by CJ Daly
• 68 •
as a substitute bracelet then quickly dismissed the idea—I was already naked enough without exposing my back, too.
My loose plan was to get the heck out of Dodge and then figure out my
next move. Bypassing the snake of cars leaving out the only exit, I stepped
neatly over an orangey-yellow parking block and into a ditch, cursing my
Connelly pride. Any normal person would’ve turned back and simply asked
for a ride, or at the very least to use a phone. But I couldn’t call my father
in this condition (if I wanted to live to see my eighteenth birthday), didn’t
know Mrs. M’s cell phone number, and didn’t want to get Ashley-Leigh into
trouble. No, I got myself into this mess by stomping out like a lunatic . . . I’d
get myself out.
Suddenly, inspiration struck—my friend Miguel’s family restaurant was
about eight or nine blocks north of here. Doable on foot. And my best bet.
He worked weekends, and I knew he would give me a ride without giving me
a hard time about my night. He was good like that. I wouldn’t make curfew,
but I wouldn’t get caught in my hooker uniform either.
Ducking my head down, I began hoofing it down the main drag. Three car
horn honks and four wolf whistles later and the clear message was received—I
wasn’t going unnoticed. What did I expect? My oversize glasses weren’t exactly a super-hero disguise.
Cursing under my breath, I decided to take a right at the next street to
get off the main drag. It would be a little farther out of the way, but at least
I’d avoid the high school crowd out cruising the night away. At the stoplight,
flirty shout-outs and the kind of laughter that burned my face wafted out
the open window of a flashy Pontiac, so I cut across the waiting cars to a
convenience store. Thankfully the light was still red, so it would take a while
for them to find me, if they were so inclined.
Aw man! This is total crap! My toes were already starting to pinch in my pointy boots, and I’d only gone a couple of blocks. So absorbed was I in
cursing myself and getting on down the road, that I didn’t notice the turquoise
pickup sidling up next to me until I heard the whir of an automatic window.
Reflexively, I looked up to see a familiar, craggy face.
“Thought you were waitin’ for a ride,” the smug voice reminded me.
Guess my poker face needed some work. “Um . . . they couldn’t make it
after all.”
“That’s a shame . . . pretty girl like you gettin’ left all alone. I wouldn’t
have stood you up.” He said this, in what he probably thought was an enticing
way, while crawling along next to me.
• 69 •
I didn’t respond, hoping he’d get the hint. Gah! I decided a cell phone was definitely in my future.
“The offer for a ride still stands.”
“I prefer to walk.”
A humorless chuckle. “Frosty,” he announced as though reporting on the
weather.
I didn’t acknowledge his comment. The only sound was my feet clip-
clopping on the pavement as I made a swift right down a side street into a
residential area. Hopefully, he’d keep going straight and head on home. Or
at least away from me.
A huge gust of relief billowed from my chest when the man tore off down
the street. That was close . What kind of guy paints his truck turquoise?
I decided to keep on this sleepy street for a while, stay off any main roads
and hopefully walk unnoticeable as a shadow in the dark. A couple of quiet
blocks later, and I heard the unmistakable thrum of a truck’s engine behind
me. I shuddered as the first sliver of fear crawled up my spine. The man had
doubled back and was trailing me. Again. I looked all around, noticing the
forest of low-income housing I was heading deeper into had most of the lights
off. Where are the streetlamps?
While the cunning night predator stalked me, I kept my head down and
my ears open. I could only hear domestic-disturbance yelling in the distance,
and a screen door banging, followed closely by sharp dog barking. Another
light snuffed out in a house up ahead. The exact time eluded me, but I knew
it was heading past bedtime for most folks. My father never failed to remind
me that nothing good happens past midnight. I was hoping to make it home
before then.
I had to get off this street, because I had to get to the restaurant before Miguel left for the night. Enough was enough. I stopped my tromping to face
him squarely. I would just reason with the man. And if that didn’t work, I’d
just lie—better.
Tamping down the voice that said he didn’t buy the first lie, I said, “I
really appreciate the offer for the ride, but I live just a coupla blocks this way.”
I jerked my thumb to indicate a dark street, lined with small houses, with big
dogs penned behind chain-link fences.
The man’s patronizing tone began to form before he even spoke. “Wwwell,
why didn’tja just say so, sweetheart? Tell you what—I’ll just foller along right
beside you and make sure you git home safe and sound.”
I hugged my midsection, suddenly feeling cold despite the sweat beading
my upper lip.
