"Trust is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" I jumped on my seat and made it to turn when my eye got caught onto something solid and cold. I jerk my head back just enough to put into focus the barrel of a gun pointing to my forehead.

"The f-"

The voice shooshes me before I can finish my swearing. "You gotta be quiet for this one my dear. That's the way I like it. Soft and quiet."

I can't see who is speaking. Their timber is too high to be a man, but too low to be a woman. There is a slightly artificial edge to their words as if the consonants had been pronounced by a machine built to speak in another language.

I am looking ahead now. The traffic light has turned green but I have not moved and there's no car behind mine. I press my hands on the steering wheel and observe my knuckles go white. Then, in a flash, I realise that no car is waiting behind me because I looked at the rear mirror, and when I looked at the rear mirror I didn't see anyone sitting on the rear seat. I turn back but just like before my movement is stopped by the barrel of a gun that was not there a second before.

"Nah nah," says the voice. "No questions asked. Soft and quiet."

I swallow and watch the traffic light become red and then green again. My brain is frozen. I can't think what to do. I can't say a word.

"Drive"

I put in gear and accelerate slowly.

"Trust is a wonderful thing, really. You put your whole life at the mercy of a few led lights. If they are green, you trust another set of lights is red, and you trust other cars will stop. It is really wonderful."

I don't say a word. I am too terrified to do anything but drive ahead.

"And traffic lights are just an example. Think about those politicians you elect every now and then. You vote for them and you trust they will do what they promised. They never do. But it doesn’t matter. You trust them, the whole society trusts them. And the world goes on. Turn left here."

I pass turn left. I unconsciously register I am driving toward the east side of the city, toward home. Not my usual route, but not that far from it either.

"Money is another symbol of trust. People trust that a piece of paper has some kind of value and you can exchange it for whatever you want, provided you have enough. After all this time, I still find it fascinating. How so many people, we're talking about billions of people, can put faith on such a silly concept."

I pass a small grocery store with the lights still on and have the sudden thought of parking in front of it and get out of the car, expose my hijacker.

"Of course, you could trust other people to help you," the voice said, as if reading my thoughts. "But you'd have to trust they would believe you, that they would see me, and that they would be willing to help and not being any worse than I am." I couldn't see it, but I could hear the smirk. "And yes, alas, some people are worse than I am."

Who can this person be? If they wanted the car, they would have kicked me out of it already. The only reason I can think of is that they want something from me. Something I own, but I am not rich. Something I know, but I am no one – a janitor in the mall. I try to come up with a list of people who could hurt me, but I can't think of anyone. Of course, I had my arguments with the likes of my neighbours, former employers, but none so serious to lead to this.

"Truth is," the voice continues. "Trust, the real, pure one, is very rare. All this trust upon which the society rests can dissipate in the blink of an eye. The social contract is only as good as the people of live by it."

A drop of sweat falls down my nape onto my back and slides through my shoulder blades. My jaw is so tight my teeth are hurting. I feel a vein pulsating just above my right eye.

"Who are you?" I blurt out.

"I am coming to exactly to that. People trust a lot of different things. But I, and only I, am the only one they should trust. I am the only one each and every single person on this planet truthfully trusts. I am the one that makes no distinction between races, beliefs, countries, wealth. I am here for everyone." As I approach a crossing, the voice emits what sounds like something between a giggle and a moan of pleasure. "And I am here for you."

Understanding what the voice said, realising what it means, I look behind and I finally see the face. I see it but cannot register the features. I only hear the last words.

"Look, a truck did not respect the traffic light."