Hands on the ground, palms spread flat for balance.
Step, wince, freeze, listen.
That’s it. Slowly, slowly.
I was gaining ground. He was behind me, floundering in the dark as he searched. I could hear his ragged breaths and sense his presence in the shadows several yards away. I could also sense his fury, fully unleashed at having lost me.
I knew if he caught me again, he wouldn’t show what little restraint he had before. He was angry now, uncontrolled – a real wildcard. If I had any chance at all of living through this, I couldn’t let him find me in the darkness.
It was the cobblestone that did me in.
One loose stone, warped enough to set me off balance. When my weight shifted forward, the stone beneath my heel slipped and before I could catch myself, I was careening forward, face-first onto the ground.
I felt the skin tear away from my elbows and knees as I slid across the rough-worn cobblestones, small pebbles and grime from the alley floor biting into my shredded skin. My temple cracked painfully against the cool stony surface hard enough to make my head spin dizzily, and a tiny, involuntary cry escaped my lips.
Immediately, I clamped my mouth closed to stop the sound, biting my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Please, please, please, I chanted, a mantra in my head. Don’t let him have heard me.
For one suspended moment in time my ears strained to hear his movements, but it was utterly quiet once more in the alley. His ragged breathing had been silenced. I could almost picture him, standing stock-still as he tried to locate me in the shadows – listening just as hard as I was, as he crept ever closer.
I knew I had to move; yet, I remained frozen, lying on my stomach and paralyzed with indecision. Would the sounds produced by my movements only draw him closer? Was I better off simply making a run for it in my heels? Or, did I stay on my stomach and try to crawl my way out?
Before I could make any kind of decision, the choice was ripped from me.
Fists closed around my ankles, dragging me backwards. My hands, sprawled as they were on the ground in front of me, desperately scrambled for something to hold onto. My dress rucked up around my waist as I was towed by the ankles, the rough alley floor scraping my bare thighs raw within seconds. As he dragged me back, I managed to grab onto a shard of loose cobblestone, protruding slightly upwards – likely a piece of the cracked stone I’d tripped over. My fingernails nearly lifted from their beds as I tugged at the disrupted rock fragment, but it finally came loose in my hands.
I had a weapon.
He stopped dragging me, his hands moving up from my ankles to grip the base of my thighs, where my dress had ridden up. His grip wasn’t rough, it was very nearly gentle – more akin to a lover’s caress than a murderer’s sadistic clutches.
I shuddered, fear and disgust overtaking me for a moment, before they were pushed out – overridden by an intense, all-consuming rage at this man, this stranger, who was going to take everything from me.
I wasn’t just angry; I was enraged, I was incensed.
I was furious.
Bending my right knee, I curled my leg up and sent a powerful kick in the direction of my attacker. In my first stroke of luck all night, my stiletto landed a perfect blow to what I believed was his face, and his hands released me instantly. If the howl of pain he emitted was any indication, I’d caused some significant damage.
I was absently wondering if I’d punctured one of his eyes with the sharp heel of my shoe, when I snapped to my senses and sprang to my feet. Throwing out one hand so I was touching the brick wall, I ran flat-out, ignoring the burning pain in my ravaged knees. The wall beneath my hand was my only guide, keeping me upright as I sprinted for the faint light emanating from the end of the alleyway.
I could hear him behind me, cursing and noisily clamoring to his feet. Then, the pounding of his footsteps echoed in the night as he charged after me, gaining ground with each passing second.
I was getting closer to safety. I could finally make out the street at the mouth of the alley where people were waiting to get into Styx, faintly illuminated by the yellow streetlights overhead. As I ran, I stumbled twice on loose cobblestones and nearly fell over. I would have been a goner, had I not had one hand on the wall to catch myself. My other hand was preoccupied, still tightly clasped around the stone shard I’d pried from the ground.
