Liana

 

 

 

Why did I just do that? As soon as I walk out the door of the bar, I begin to question my actions.

But I don’t turn around.

Instead, I wrap the giant red fur coat around my shoulders and start scurrying briskly down the street. I’m pressing my little purse against my side, clutching it with one hand, holding the coat with the other. I’m not in prime shape, so I find myself starting to pant after just a few yards. Only after turning a corner do I feel safe enough to slow my gait to walking.

I am gasping for air—though trying not to attract too much attention—and breaking a sweat, but my feet continue to carry me down the sidewalk. This is not the safest area of the city to be in, and I probably shouldn’t be walking all by myself out here, especially at dusk, but I’m not worried enough to hail a cab.

What is safety, anyway?

I thought my job was safe. I thought I was—kind of—safe in my relationship with Luke.

Who says I’d be any less safe here? Alone, at night, on a street in a rough neighborhood.

After all, I’m the one who just committed a crime, and a dumb one at that. Even through my sweating and panting, I still find myself holding the red fur coat wrapped around my small body closed with clenched fingers. I’m a rather short person, and this coat is way too big for me, but it protects me from the cold a lot better than my own coat did—the coat I left on the back of my stool at the bar because I was so focused on stealing this one. I’m sure they have a lost and found, and I can just come back tomorrow to fetch it. No harm, no foul.

Or Barbie doll will take it once she realizes hers has disappeared, which then would make this a simple exchange and not a theft. And she’s definitely the one who made out better on the deal, if you ask me.

What is this atrocity I am wearing, anyway? It feels warm, but itchy and artificial. At least it’s not real fur.

When I bury my hands into the coat’s pockets to keep them warm, I feel the thickness of a folded-up piece of paper. I produce what turns out to be a small business card. Just as I suspected, this coat’s owner appears to be a sex worker, but more of a high-class kind of escort than what I suspected. Apparently, she goes by the unimaginative name Ruby Red, which may explain the hideous coat. I didn’t know escorts had business cards. Who do they give those to? Are there like parties or something, where they meet up with “like-minded” people and exchange contacts for future use?

I furrow my eyebrows and roll my eyes at that idea and turn the card over to see if there’s anything written on the back. There are only two words, written in curly calligraphy: Violent Delights.

Is that her motto? A promise? I wonder what it means.

I put the card back in the pocket, and as I continue walking, I am reminded why I ended up in that bar in the first place. Not only is it extremely cold out, but my feet also hurt from all the walking I did earlier. I am not used to wearing heels all day. The only reason I wore them today was because they are the only shoes I have that match my black suit. Out of respect, I wanted to wear something black and formal today because I know Professor Miller would have appreciated it. He was always one for tradition and etiquette. This is my way of showing my respect to him.

I can practically see his kind and paternal smile.

A single tear rolls down my cold cheek as my thoughts wander to him. I will miss this man, my boss, my mentor, in some regard. He taught me many things, but most of all, he gave me a place that made me feel stable and secure.

“Thank you.”

The words escape my lips in a faint whisper. He thanked me so much, for so many things, even small things, like printing out a simple e-mail. He always wanted his e-mails printed out each morning and placed in a neat pile in the middle of his desk, that’s how old-school he was. If it wasn’t on paper, it wasn’t real.

I turn up the huge collar of the hideous coat and start walking faster. I’m getting more and more miserable out here in the cold and need to find the next subway station, or call a cab.

I take in my surroundings. The area I am walking in is empty and scary at night. There are no other pedestrians, and even vehicles appear to be a rarity. It’s time for me to find out exactly where I am so I can get home.

I stop for a moment, turning and searching for anything that would help me figure it out, a street sign, a bus station. But I can’t seem to find anything.

Just as I continue hurrying down the sidewalk, I hear a car approaching me from behind. I only notice it because it’s driving at a very slow speed. Other cars have passed by me, but they were traveling at what I would consider to be a normal speed. This one is making me a bit nervous because the driver seems to be slowing down, almost as if he’s following me.

I don’t dare turn around to look to see if he wants anything from me. That’s rule number one on the street: no eye contact. Instead, I walk even faster and try to exude confidence, indicating that I won’t have his shit and have no interest in talking to him.

The car keeps following me.

There’s no corner to turn down, no narrow alley through which I could disappear, no storefront to enter.

My heart begins to race. What is going on? Should I turn around? Should I yell at him to leave me alone?

But I don’t get to do any of those things. Before I can do anything, I am grabbed from behind by two incredibly strong arms.

I gasp in shock, unable to even scream because I am so overwhelmed by the abruptness of everything.

A man of ample size and strength wraps his arms around me, pulling me off my feet as he proceeds to drag me with him. I lose my balance, my arms helplessly flying up in the air, as I try to regain control.

And just as I find the will to shriek out in horror, the assailant presses a wet handkerchief over my mouth and nose, forcing me to inhale a pungent substance that turns the world black.