t notice when her eyes began to close, her body slumping against the door.

“Lila,” Jo’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with urgency. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”

Lila forced her eyes open, her breath shallow. “I’m… trying.”

“Tell me something,” Jo said, her tone softer now, almost coaxing. “Anything. Where are you from?”

“Ellswood,” Lila whispered. “Small town… not far from here. I was… I was going to move. To the city. Start over.”

Jo’s eyes flicked to her, a flicker of something—sympathy, maybe—crossing her face. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Lila managed a weak smile. “Yeah… I thought so.”

The hospital was closer now, the glow of its lights visible through the rain. Jo’s grip on the wheel tightened, her voice steady as she spoke. “We’re almost there, Lila. Just hang on.”

But Lila’s strength was fading fast. The warmth of the car, the rhythm of the rain—it was lulling her under, pulling her toward a darkness she couldn’t fight. Her hand slipped from her side, and she barely felt the pain anymore. Her last thought, as her eyes closed, was of Jo’s face, and the nagging sense that she knew her from somewhere.

When the SUV pulled into the hospital’s emergency bay, Jo leapt out, shouting for help. Nurses and doctors rushed forward, pulling Lila’s limp form from the car. They worked quickly, their voices a frantic chorus as they wheeled her inside. Jo stood back, her cap still low, watching as the doors swung shut behind them.

A nurse approached her, clipboard in hand. “Ma’am, we need some information. Are you family?”

Jo shook her head. “No. I just found her on the road.”

The nurse hesitated, then nodded. “Can you stick around? The police will want to talk to you.”

Jo’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes darted toward the exit. “I’ll be here,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise.

By the time the police arrived, Jo was gone. The SUV had vanished into the night, leaving no trace of the woman who’d driven Lila to safety. The doctors fought to save her, but Lila’s injuries were too severe, her body too weakened by blood loss and cold. She slipped away in the early hours, her dreams of the city fading with her.

The story of the girl on Route 17 spread through Ellswood, a tragedy whispered in bars and coffee shops. The police searched for the mysterious driver, but the SUV’s plates were untraceable, and no one knew who “Jo” was. Some speculated she was a Good Samaritan, others a drifter passing through. Only one person, a nurse who’d caught a glimpse of her face, paused when she saw a rerun of The Silence of the Lambs on TV weeks later.

“That’s her,” she murmured, staring at Jodie Foster’s face on the screen. But no one believed her. It was too absurd, too Hollywood. Jodie Foster, in Ellswood? Driving a random SUV on Route 17? The idea was dismissed as grief-fueled fancy.

Yet the truth lingered, unspoken, in the rain-soaked memory of that night. Jodie Foster, or someone who looked remarkably like her, had been Lila’s last hope, her fleeting savior in a storm that claimed her anyway. And somewhere, on another road, in another life, the woman called Jo drove on, her cap pulled low, her secrets kept by the rain.