He was faster than me, even with the injuries I’d inflicted. I desperately wanted to stop and take off my stilettos, aware they were slowing me down, but I was too afraid to pause even for a moment. I knew that each time I’d tripped, I’d lost a bit of my lead, and he was going to catch me again if I didn’t do something to slow his progress. Though I could see people ahead on the street, I knew there was still a good chance that they wouldn’t be able to hear my screams from this distance – or, worse, that they wouldn’t help me, even if they did hear my cries.
When I sensed he was close – less than ten feet away, if my perception was accurate – I twisted and hurled my sharp piece of cobblestone in what I thought was his general direction. I heard a thud as it made impact, and I prayed it had hit him in the head – or at least somewhere painful.
If I could just make it out of the alley, out of the dark, I’d be safe. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow me into a crowd of people.
I hoped.
I sprinted for the street with every ounce of energy I had left in my body. Legs throbbing, lungs aching, head swimming with the effort, I ran until my vision clouded with black spots.
I didn’t listen for him behind me. I didn’t scream for help. I didn’t even breathe.
I just ran.
Finally, miraculously, I broke through the entry of the alleyway and onto the semi-populated street. My legs gave out and I collapsed to my knees, my hands outstretched to brace my fall. Down on all fours, I lifted my head to look at the crowd of people standing in line for the club.
They stood there in their party clothes, looking down at me with their mouths hanging open in shock. Their faces were a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from confusion, to disbelief, to horrified comprehension.
I supposed, with my torn dress and bloodied knees, that I did look a bit of a mess.
“Help me,” I whispered, just before my limbs gave out completely and I crumpled to the pavement. “Please…help me.”
That’s when everything went black.
***
It was the drone of approaching the sirens that pulled me up into consciousness.
One cheek pressed to the cool pavement, I cracked open an eye and looked skyward. Two girls, both wearing too much makeup and clothed in identical painted-on dresses, were staring back at me with worried expressions on their faces. At least, I thought they looked worried – it was a little hard to tell, beneath all that foundation and bronzer.
From the looks of it, they were standing guard – in their platform pumps, no less – over my prone form. Apparently, they’d also called the police and an ambulance.
“Are you okay?” one of the girls asked, her eyes wide as they scanned down my body, coming to rest on the once glorious Dress, which was now in tatters. I ignored the questions in her eyes.
Was I okay? No.
I was horrified, traumatized, stunned – she could pick her poison.
I didn’t know if I’d ever be okay again.
“Yes,” I croaked out, with a cough. My throat felt raw, whether from screaming or sprinting, I didn’t know.
“The ambulance is on its way,” the other girl informed me, as if I couldn’t hear the ever-increasing wail of the siren. “We didn’t know what else to do.”
They looked uncertain, as though they thought I might be angry with them for calling in the cavalry.
“You did the right thing. Thank you,” I whispered, in a tone I hoped conveyed how appreciative I was. “Really.”
I didn’t get to tell them anything else or even ask their names, because the ambulance had arrived and, all at once, I was surrounded by a sea of pa
ramedics and police officers.
With quiet efficiency, the paramedics rolled me over onto my back and examined my scraped legs and arms. None of the wounds were deep enough to require stitches, so they applied a stinging antiseptic and wrapped the worst of them tightly in white gauze. I think they tried to tell me some things or maybe ask what had happened to me, but I was adrift in my own private bubble; their voices sounded far away, muffled as though they were speaking to me through a clear Plexiglas wall.
I tuned in enough to catch a word every once in a while.
“……in shock…….possible head trauma…….multiple contusions…”
After they’d checked my pupils by shining a glaringly bright pen light directly into each eye, there was more muffled conferencing between paramedics. Something they’d seen in my pupils’ response must’ve worried them, because in no time at all, they’d wheeled over a stretcher and gently lifted me onto it.
“…Jane Doe….attacked…..concussion….”
When my back gently hit the cushion, I automatically looked up to the stars.
Andromeda.
