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“You want one more too?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I gotta get going. I’ve got some cramming to do for a midterm and then an early morning.”
She nods, and I smile at her.
“But hey, this was fun. We should do this again.”
“We totally should,” she beams back at me.
After saying goodnight and promising to connect again soon with my old class notes, I head out of the bar. There’s a bunch of taxis just down the street outside the Museum of Natural History. But I’m right at West 74thand Central Park West, which is just across the street from Strawberry Fields, the John Lennon memorial and one of my favorite spots in Central Park. Plus, it’s also home to the unofficial memorial to the late Iggy Watts of Velvet Guillotine, who overdosed almost fifteen years ago in the same Dakota Building that Lennon was shot outside of.
So instead of heading for the taxis, I cross the street to the park and enter through one of the footpaths. It’s late, and dark, and cold. But there’s plenty of lights, and this area of Central Park is never exactly solitary with all the people who meander this way.
I take a few quiet minutes at Strawberry Fields, then I head over to the Iggy Watts memorial nearby. This one always gets me, because I grew up with my mom and aunt CelestelovingVelvet Guillotine.
Thinking of them, I pop in my wireless headphones and start playing “Wreck Me Gently” on my phone.
I only get about thirty seconds into the song before the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. A cold sensation tingles down my back.
I yank out my headphones, gasping as I whirl. But there’s nothing there except a little old lady walking a tiny fluffy lap dog. I smile weakly at her, and she smiles back before she and her dog continue on. The lampposts around me are lit, but the shadows stretch long in the chilly fall air.
And that sensation won’t go away.
The feeling like I’m not alone.
Like I’m being watched.
I shiver, turning again as I slip my headphones into my bag, lace my apartment keys through my fingers, and make my hand into a fist before pulling it out of my bag again.
“Hello?”
The park around me isn’t exactly quiet. I mean, I can hear the traffic on Central Park West not forty feet away. But I’m surrounded by the trees and landscaping of the park. And this section of it dips down and curves around a bend, making it feel secluded.
Yeah, I need to get back to the street.
I start walking briskly. But no matter how fast I walk, I can’t shake the tingling feeling that I’m being watched or followed.
I even whirl around at one point, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Deimos?” I venture quietly. “This isn’t fucking funny anymore. I don’t want to play this game right now.”
But, when I think about it, this isn’t his style. He’s not the sneak up on you type. He’s the type to look you in the eye and straight up tell you he’s about to turn the lights off and tackle you to the ground before fucking the daylights outs of you.
I turn, and I start to run.
Instantly, I hear the not-quite-echoing sound of another pair of feet pounding on the path behind me.
Chasing me.
Adrenaline explodes through my system, and the scream lodges in my throat as I bolt down the pathway, racing past Lennon’s memorial and crashing out of the park onto the sidewalk. I lurch into the crosswalk without even looking, my vision narrowing to a tunnel and my brain fixating on the single thought to get as far away from the footsteps behind me as I can.
…Which is how it is I go running right out into traffic.
Tires squeal. Horns blare. I scream, spinning as blinding headlights bear down on me. Suddenly, hands are grabbing me and yanking me back toward the sidewalk next to the park. I scream again, whirling to jam my keys into their eyes—
“Stop it!”
I freeze at the sound of Deimos’ voice. And when I blink and focus, it’s his face swimming in front of me.
“What thefuck, Dahlia!” he hisses. “If you’re trying to fucking kill yourself, there are much easier and less messy ways than getting your head caved in by a taxi.”
