Shiloh
Shiloh’s high heels hit the pavement of the cracked sidewalk with clicks and clacks. Her satchel was slung over her left shoulder, and it thumped against her thigh with each step. Taking a deep breath, Shiloh turned down the alleyway on her apartment’s street of, you got it, New York City; a photographer chasing her dreams. As the sun slowly disappeared behind the city’s building outlines, dragging pink-smeared clouds with it, it turned the sky a washy orange and darkness began encroaching from horizon.
As Shiloh wandered further down the street, she froze and listened to the rustling movements down in an alleyway. Slowly, she slunk the Polaroid camera from her satchel and crouched down. In the ever-darkening alleyway, Shiloh could just make out the hazy form of a cat sifting through garbage for it’s dinner.
Without seeing any true detail, Shiloh quickly snapped a picture. Her Polaroid caught the picture just before the flash frightened the stray cat away. Listening to the whir of the photo being produced, she held it still as she flashed her phone light on it to inspect details, careful not to shake it. Unlike most opinions, it was damaging for Polaroid pictures to be shaken, but you hear that one song, “Shake it a like a Polaroid,” and that’s all you want to do with them.
It was horrible, the kind of picture you see in an ad for homeless animals, but this specific cat in this specific scene would not have made the cut for any ad. Advertisers managed a sad puppy, but one you wanted to hug-not run away from. It’s mange-riddened fur was riddled with fleas and patches of balding spots where scratches lay. There was a nick of a scar in places like the cat’s ears, tail, and paws. Ribs pushed through a thin gray pelt to protrude hideously from the skin. Although Shiloh’s taste did stray to darker pictures, ugly cats didn’t make the cut for her taste either.
With a dramatic sigh that shuddered through her body, she slid the photo in a stack with the rest that was held tight by a rubber band.
She returned to the bare street from the alleyway and cast her gaze to the dimming sky and her apartment a few blocks down,
I have time, she thought to herself as she turned away from the apartment building and strode down the street with her camera in hand. There was a way about her walk. For a couple seconds, the young woman would walk with confidence, her chin held high, shoulders back, back straight, but she would always seem to doubt herself. Perhaps by the way she may suddenly shrink in on her herself, and quickly avert her gaze, you could tell she wasn’t quite sure of herself.
Shiloh pushed one leg after the other down the bare street, snapping shots of the naked winter trees, and the dead leaves that shrouded the bases of their trunks. She passed the corner to face quaint coffee shops and jewelry stores and took a shot of the divide between the oncoming stars that washed into an orange and pink sunset. Too soon, night did take over, bringing a bitter cold breeze with it and she awkwardly turned back to her apartment.
As the woman passed the familiar alleyway, she heard an unfamiliar screech of the dumpsters sliding against the concrete. She froze and peered into the darkness, eyes searching for any flicker of movement. She tried to listen, but the blood pounding anxiously in her and her heart thundering against her chest made it impossible.
There it was again. An ominous screech of metal against pavement.
Shiloh’s first instinct was to take a photo, the first light source she thought of and maybe a good photo; the flash of her Polaroid. She expertly swung the camera out, aimed, and took the shot. The light flashed just long enough to see a figure in the dark.
The flash made whatever liquid that coated the figure glisten red, and although the figure’s back was turned, she could tell from broad shoulders and thick biceps that it was a man.
Those were the only details Shiloh could make out before the light was cut off and she heard the whir of the square film with the picture slide out. Instinctively, she picked the image with delicate fingers and held it still to get the washy whites of the photo to turn into color but quickly stuffed it into her pocket.
What am I doing, she yelled at herself, who is that? And what is he doing!
Before she had ever realized it, the man had turned around and was mere feet from her. His footsteps were silent despite what looked like a strong physique.
“What did you see? You took a picture, didn’t you?” A deep, gruff voice demanded. She could feel a large hand grasp her shoulders and, with a shrill shriek, Shiloh ripped her shoulder free. She burst into a run down the street. Her heels quickly became loose and Shiloh kicked them off.