Pisces.
Aquarius.
Pegasus.
I closed my eyes and tried to shut them out, to turn off the images that seeing them had triggered, but it was too late.
A door slams. It’s dark, so dark I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. Utterly quiet, hopelessly alone. My hand touches a foreign chest. His bruising grip on my shoulders. Tight, so tight. I gasp in pain. Screams no one can hear echo in the night. I’m cornered. I’m helpless. I’m going to die.
The sounds of a struggle snapped me back into the present. My eyes followed the loud voices, until I found him in the crowd. He looked frantic to get to me, his face flushed red and his deep blue eyes flashing dangerously as he screamed at the duo of police officers restraining him. He was gesturing toward me, clearly trying to explain something to the officers, when his eyes locked on mine and he realized that I was conscious.
“Bee!” Finn screamed, his voice cracking, broken. “Tell them to let me through, Bee. Tell them, princess. They won’t let me get to you.”
Still floating in the numbness of my aftershock, I stared at him, mesmerized by the haunted look on his face. He appeared nearly unhinged with worry at my condition, as though the strain of what had happened to me was more than he could bear. He almost looked as if he’d been the one alone in that alleyway, when a monster had slithered from the shadows.
I wanted to tell him that it was okay – that I was okay. I wanted to take that tormented look out of his eyes. I didn’t do that, though. Instead, I turned my head away from him, not wanting to see that expression on his face anymore and too preoccupied with my own demons to spare any thoughts for his.
Maybe I can stay like this forever. Comfortably numbed to the world. Adrift – quite possibly unhinged – but safe. Alone in my bubble. Untouchable. Maybe it’s better this way.
As much as I wanted to hold onto my detached catatonia, I knew it couldn’t be healthy. And it was probably a one-way ticket to a padded cell and a lifetime supply of all-you-can-eat Jell-O.
It was then that I realized there was a paramedic speaking to me in a low, soothing tone, her mouth close to my ear. Turning my eyes to her face, it was as if an un-mute button had abruptly been pressed; all the sounds came rushing back, nearly overwhelming in their volume.
Sirens wailing. Police radios crackling. Curious onlookers whispering. A man’s voice, yelling my name.
“Can you hear me, sweetie? We need to know your name, so we can take care of you.”
“Br—Brooklyn,” I stammered out, my voice sounding fragile. Clearing my throat I tried again, “Brooklyn Turner.”
“Okay, Brooklyn, that’s good. I’m Shannon.” She stared into my eyes searchingly, looking for answers to the mountain of questions that had piled up in however long had passed since I first emerged from the alley. “Do you remember what happened?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“That’s good, Brooklyn,” Shannon smiled encouragingly.
“I was…I was attacked,” I whispered, at once a confession and a plea for understanding. Her eyes were a warm brown, like melted caramel, and at the moment they were filled with sympathy and worry.
“The police officers are going to have some questions for you in a little while, do you understand?” Shannon asked me. “Your injuries are minimal. You have some scrapes that will need fresh bandages and antiseptic daily, but nothing too serious. They shouldn’t leave scars, but you’ll have some pain and discomfort for the next several days. You may have a broken rib, and your forehead is slightly bruised, as are your upper arms.
“You also need to be aware of the fact that you have a minor concussion. It’s important that you stay awake for the next hour or so, and when you do eventually go to sleep for the night, someone needs to wake you every few hours to check your condition. Do you have anyone who can help take care of you? Your parents?”
I shook my head.
“What about a roommate? A boyfriend, maybe?”
My eyes left her face and once again found Finn in the crowd. He was still facing off with the police officers, trying his damnedest to get to me, but he seemed to be losing hope. The look of dejection and defeat on his face would’ve brought my to my knees – had I been standing and had my knees not already been ripped to shreds, that is.
“Officers,” I called out, with as much strength as I could suffuse into my voice; I hoped it would be enough for them to hear me over the noise of the sirens and the gathering crowd. “Please, let him through. He’s my boyfriend.”
