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I pause at the next store, a florist shop, where poinsettias and sparkling arrangements are on display. I look them over, pretending to be interested, while stealing a quick glimpse over my shoulder in the window’s reflection.
He's there, across the street, standing behind me. When I came to a stop, so did he.
Shit! What do I do now? I don't want to lead him to my apartment, that's for sure. I might as well roll out the red carpet at that point.
At least I don't feel cold anymore, not with my heart pounding and adrenaline flooding my system. Do I go to the nearest police station? Right, and what would I say? A man in a puffy coat was on the sidewalk? Hell, even if he flat-out approached me, there's the fact that he's wealthy and connected, and I am anything but. Nobody would believe me.
No, it's up to me. I have to save myself.
I move faster, almost jogging, determined to stare straight ahead rather than search for him. Besides, I know he's there. He’s staring holes through me as I cross the busy street, weaving in and out of clusters of people, barely dodging a car as it turns and heads my way.
One block, two. I stop again, this time in front of a bakery—when a look at my reflection shows nothing behind me but passing traffic, relief almost knocks me to my knees. I heave a sigh, ready to laugh at myself. What was I thinking? Is this an action thriller all of a sudden? Things like that don't happen in real life.
I'm still chuckling at my overactive imagination when I look to my left, toward where I just walked—and the sight of that puffy coat freezes my laughter in my throat. He crossed the street. He's so much closer now.
I don't care if he knows I'm running from him. All that matters is the running and getting away. The light at the corner is about to turn red, but that doesn't stop me from sprinting across, so close to a passing car that the fender brushes my coat. The driver leans on his horn, but I don't break my stride—no, in fact, I pick up speed when I realize I'm a block away from the outdoor shopping village that pops up every year at this time.
People. Lots of people. This is my chance.
Christmas lights are strung overhead, crisscrossing the empty space between two rows of stalls where handmade gifts are sold. I would normally avoid something like this since it's not like I have any money for shopping, but now it's my salvation. I can get lost in there and wait for him to give up.
Countless families are wandering around, kids asking when they can see Santa Claus. He's sitting at the far end of the village, in what's probably a heated tent, while vendors sell hot chocolate and cider. Between that and where I'm standing at the other end, there have to be two hundred people making the most of a sunny, if frigid, day.
The steam from my rapid breathing forms a cloud around my head as I look this way, that way, trying to figure out where to go. A glance over my shoulder reveals my stalker, now having crossed the street, walking my way with his hands thrust into his pockets, his head lowered.
The overlapping voices and overly loud music pushed in through speakers at seemingly every stall create a cacophony that only increases my confusion and the pounding of my heart. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I gasp as I duck around one group after another, then almost knock down a pair of kids drinking from steaming paper cups.
“Watch where you're going!” somebody shouts after I rebound off the back of a tall man. I stagger but stay on my feet, whirling around to find the stalker bearing down on me with only a few people between us.
Sheer panic sends me running around a cluster of carolers singing about peace on earth, while I only want to stay alive and unhurt. I duck behind them and peer through the gaps between their bodies, waiting for him to pass.Please, please.
My heart nearly stops when he stops, his head turning slightly from one side to the other.
He lost me. Oh, thank God.
But it's not over yet. I can't afford to get cocky when I'm still so far from home. But if I can get out of here without him knowing it, I'll sprint the rest of the way if I have to. Right now, with my body buzzing like it is, I could probably run a marathon and not feel it.
He turns his back to the carolers, and that's my chance. I scoot along behind them, bent at the waist, before doubling back the way I came. I weave through clusters of shoppers, glancing over my shoulder whenever I can. He still hasn't moved except to turn in slow circles. Still watching for me.
“Ow! Mommy!” The pained screams of a little girl stop me short. She's wailing on her hands and knees because I knocked her down. I didn't even feel it.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” I crouch, reaching for her. “I'm so sorry. I didn't see you.”
“Why don't you watch where you're going?” A red-faced woman who must be her mother helps her to her feet and looks her over. “You're fine. Come on, let's go get you some hot chocolate.”
“I really am sorry.” My words fall on deaf ears, so I stand and look over my shoulder.
He's gone. He must have kept going. Maybe he gave up.
I should know better by now.
Like a snake striking, an arm shoots out from between the stalls to my left, and a gloved hand closes around my wrist. I don't have time to scream before he pulls hard, almost knocking me off my feet as he drags me away from everybody else.
I crash against the body beneath that coat—hard, unforgiving, but it shakes me out of my shock, and finally, I draw enough breath to scream.
A scream that goes nowhere once his other hand clamps over my mouth.
This is it. This is how I die. Locked in shadow with the man behind me, the man clutching me to him, watching dozens of happy people passing in front of me while only a few feet away, I'm in the grip of a stalker. Their happy laughter rings in my ears.
