Chapter 1
It's a cold night in this concrete jungle I call home. Most of the time I don't mind it. I like to imagine I'm in New York City, where I can hail a cab or take the subway and go to a grungy bar or jazz lounge, anywhere more exciting than where I'm headed right now.
I walk quickly hoping I dont attract the attention of a pushy pimp or serial killer. I'm sure my beloved boyfriend Luke is worried sick... on his ass on the couch. He respects a woman who works hard at a crummy job, so long as she brings home the bacon AND cooks it for him.
Normally walking alone at this hour doesn't bother me, it's only a few blocks. But tonight something feels off. I don't know if it's the chill in the air feeling particularly icy tonight. I cant put my finger on it. I wrap my jacket around me tighter and pick up the pace.
I hear voices ahead but don't pay much attention, I'm not here for that sh*t. I just want to get home and make a cup of tea, maybe put a shot of whiskey in it, and get some rest.
Young white females master the art of walking like they are ninjas around these parts, so whoever those voices belong to don't seem to notice me walking past.
I can barely make out 2 dudes arguing across the street. Are they purposefully lurking in the shadows? Or is it my imagination? I turn my gaze back ahead of me, I have zero interest in their lovers quarrel or whatever BS is going on.
"Reeves... you don't need to do this.... We're good! Tell him we're all good here!"
Another voice replies "Sorry Eli, it doesn't work that way. But the Duke sends his regards."
Suddenly 3 gunshots crack through the cold night air and I freeze where I stand. I know it's stupid to linger but I cant will my body to move. I try to breathe quietly, hoping that I blend into the buildings and shadows around me.
I slowly start to turn my head in the direction of the gunshots and a man comes into view under a street light. He's bald with a wrinkly, angry looking face and a big black tattoo on his neck that adds to his menacing aura.
"Oi... girl... come here."
I run. I don't know where the energy came from but I run harder than I have before in my life. I hear footsteps behind me and it spurs me on. I can't just go straight home or I'll lead him to me, I round the next corner and the next, weaving right and then left, around parked cars and trash cans. I remember that ahead there's a cafe that opens for late night poetry readings on a Thursday.
I quickly duck past the entrance and crouch behind an overflowing dumpster a few feet away. I clasp a hand over mu mouth and nose to try and silence my terror while listening closely. I hear drinks clinking, people mingling and laughing and faint music. Then I hear hasty steps - his steps. I squeeze my face even tighter hoping the whites of my eyeballs don't betray my hiding place.
He shuffles back and forth, goes into the coffee shop for a few moments, comes back out and shuffles some more, swears, and runs straight past my hiding place and further down the block.
Too scared to breathe a sigh of relief, I force myself from the safety of my hiding place and back in the direction I came from. Now only a corner and a few hundred feet away from my place, the adrenaline coursing through my veins is like fire. I reach my front door and quickly slam and lock it behind me, then crumble into a heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, shaking and still listening for those footsteps chasing me.
"Hey babe..." Luke casually calls from the couch.
Still panting, I take a moment to try and calm myself. What the fuck do I do now?!
"How was work?" He asks, clearly not registering my demeanour nor moving from his seat.
"It was fine..." I force out.
"Good."
I slowly pick myself up off the floor and walk over to the couch. I sit down.
"What's with you? Did a customer grab your ass or something?"
"No.... I think I saw a murder... on my way home... I saw these guys and there were gun shots and one of them chased me."
"You saw a murder....?" He pauses. "On the street?"
"Yeah."
"Ummmm sure babe. What you been smokin?"
"I'm serious Luke."
He chuckles and looks back at the TV while continuing to shovel Funions into his face.
I think to myself: "What a jackass. Wait... I'm only just figuring this out now??? But whatever, who cares about him right now.
I get up from the couch, walk to the kitchen and boil the kettle. I pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking, waiting for the water. It finally boils and I make my tea, with a little more than just a nip of whiskey.
I focus on the warm, tingly feeling it gives me and contemplate sleep.