• 70 •
“That’s okay, sir. I’m almost home. And I have friends waitin’ on me.” I was going for firm, but my voice broke on the word home—I was so far from
home and so alone it wasn’t even funny.
Tears pricked my eyes. I turned away and continued determinedly on . . .
farther away from my goal, but also farther away from the man in the truck,
whom I guessed was not a Good Samaritan. I needed to turn back, but I kept thinking there must be a closer exit up ahead . My detour had been a bad idea, one of many tonight.
I clopped, and he followed, humming along to a song I couldn’t hear. A
pit formed in my stomach. He wasn’t giving up. The lights went off in the
houses now like someone had flipped a switch. I looked down another side
street to a matchbox house with a solitary light on behind torn curtains. It
shone like a beacon on this gloomy night. Even though it would take me
farther into the twisty neighborhood, I decided to take my chances on it and
ask for some dadgum help.
The only sounds now were his humming, occasional dog barking, and the
faster clip of my feet as I started to jog. My glasses bumped up and down in
rhythm to my boots, my cross thumping against my chest to the faster beat of
my heart. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the farther I got, the darker it
seemed to get. I was hyper focused on the solitary light, looking neither right
to the vacant-looking houses, nor left to the creeping stalker.
Suddenly, my beacon of hope flicked off, flooding me in pitch black.
I gasped. My head jerked back, eyes groping for light. The creeper
had killed his headlights. And quit humming. The witching hour, like the
darkness, closed in around me. It seemed to come alive now, taking shape like
a scary monster. I was paralyzed with fear, but my ears were still in working
order. And I could hear the unmistakable chink of chains and the thudding of
large paws charging my way. Dogs, I couldn’t quite see yet, hurled themselves
against the chain-link fence, viciously bar
king in my face. I jumped back even
as my heart leapt to my throat.
The man shined a flashlight in my face, chortled. “I don’t think those two
dogs—pit bulls by the sound of ‘em—are welcomin’ you home.”
As if to prove his point, claws appeared at the top of the fence with a
snappy snarl. I recoiled back only to find the man had angled his truck over
the sidewalk, blocking me. That was fine because the lie was as obvious and
out in the open now as a bloody wound. Stumbling backwards, I kept one
eye trained on the snarling beasts trying to jump the fence.
“Come on, girl. I ain’t gonna bite.” The man swung the door wide. “Can’t
say the same for them dogs though.”
• 71 •
The interior light blinked on illuminating the six-pack of beer he had riding shotgun. He plucked a can off and offered it to me like candy. “Come
on”—he gave me a greasy smile—“let’s get outta here and go party.” He must
have seen the fear and revulsion on my face because he said, “Aw come on
now! I just wanna have some fun . . . and you look like a fun girl.” A lascivious look followed this ridiculous statement. “Whatd’yasay?”
“N-no thank you,” I squeaked, oddly polite, as if that would help my
cause. Isolation didn’t seem to be working so good for me, so I turned myself
around, sprinting back to the well-lit convenience store and the main drag.
But the man was quick, throwing the truck in reverse and fishtailing the
back around to block my exit. I was now pinned in the alley with the same
vicious dogs, still furiously barking like they would like nothing better than
to tear me to shreds. I would either have to go down the blind alley or . . .
Oh no! My panicked eyes looked up to see the man grinning victoriously down at me. I was trapped, and we both knew it.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go,” he directed with a sharp nod.
I was just about to dive down the blank alley when my situation turned
from bad to worse—one of the dogs finally managed to hook his front legs
over the top of the fence. Crap! I closed my eyes, preparing to leap into
the back of the man’s truck, when a sharp whistle pierced the darkness.
Momentarily startled, the dog stopped his struggle to heave himself over the
fence, lost his momentum, and fell back down.
Almost faint with relief, I looked around for the source of the sound.
Headlights from the street penetrated the darkness, haloing another large
vehicle that had just pulled up beside the man in the truck.
Oh thank God! Someone needed to get through the alley. This was my
break! Words were being exchanged between open windows, but it was
hard to hear because the dogs started up another furious round of barking,
their attention now evenly divided between me and the two trucks parked
side-by-side.
The proprietary voice of the creeper rose in challenge: “Who the hell do
you think you are?”
“Her ride,” a deep, calm voice replied.
Something about that voice sent a vibration down my spine . That can’t be
right . . . Unfortunately nobody knows where I am.
