Lloyd purred as Matthew turned off the highway, cars behind him honking and drivers heckling as the little blue car coasted to the red light. Some drivers slowed to gawk at the car, even to wave at the Bug's driver, though they were few and far between. The stop at the end of the off-ramp was too long-lasting, every single driver screamed through the open windows for Matthew to pull off the road.

“Why do I fucking bother?” he muttered, gripping the wheel, proceeding to chastise himself, for the fifth time that year, for taking Lloyd out on the motorway. The blue Bug was not built to go over 70 miles an hour despite what the speedometer claimed. Matthew, absentmindedly, turned onto the on-ramp, wanting to arrive with plenty of time to orient himself.

As the drivers around him flipped Matthew the bird while the car behind flashed their brights and honked, he even contemplated swerving Lloyd into the next car and killing its occupants. "You're built like a tank, my dude," he whispered, patting the car's steering wheel.

The light turned green. The car next to him roared away while Lloyd purred through the intersection.

Almost every car behind him followed suit, switching into the next lane and zooming passed.

"Lousy fuckers," he muttered under his breath. Licking his lips, Matthew decided to take that rage and channel it into getting through the job interview. If not that, he would absolutely have killed them.

Despite its sad, worn appearance, Matthew loved the car with a passion. Everything seemed to fail him – his first laptop battery surviving two years before being unable to hold a charge; his second laptop, bought with funds from his third part-time job, died ceremoniously two days before finals, the cost to repair it astronomical; his first phone unceremoniously burning itself while charging one night; his replacement phone never seeming to hold a call or reception; his first leased car being recalled, the second leased car failing a safety inspection – but Lloyd seemed to keep going. The car should've died eons ago. The 44-year-old vehicle didn't meet modern standards with safety and fuel-efficiency, the body was stained and pocketed with rust, the bumpers one bump away falling off, paint peeling everywhere, the interior smelled of wet farm animals on rainy days, and even the engine sounded like it was about to rip itself to pieces. Yet, whenever Matthew turned the key, Lloyd's engine rattled into life. Every time Matthew started the car, he was certain Lloyd would finally stop, and every time he would be more than relieved when they made it back safe.

Every move Lloyd made, every gear shift, everything made Matthew felt in control. Even despite the Beetle's age, he felt safe in it, as if Lloyd was watching out for him as much as Matthew was for it.

Gritting his teeth, Matthew glanced the directions lying on scrap paper in the passenger seat, eyeing the next street before slowing to a stop. "Almost there, bud," he whispered, one hand gently rubbing the plastic wheel in encouragement while the car's gears groaned as he shifted back into second. "We're getting there." Muttering the directions to himself, Matthew watched the road as he navigated through the tree-covered streets.

He had half-anticipated the interview would be at some kind of office complex, yet the address turned him onto a gated-off drive adjacent to Willamette Street. Stepping out but leaving Lloyd idling, Matthew assumed he'd taken a wrong turn. For an entire block, trees towered over the wire fencing, with no structure in sight, a nearby sign stating “Henry Howard Forest Preserve” with the address – 17 Cherry Street – listed below. Underneath that was another sign, hanging by some chains – OPEN FOR THE SEASON. NO CARS ALLOWED.

Indeed, a few scattered cars lined the street in designated parking spots, its occupants gone.

“It's the right address,” Matthew sighed, glancing down at his directions in hand. He glanced around, waiting for the instructions to tell him the next steps. Approaching the red, circular-patterned gate, an oxidizing number pad and speaker leaned, tilted against the barrier. "This is helpful,” he muttered, glancing up and down Cherry Street. “D-do I call it?" He pulled out his phone to check the interview email. It didn't say, but regardless, Matthew pressed the CALL button.

A high-pitched, scratchy squeal rang out before a voice came through – "Hello?"

He pressed the button again. "Yeah, hi. I, uh, I have a meeting with Mrs. Weiss. Concerning the nanny position? Am I, calling the correct – am I at the right address?"

"Yes, you are at the correct address. Do you have your confirmation number on hand?"

"That was sent with the confirmation email, correct?"

"Yes."

He pulled up the email again. "Y-yes." Clearing his throat, he started, enunciating, "Q...C...seven...one...four...T...eight...eight...F." Matthew stepped back.

The speaker crackled before the voice came through again. "Yes, Mr. Robinson. Thank you very much for arriving early. I'll buzz you in."

Rattling, the gate moved open, its motor humming.

"Follow the path up to the Landing Platform; the second gate should be open for you there. Please call if you need further assistance." The line crackled out.

Matthew let out a stunned whimper before climbing back into the driver's seat. "Okay.” He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “L-let's do this," he sighed, watching the pebbled drive cut uphill through and into the thick trees. "...please don't fail me now," he continued and, hands shaking, shifted the car into first and proceeded up the path.

Soft light filtered through the tree canopy overhead as the car trundled on. A creek crossed the path, covered by a simple wooden bridge that wouldn't have been out of place on a hiking trail. Matthew found himself driving slower and slower, staring out the windows to see where the estate ended, and the rest of the world began.

"This is stupid," he muttered, glancing both sides to see where the forest ended; it didn't. "Who on earth would be rich enough to live in one of the most, like, perfect places for a murder to happen?" Matthew blinked and sighed. "Liza's been rubbing off on me, huh?" he asked, rubbing the wheel with his thumbs. “I'm going to land the job,” he started mumbling. “I'm going to get the job...”

A clearing opened the forest canopy. A wooden shelter, picnic benches, and a collection of trash cans sat comfortably in the pebbled landing, maps of hiking trails just further beyond the picnic area. The drive terminated with another red, circular-patterned gate, propped open in anticipation of Matthew's arrival. A nearby sign proclaimed PRIVATE PROPERTY.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Now this is ridiculous." Matthew nudged Lloyd forward and passed the open gate, it groaning as it closed behind him. "I swear to God, if there's no British mansion at the end of this, I'm going to scream."

Finally, after another minute of the most scenic drive ever experienced in human history, the pebbled drive leveled off, the trees peeled back, and the forecourt opened to him.

Matthew clenched his teeth. "For fuck's sake."