The officers – one of whom I recognized as Officer Carlson, the semi-pudgy policeman who’d investigated the break-in at my apartment – turned to me and nodded. Dropping their arms to allow Finn to pass, he was at my side in an instant. His arms folded around me gently, as though he was afraid I might shatter if he touched me too roughly.
Bringing his forehead down to rest against mine, he stared into my eyes. His own were brimming with unshed tears.
“You’re gonna tell me what happened,” he whispered roughly. “Everything. Every detail. And when you’re done, I’m gonna find the fuck who did this to you and make sure he never sees another goddamn sunrise.”
His words were vengeful, but his hands were gentle as they came up to cup my face. When he pressed his eyes closed, trying to regain control over his emotions, a solitary tear slipped out from beneath his eyelid and tracked down his face. I leaned forward to kiss it off his cheek, and his eyes sprang open to look at me once more.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“You scared the fucking shit out of me, you know that?”
I nodded again, my eyes locked on his.
“I saw you leave for the bathroom. Sang two whole songs, and you still hadn’t come back. I knew something wasn’t right – I could feel it. So I stopped playing, found Lexi, and asked her where the hell you were.” His eyes pressed closed again and I saw the tic of a muscle in his cheek as he tried to temper his anger. “She had no idea. She was too busy eye-fucking Ty to even notice you’d been gone for way too long.”
“She didn’t know,” I whispered, coming to Lexi’s defense. I’d been the idiot who’d gone outside alone, without my cellphone. This was all on me. “It isn’t her fault, it’s mine.”
“She should’ve fucking known better,” he snarled, clearly not willing to forgive Lexi tonight. I decided to let this battle go. For right now, Finn needed someone to blame – someone to take out his anger on. His frustration with her would fade once the police found whoever had attacked me. At least, I hoped it would.
“Finn,” I whispered. “I need to talk to the police. Give them my statement.”
“I’m staying with you,” he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. I sighed. I hadn’t exactly wanted him to hear all the gory details, but I had no fight left in me. I’d used it all up in that alleywa
y.
When Officer Carlson and the other policeman – a thin man with a graying beard and an avuncular manner who introduced himself as Officer O’Callahan – approached, I sat up slowly and Finn moved to stand by the side of the stretcher. He kept his fingers laced with mine, giving my hand reassuring squeezes whenever my voice faltered or I struggled to find the words to explain what had happened during the attack.
When I reached the point in my tale that I had to describe my attacker’s sexual arousal, Finn’s grip grew dangerously tight. I could tell, without even a glance in his direction, that he was waging an internal battle to keep his composure – warring with his instincts to lash out in rage. He somehow managed to remain silent so I could finish giving my statement. The policemen listened with stony faces, their expressions hardened by years of experience with victims whose fates were far worse than my own.
When I was finally done speaking, feeling shaken from reliving every moment of the attack, it was my turn to answer questions. They pelted me with query after query, wanting to know about the most minute, seemingly inconsequential details. To their disappointment, and my own frustration, I didn’t have answers to many of their questions.
Did he have any distinguishing marks or characteristics?
It had been so dark; I didn’t know.
Could you estimate his age?
Maybe somewhere between twenty and forty? I couldn’t be sure.
Did he mention any kind of motive?
He hadn’t said anything, even when I’d broken his nose or smashed my high heel into his face.
Do you believe this is related to the break-in incident at your house last month?
It was possible, I supposed.
Can you think of anyone who would want to scare or harm you?
Finally, a question I could answer.
“There’s this guy. Gordon O’Brien. He’s threatened me before.” I swallowed tightly, talking around the large lump in my throat. “I think he gets off on scaring girls. And he was definitely at the club tonight – I noticed him when I walked in.”
“When you say that he’s threatened you in the past, what do you mean?” Officer Carlson asked.
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