Terry's apartment in Brooklyn is a modern, spacious three-bedroom place with gorgeous, sprawling views of the city.

"New York City is magnificent from this distance, isn't it?" he asks, startling me. What I was really thinking is whether that old fire escape staircase outside the living room window would take my weight, if I tried to climb down it. He sounds more normal now, and his eyes are no longer so glassy, but fear is still clutching my whole body in an ice cold, vice-like grip.

I murmur a yes and nod, not meeting his eyes.

"Come, I'll show you to your room." He walks off and I follow. Maybe once I'm alone, I'll be able to figure out what to do, how to handle this, how to escape.

He opens the door to a room that's all done up in white and pale pink. It looks like a little girl’s bedroom. The headboard of the large double bed dominating the space has pink flowers embroidered into it, and all the furniture is white, except for the pink vanity table. The mirror above it shows our reflections, and I look away the second mine fully registers, because my face is completely white in fear, my eyes very wide. I'm not hiding my fear at all like I thought I was. But Terry seems completely oblivious to it, as he walks over to the window and pulls apart the lacy, translucent curtains.

"You can enjoy the view from here too," he says. "I never liked living in the city myself, but I like watching it. And I think you're the same way, am I right?"

"It's a very nice view," I mutter, which earns me a wide smile from him.

"Rest for a bit now and then I'll take you out to lunch," he says and walks to the door. "A very nice Italian restaurant just opened down the block. Do you like Italian food?"

The weirdness of this whole scene is making me lightheaded, the room starting to spin around me.

"I sure do," I answer anyway.

He nods and exits the room, but leaves the door open. I hear him humming one of the tunes we listened to in the car as he retreats back down the hall. The desire to slam the door shut and lock it is so strong I can barely fight it, but I'm afraid to anger him in any way. Whatever else is going on here, and it's all bizarre, Terry's giving off the vibe of someone struggling to keep it together. Like one of the relatives at the ER who were just told their loved one didn't make it, and they're still trying to ignore the news, because that's the only thing keeping them from dissolving.

I feel like throwing up, that's how scared I am. But I can't unravel, not now. So I just open my suitcase, take out my gold and white cardigan and stuff it into my purse, checking that the phone and money are still there.

I leave everything else and go out into the living room where Terry's drinking a glass of water by the window, still humming that tune in between taking sips.

"I'm ready for lunch now," I say, smiling as he turns to me. "I know it's a little early, but I missed breakfast, and I'm starving."

He smiles too and puts the glass down on the windowsill, offering me his arm. "Let's go then."

I wrap my arm around his and let him lead me out of the apartment.

My mind clears up the second we're outside, even the humid heat preferable to the eerie stillness of being alone in the apartment with Terry. He's jabbering on about all the new developments in the neighborhood, and how it used to be just full of warehouses not two years ago, but has since been completely gentrified. I'm nodding along, looking at everything he's pointing to with great interest, but really I'm just thinking about how to escape. Lots of cars and many yellow taxis seem to be passing on the street that runs parallel to this quiet riverside one we're walking down. I could take a taxi from there, go somewhere, anywhere, as far away from Terry as I can. He's talking to me like we've known each other for ages, like we're on a date.

My heart sinks as we enter the Italian restaurant. It's a tiny, dark place, the only exit the door and the windows facing the street. We're also the only patrons.

"Here are your menus," the waitress says after she seats us. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just water," I mutter. I could ask her to call the police, tell her I'm being held against my will.

"Nonsense," Terry says, his booming voice cutting right through that hatchling of a plan. "We'll have a nice red wine. What's the house wine like?"

"I'll bring the wine card," the waitress says and retreats back to the bar.

I lay my hand on Terry's arm and stand up. "I'll just go to the ladies room. You pick out something tasty for us."

The front door is just two steps away. I'll risk it, because this might be the last chance I get.

I back up closer to the door as the waitress returns, wait another split second until he takes the wine card from her and then bolt out the door.

My shins feel like they're bursting apart by the time I reach the turn off for the main street, but I just keep running. My thighs are cramping, the jolts from my feet striking the pavement growing more and more painful with each step. But the street with the taxis isn't far now. I can make it.

I think I hear Terry yelling after me, but I don't slow, not even long enough to look over my shoulder. I'm almost at that busy street, streaks of yellow as the cabs pass all I see. I glance back once I reach the intersection, see Terry running down the street after me, yelling my name.

I stick my arm out, like I've seen people do, muttering, “Please, please, please, stop”, at the cabs passing.

Terry's almost next to me when a taxi finally stops. I jump in.

"Drive," I almost yell.

The man behind the wheel is looking at me like he thinks I'm crazy. "Where to?"

"I don't know…Central Park, yes, Central Park."

The car's still not moving, and Terry is almost close enough to open the door and pull me out. His eyes are no longer glassy, no longer serene. They're turbulent like a storm at sea. He's mad. Livid.

"Go! Please!" I scream, and the driver finally obeys.

But even as we leave the intersection and Terry behind us, I can't stop shaking, and can't get my breathing under control either. What if he follows me? But when I glance back, Terry's still standing on the sidewalk just looking after me.