Rather, it will help sober me up, I think.
Pulling on my long black trench coat, I cinch the belt around my waist and head out into the night, stumbling just a little as I reach the sidewalk.
Usually this time of year, there isn’t so much rain and cloud cover that you can’t look up and still see some starlight peeking through. But according to the locals in the bar, it’s been an exceptionally rainy fall season here in Greenwood. So tonight, it’s too dark and cloudy to see any stars. The heavy mist settling in over the city adds to the feeling of foreboding I’ve felt in mybones ever since finding that fucking report. The air is still and has a heavy, deadened quality to it.
I head off on foot toward the neighborhood known as East Hill, where Bea’s apartment lies at the southeast corner of.
Night has fallen fully now, and the smell of rain and woodsmoke lingers in the air. I round a corner past a bustling bar, the sound of loud music and late-night revelry briefly pouring out of the doors. I keep moving forward, thinking about “Joseph” aka Zayn, and what the hell I am going to do about him.
One thing at a time,I tell myself. First, I need to find a way to come to terms with my father’s diagnosis. It didn’t change the concrete things. He was still gone, and that was that. But what it did change was how I viewed him, and my relationship to him.It changed how he had viewed me.
I swallow hard as I round a corner past an ill-lit convenience store, and head into a quieter, less affluent part of town that I’m not as familiar with. There are several ways to take off from the main road, and checking my map again, I decide to keep to the right.
One minute quicker. Ha.
It’s directly after I make the turn that I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise. Slowing my steps, I turn to glance behind me. A lone, slender man walks a good distance behind me, his dark hoodie pulled up over his face.Shit.Something doesn’t feel right.
I whip back around and quicken my pace as I move down the street. There are no other pedestrians around. Willing myself not to panic, I think about ducking into an open shop or bar. But all the businesses ahead seem to be closed, their various neon signs dark.
I decide that my best bet will be to act brave, move quickly and hustle to make it to my destination as soon as possible.The effects of the alcohol begin to burn off as adrenaline pumps through my veins.
The road ahead forks off in two directions. Following the GPS, I bear left, and I feel a slight incline under my feet. A dark, dimly lit brick alleyway lies several hundred feet ahead. I shift my head slightly to the left to surreptitiously glance behind me again. I see the darkened figure still keeping pace.Fuck, I think.
I wish I had some pepper spray on me. I used to carry it with me everywhere when I lived in Seattle and worked for the State. Pretty sure it got thrown out or lost somewhere along the way in the move back to Greenwood, though.
Increasing my pace once again, I heft my black leather bag a little closer to my side in an attempt to steal my nerves. I sense more than hear the man moving behind me, getting closer. The night grows still, and it's then I hear his quickened footsteps, alternating with my own high-heeled boot steps.
The loud clang of a metal trash can lid sounds from a street somewhere close by and causes me to jump. I keep moving forward, however, silently sending a prayer up into the heavy rainclouds above.
Through the hammering of my heart, I hear quickening footsteps close in right behind me. Panic clenches in my gut. I inadvertently move toward the alleyway. It’s a dead end. I fight the urge to scream or break into a run.
Too late now to course correct. I slow, swiping up my maps app to dial 911. But my hair is seized and my whole body yanked backwards. Rough hands wrap around my throat, dragging me deeper into the alley. I am thrown up against the cold brick wall. The wind is knocked out of me. Desperately, I rasp for a breath, and hunch over. Gulping in a lungful of the cold night air, I look into my attacker’s face.
Josh’s cold eyes stare back at me from underneath his dark hood.
“Dr. Pearson,” he growls out, “not so professional now… are you?” He pushes his palm up hard against my throat.
My eyes bulge. I want to call out for help, but I can’t. I choke and splutter, Josh’s fingers tightening around my neck.
Is this really happening right now?
With a savage jerk, he rips the bag off my shoulder. Then grabs at the belt of my black trench coat ripping it downward. My coat falls open and I finally manage to scream. Josh holds me in place by the throat, shoving his body against mine, his knee wrenching my thighs apart.
Reacting on instinct alone, the heel of my right hand slams into his nose. Josh’s head whips to the side. His grip loosens by a fraction. The look he gives me, slowly turning his head back, roots me to the spot.
“Big mistake, you fucking bitch,” he grinds out.
And then he lunges for me.
____________________
ZAYN
She still doesn’t remember that I exist. Not really. And it’s better this way. Safer… for her. Because I know exactly what I am. What I have become.Someone has to watch over her.And I had made a promise, after all.
Kat’s slender form leaves the bar and I notice her wobble slightly on the sidewalk. Jesus, is she drunk? I immediately leave my post leaning up against the streetlamp and follow her as she makes her way down the street. After a minute or two, a slender guy in a hoodie emerges from a hidden corner and falls in step behind Katherine. I pause as I watch him, watch her. He matches her pace a hundred yards back. Close enough toabsolutely be following her. Not close enough to send her into a panic. Not yet, anyway. This guy knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before.
The fuck? What is this, some kind of stalker inception?