Even now, at a time like this while she was running from a possible killer, she thought; Aw, I really liked those heels.
She didn’t realize the pounding sound of footsteps behind her until she got over her petty thought of her shoes. She could feel his puffs of air on the nape of her neck, and could feel her hair, which brown strands were curled up in a bun, slowly loosen and fall down her back.
Shiloh never realized how far that alleyway was from her apartment until her life depended on getting back. Her lungs burned, and she couldn’t process something as simple as air.
A scream erupted from Shiloh’s mouth as a there was suddenly a searing pain through her bare foot. She fell to the ground face first and scarcely brought her hands up in time to keep her nose from meeting with the cement. A second weight of the man on smashing down onto her shoved her face into the ground anyway.
Shiloh struggled beneath his weight and screamed, “Get off of me!”
He gripped her shoulders and flipped her around so that she was on her back. His hips pinned her against the ground at her waist. He wrapped a huge hand around her mouth to keep her silent.
“What did you see?” He growled, and Shiloh yelped beneath him, scratching at his arms and his face.
“Nothing.” She managed to say from underneath his hand, “Get-” Shiloh grunted as she struggled to bring her leg up and knee him somewhere in the stomach, “-off!” Her kick was enough to loosen the man’s grip on her and just enough for Shiloh to slip out from underneath him. Her camera bag skidded on the ground beside her as she lunged to her feet and tried to stumble away.
The man grabbed at her feet and, in her haste to escape, Shiloh fell prey to his grip and slipped back to her ground. On her bottom, she tried to scoot back, kicking at his hands and his face as she did so.
“Get off!” She shrieked and begged as concrete cut her palms. Finally she got a good kick at his face with the heel of her foot. He yelled and raised his hand to a bleeding nose.
By the time the man reached for her, Shiloh was up and running. He cursed and ran after her but her figure was slipping through the double doors to the apartment buildings as soon as his hand was at her back. He panted at the double doors and watched her run up the stairs with long brown hair bouncing against her back. He cursed and pounded the door with his fist, and then grew thankful that no one was in the apartment’s lobby.
With a suspicious glance around, he hulked away down the street and into the shadows. It wasn’t a great idea standing around when the police arrived covered in blood from his earlier victim.
Inside, Shiloh tripped up the stairs, still begging and crying and gasping for breath. She struggled to open her apartment door with her keys that had thankfully stayed inside her pocket. Oh, no. Oh, no no no no. The camera. Where’s the bag? The camera bag!
Shiloh tumbled to her window, grabbing the walls and edges of her table and desk for support. Her breathe came out sharp and ragged as she saw the empty the street. The completely empty street with no bag and no man and no evidence and no clues.
This was so bad that her stomach hurt. She stumbled to her kitchen trash can and up came her dinner. As soon as she was done, Shiloh started sobbing again and puked. Again. That bag had so many things that nobody else should see. Oh SHIT. Just the thought of it made Shiloh grow sicker.
If anybody saw those photos she’d be in prison, no questions about it. Hastily, full of adrenaline and nothing to take it out on, she tore off her clothes and jumped in the shower. She scrubbed at her arms angrily.
And who was that man? He had her camera and the bag full of photos. He knew. She couldn’t call the police on him. The chances of finding him were low, and she couldn’t risk the police’s attention pointed at her. And even if they did find him, he had evidence of what a horrible person she was herself! They'd end up in prison together.
So Shiloh stomped out of the shower and angrily heaved on clothes.The only real choice now was getting the photos. Finding him and getting the photos back. But how?
She slid on her leather jacket and wrestled her jungle of hair into a bun. With a smack of her lips to accentuate her bloody red lip stick, she left her apartment with only her phone in sight, and her 10mm pistol hooked in her pants, hidden underneath her jacket.
Perhaps killing him was the only answer. It wouldn't have been the first time she killed someone to protect herself.
