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No one responds, and nothing appears to be amiss.
I hold my bag a little tighter to my body, reminding myself to listen to theclick-clackof my heels as I start up again.
Click-clack… click-clack… click-clack.
My body relaxes to the repetitive percussion, and I release the breath I’m holding, along with a laugh at my own ridiculous fear. My grip loosens on my bag.
But then, a chill pricks at my neck. My body tenses and my stomach drops.
My predictable rhythm is interrupted by a second set of footsteps. There is no mistaking it this time.
“Shit,” I exhale as I force myself to keep walking.
With Glynnes gone, I’m the only one permitted to be on campus this late at night. The janitorial staff won’t be in until Monday morning, and the first of the teaching staff isn’t back for weeks. I’m all alone—or at least, I should be.
I accelerate my pace. The second set of footsteps matches my speed.
The campus is surrounded by a tall, metal work fence, and the multiple gates into the school are locked. Whoever it is slipped in after Glynnes left.
“Stoppp,” a deep, slurred voice yells.
I don’t turn around to see who it is. I just start running, shoving a hand inside my bag, frantically searching for my keys to the residence building.
“Come on, donnn’t make me fucking run,” the voice shouts, but they’re already running after me. “Fuuuck, you’re gonna regret thisss.”
My lungs burn, and my heart thuds desperately against my rib cage. I want to scream, but there’s no point when no one is around. It would only tire me out.
Why the hell didn’t I pack mace?
“You’re in the wrooong place at the wrooong time, lady. Just give me the bag and we’re good.” His voice is so much closer, the slurring even stronger. “Jussst drop your things, leave your money, and I won’t touch youuu, promise.”
I don’t believe him. I’m not carrying anything of value on me, just some art supplies. What happens when he discovers I don’t have any cash?
Pushing myself harder, my adrenaline drives me towards the light of the courtyard. If I just get over the threshold, I can get to my building before him. I know I can.
“Where thefuckare you going to go?” he yells. Irritation turns into anger, and his every word sharpens into a threat as I cross into the courtyard.
I have yet to find my keys. I spin in a tight circle in the center of the open space, looking for an escape. I’m an idiot. I just led a dangerous man into the center of campus, I realize, even farther from the street and from anyone who can help or hear me.
My hand closes around something in my bag and, springing into action, I turn on my heels to face my attacker.
“Back up!” I scream, waving my weapon around. I jab it into the air wildly, trying to make myself as big and scary as possible. I’m over six feet tall. I can do it.
My attacker is a large, bearded white guy whose face I can barely see beneath his cap. He might be shorter than me, but he’s built like a bulldog, strong and sturdy. He stops running, blocking the only exit from the courtyard that doesn’t require a key.
For a second, I think my warning jabs have worked.
Then, the attacker’s easy laugh reverberates off every wall and window in the courtyard.
“What are you going to do with that little thing?” he chuckles, eyeing the tool in my outstretched hand.
My weapon, the one I’d blindly grabbed from my bag and waved around, is in fact a genial little clay modeling tool. It’s wooden and curved at the top and bottom, used to gently manipulate wet clay before firing.
Shit.
My attacker’s laugh dies out, his sadistic humor replaced with a cold-blooded stare. I back up, feeling the heels of my boots catch on the cobblestones. It’s just enough of a distraction that when I right myself, he is running at me full force. So, I run too, from door to door, checking to see if one is unlocked.
“Help!” I yell over and over again. I’m too far from civilization, but I still hope and, between my screams, as I gasp for air, I listen for any sound that might signal rescue.
