He’s getting closer.

At first I think it’s all in my head, that I’m just imagining the footsteps behind me picking up speed to match my pace as I walk to the bus stop. But my heart is pounding, because I’m all alone, and there’s a man behind me. Following me.

I just finished my Saturday night shift at the sports bar where I work weekends. It’s a few minutes before midnight and the sky is dark, nearly pitch-black, punctuated only occasionally by the greenish glow of a streetlamp overhead. But this is the seedy side of town, and most of the streetlights are burned out. When things go wrong, big or small, on this side of the railroad tracks, the city doesn’t care to fix it.

Those of us who live over here are so far down the list of priorities, we might as well not exist.

So I’ve gotten used to it. The rushed half-jog to the bus stop after work in the eerie darkness. Sometimes, when I’m lucky, I can convince one of my male coworkers to walk me there as protection. Most of the guys at the sports bar are tall, broad-shouldered. Former high school athletes and bouncers.

Those types.

But tonight, my usual escort was busy flirting with some girl at the bar. Whatever. That was his prerogative. I’m sure they got tired of walking me to the bus stop and never getting more than a hug and a smile of gratitude in return. And that’s how it is in this world: you get what you give. So tonight I thought it would be okay, just this once, for me to make the long walk myself.

Except I was wrong.

This is not okay.

Someone is behind me, following me, and has been for at least five or six minutes. And now that he’s keeping up with me, his footsteps matching mine as I break into a jog, I know it’s serious. It is no coincidence that we happen to both be on the same route in the middle of the night. He’s trailing me and I have nowhere to go.

Terror grips my heart as I try to pick up the pace, my feet aching with every quickened step.

For my job at the sports bar, I’m required to wear high heels that “make my ass and calves look good,” according to my sleazy boss, Howie. And that’s all well and good when I’m in the bar. I can walk in heels, no problem. But this is Rochester, New York. It’s the ninth of December, and it’s snowing like crazy. Usually I bring a pair of snow-friendly boots to change into, but tonight I was almost late for work and had to rush. So now I was dashing through the snow in four-inch heels, my feet freezing and my heart pounding, because holy hell, there is someone chasing me!

I glance back over my shoulder and see a tall, thin figure following after me. He’s jogging with a slight stoop, like his back isn’t quite straight. Maybe an older guy? But what kind of old man chases young women down the street at midnight?

I trip over a chunk of ice on the sidewalk and go flying, landing on my knees, skidding across the snow and ice with a little shriek of terror. It hurts like hell, my work pants soiled and tearing at the knees. “Shit,” I cry out as I push my hands into the freezing cement, hurrying to get back on my feet.

My follower is running now, trying to take advantage of my fall.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, pushing me on. I jump up and kick off my heels, then break into a flat-out run down the street. I’m only wearing tights under my pants and a pair of thin socks, so my feet are aching with the cold underneath.

My lungs burn with every breath of chilly air, my knee throbbing, my head pounding with fear. What does he want from me? Is he trying to mug me? Or... worse?

I am not about to find out. It’s only another block now to the bus stop. I can make it.

My feet are starting to go numb and I’m losing my traction, sliding on the squeaky snow and icy pavement in my sock feet, but I keep on running. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how many pebbles and stones and ice shards stab my bare feet, I’m not going to be captured by the terrifying man!

But my heart nearly stops as I see the bus up-ahead, pulling away from my stop. It’s come early. Just by a few minutes, but early enough that I’m going to miss it. Not only is that my ride home, it’s my only chance of escape from the man chasing me. The other people that would be waiting there my only hope of help.

“No, no, no!” I cry out, tears blurring my vision I leap over a big shoveled-up pile of snow and go sliding again.

“Please! Wait! Come back!” I scream out, my voice sounding ragged as I struggle to keep my breathing even. The bus is picking up speed, oblivious to my desperate plight, while the man behind me gains momentum.

I look back again and shout, “Leave me alone, you creep! I have mace!” I lie, trying to fumble with my purse, like I really might put out his eyes with pepper spray.

He doesn’t answer. He’s dressed in all black, the hood of his puffy jacket pulled over his forehead far enough to cast his entire face in shadow. I can tell from his slightly hobbling gait that he is, in fact, an older guy. But that’s about all I can figure out. And for an old man, he sure seems to be in pretty damn good shape, keeping pace with me.

No. More than that. He’s gaining on me.

I look around frantically, wondering where I can go to hide. Even though I live and work on this side of town, I don’t have a lot of friends nearby. Well, actually, I have almost no friends. I keep to myself. And with how many hours I work between my two jobs and overnight nursing classes, I don’t have time to build relationships. Which means I don’t know anyone in these apartment buildings.

The police station is blocks and blocks away. There are no retail businesses in the neighborhood. I have nowhere to go. I turn and see a long, dark alleyway to my left. Before I can second-guess the decision I bolt in that direction. I don’t know what my plan is. I don’t know what I’m going to do. The only thing in my head is this voice clanging over and over again: RUN. RUN. RUN. DO NOT STOP FOR ANYTHING.

As soon as I run into the shadows of the alleyway, I cry out in pain as something sharp pierces through my sock and through the numb sole of my right foot. Tripping, instinctively babying my right foot, I fall to one side and slam into a brick wall, then crumple down to the freezing cold ground. In the faint light, I can make out hundreds of glittering glass shards from a shattered bottle of malt liquor. I wiggle back against the wall next to a stinking dumpster, cradling my right foot, which is bloody and searing with pain and cold. I try to blend into the darkness, hoping my assailant won’t find me, by some miracle.

He comes bolting into the alley and looks around, breathing heavily. My heart is pounding so loud I fear it might give me away. It’s like an overwhelming rushing sound in my ears. Surely he can hear it. Surely he can smell me. Smell my fear.

He walks slowly along, looking from side to side. As he approaches, he kicks the glass shards with his heavy boot, and some of the glass comes flying my way, clattering against the dumpster.

His breathing gets closer, deep and steady, as if he didn’t just chase me at full speed for two blocks. He’s calm, toying with me.

He kicks more glass, closer to the dumpster, and with two more steps, he’s going to see me.

Crunch goes the glass under his heavy boots, his pace slow as I shiver in the snow, trying to hold my breath, trying not to give myself away. A light buzzes to my left, as if struggling to emit light, keeping us both in the dark until a small flash of dim, overhead light gives me the sight of him.

He’s huge, his body imposing and terrifying, and I catch just a hint of his malicious grin which turns my heart cold.

He’s spotted me.

He reaches for me and I fumble around for a weapon of some kind. I desperately grab a larger chunk of sharp glass and begin flailing at him with it, shrieking as he wrestles to get to me. I kick at him with both feet, screaming.

“Help! Help me, please! Somebody!” I wail, tears burning on my cold cheeks.

I get a few good swipes in with the chunk of glass, but my attacker is wearing too many layers. I can’t even actually cut him. It’s so dark and I’m so exhausted, my whole body freezing cold. My feet ache. One of them is bleeding. The man grabs me by the shoulders and slams me back against the brick wall, my head bursting with pain and dizziness.

“Don’t,” I sob weakly. “Please.” My mind racing with a million thoughts of what happens to young women in dark alleyways when at the mercy of cruel men.

Somewhere it occurs to me that something smells like the hospital. Like the ward where I once shadowed an instructor for nursing school. What is it? What is the smell? It’s slightly sweet and cloying. It makes my nose wrinkle even as the world falls dark around me.

Tapioca. It’s tapioca.

And then something else is pressed against my face, my nose and my mouth. I try to suck in a deep breath, but when I do, the alley falls away and everything goes black.