“I’ve got a gun. Keep walking.”
My heart is beating jackrabbit fast.
“You don’t have to do this, Jake.”
“You're calling me Jake now, huh? I guess it's a good thing you know who I am.”
“To me, you’re always going to be the soft-spoken, new guy, Ben. I don’t know who you are right now.”
I keep walking and try to remain calm but I can feel the beads of nervous sweat form underneath my clothing.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
“I saw you with your envelope from the job. We’re going to go to the bank and you’re going to give me all your money out of your account.”
“There’s not much more in there.”
“Bullshit, you're a King. Your father is loaded.”
“I don’t take money from my parents, Jake. I never have.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know that you’re that douchebag’s only daughter and he’ll pay money to protect his little princess. If you don’t have any money, he can give me all the cash I need.”
“Why do you need it?” I say, trying to keep our conversation going and remind him that I’m a friend and not a foe.
“Turn here,” he orders.
“But the bank is the other way,” I tell him.
“Just keep walking.”
A random tear falls quickly down my face. If Jake isn’t taking me to the bank, then where are we going?
My parents practically raised me in a protective bubble my entire life and most of the self-defense strategies I’ve ever seen were only scenes in Netflix dramas and Twitter videos. But it’s clear that Jake has had some sort of break with reality and there aren’t many people on the streets, so at this point I’ve got to figure out a way to distract him and then run.
“I talked to my dad about your brother,” I tell him.
“Yeah, so?”
“He said he’s sorry about what happened to him and that it wasn’t part of the plan.”
“He ain’t sorry yet, but he’s going to be.”
I turn around and look Jake straight on. I didn’t notice before but his voice sounds super strange and his eyes are glassy. I think he may be on something and immediately I know that whatever I’m going to do, I’m going to have to do it quickly.
I don't say another word but instead turn the opposite direction back toward Temple and I take off running. If I can just make it to one of the campus buildings, I can call for help.
So, I haul ass.
While I think Jake is having some trouble running in his shabby thrift store disguise, I can feel him gaining speed on me, so I dig deep and run harder.
Tears and snot are flying everywhere.
He’s gaining on me.
I turn on Broad Street and call for, “Help!” hoping that a random stranger will interfere and help me. The few people milling about just stare perhaps unsure if I am in real danger. One person even pulls out their phone to record us as if it’s some sort of hilarious social media stunt. No one tries to help me at all.
“Stop running, you cunt!” Jake yells after me.
