Page 3 of Kaine

“P-please. Just let me go,” I beg. Please, I beg again in my mind.

I hear a shuffling as the bag is ripped open and the second thief rifles through it.

“There’s no money in here, chief. Just some old papers and shit.”

“Check again, or else we’re going to have to get this pretty lady to take us to the ATM and take out all her money for being such a bother to us.” The relief turns to ice fear at the thought of being taken to another location. I remember seeing on Oprah once, no matter what, don’t let them take you to a second location. The statistics of being found decrease dramatically.

“There’s nothin’ here!” the other guy repeats, throwing the bag against the wall, hard. It lands with a thud and the papers scatter.

“Fucking bitch!!!” my attacker screams in my ear before turning me around to face him and slapping me hard across the my right cheek.

I fall to the ground from the force of the strike. I can barely breathe from the pain, stars dancing in my eyes, blinding me. I feel myself dragged to my feet again and pushed hard against the door, knocking the wind out of me. He pushes the knife up against my throat and all I can see is the reflection of my scared face in his almost black eyes, the rest of his face covered by the black balaclava.

“Never mind. You can make it up to us. What’s your PIN, bitch?” he snarls.

I can’t even remember my own name in that moment.

“I’m not kidding, bitch, you’ve wasted our time here tonight and we intend on being compensated. Now, what’s your fucking PIN?!”

He pulls the blade of his knife along my collarbone, slashing gently, cutting skin and releasing a stream of blood. There’s a sting as the cold air blows over the blood dripping down my chest. I’m just glad I can’t see it.

“Tell me, or next cut’s going to be along your neck, and then you won’t be able to tell anyone anything ever again.” He moves his knife to press against my pulse and I forget how to breathe.

“I-I don’t know...please...I don’t know...”

I stare him in the eyes, hoping for the human connection to invoke some sympathy. But I get nothing back. There’s something in the grin he gives me as he reaches for my skirt that terrifies me more than anything that’s come before.

“Please, just let me go,” I plead one last time.

He shakes his head, and then, suddenly, there’s a loud yell. In the dark, I can just make out something, someone striking the back of his head. He falls hard against me, instantly unconscious, the knife against my throat falling from his hand. The dead weight of his body pulls me down onto the ground with him, causing my head to bang hard against the paving stones. It feels like my skull has shattered.

Through the pain and purely out of instinct, I push his body off me as I hear the same yell again, followed by a thud. I can see the second thief crumpled on the ground in another unconscious heap.

“Help me, please,” I whisper to whoever might be listening, as I faint away.

The last thing I remember is a hooded stranger scooping me up and carrying me out of the alleyway, and his voice, soft, warm, low, promising me that I am going to be okay.