The man in the truck stuttered, turned red, took one last accessing look
at me plastered against the fence before reaching over and slamming the door
shut. “Good luck with that one!” he spat before roaring off into the night.
Shaking, I ducked down to take a couple of deep breaths while I waited
• 72 •
for the big black Jeep to pull through the alley so I could run. But it didn’t move.
Holy cow! I just realized I’d seen this Jeep before. Only it wasn’t a Jeep; it was a Hummer. A black Hummer, and I’d only seen one of those once
before . . . My eyes traveled up the large, knobby tires and into the open
window, where a pair of glacier eyes was looking down on me crouched in
the weeds. Disbelief momentarily stunned me stupid. No Way! I blinked.
Sure enough . . .
“Good evenin’, Glasses!” A familiar mocking voice greeted me.
It just couldn’t be. Could it?
I stumbled upright to get a closer look. What I saw made my face blanch
and my feet scrabble backwards like I’d seen a ghost.
What’s he doing here? — nothing good.
“Get her in the truck,” someone directed from the driver’s seat. I thought
that voice sounded familiar, too, but couldn’t be sure because my ears were
ringing, and I was faint with fear and near exhaustion.
I must’ve been taking too long to process what was going on, because
the door sprang open. A very large, very muscular guy stalked my way, with
a determined look upon his face. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I
registered the fact that he was also very good looking.
Oh man . . . not again! It suddenly occurred to me that I’d just jumped from the frying pan into the fire!
• 73 •
8
R ANGER DANGER
He was coming for me, so I finally snapped out of it enough to
scramble out of the weeds. I’d fought capture all night from one
deranged man. No way was I going down now . . . Not without a
fight. “Come on, Glasses. We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Ranger calmly threatened.
Fear choked me. Alarm bells rang in my mind. I shook my head, backed
up a couple of more steps, and then—bolted down the alley. I heard him
call out and then tear after me. Oh. My. God! I tried running faster, but my exhausted body protested. Heavy footsteps thudded behind me.
Crush! Crush! Crush!
Finally, the adrenaline jolt my body had been waiting for all night kicked
in. I felt a rush of blood surge through my muscles. Barking dogs tore after
me as far as their chains permitted. Dumpsters, rickety fences, weeds, all flew
by as I ran faster than I had ever run before. An angry oath pelted my back,
sending jangled pulses up my spine. Sure footsteps sped up behind me, faster
that I thought possible. Heaving bursts of exertion pushed from my lungs. I prayed just to make it to the street and for a stray car to come along. I ran full
out, long legs sprinting, heedless of my blistered feet and clunky footwear.
Unfortunately, the long legs sprinting full out behind me were overtaking
me quickly—too quickly. My mind raced faster than my legs. What could I do?
I was outmatched. I saw a cardboard box sticking out of the next dumpster,
and a hysterical plot to trip him up flew to my mind. My chest heaved, and
my leg muscles burned like acid, not blood was pumping through my veins,
but I fought through it like I was running for my life.
Please God! . . . Just let me get to the next dumpster!
• 74 •
I reached down deep for the last vestiges of energy I had and sprang forward like a gazelle, just managing to grab the box and hurl it blindly
behind me. It landed gratifyingly with a dull whap on its target. Another
curse blasted my back, followed by stumbling sounds as he tripped over the
contents spilling from the box.
Yes! I thought triumphantly, not daring to turn around. It probably only
bought me a few extra seconds. I just hoped it would be enough to get me
to the end of the alley. Because whatever the outcome . . . I was at my end.
Running on fumes. Stumbling to the finish line. My lungs burned so
badly
I wanted to hurl. Instead, I hurled myself into the last few feet of my sprint
with every fiber of my being.
My guardian angel must’ve been with me, because I heard the unmistakable
purr of an engine idling in the street. Thank you, Jesus!
I bolted out of the alley and into the street—and right smack into the
monster truck just waiting for me at the end. A trap! I was so concentrated on running toward it that I couldn’t think to stop. Skidding crazily on the
gravel, I braced for the crash— Thunk! —my hip and shoulder made contact
with the side panel of their blasted Hummer.
Ow! That’s gonna leave a mark, the least of my worries at the moment because the impact bounced me back—into the waiting arms of one Ranger-from-my-nightmares. A loud “Oomph!” erupted from his throat as I plowed
into his midsection. I had managed to knock us to the ground, the air from
our lungs, and my glasses off in one climatic swoop. I was so out of breath I
was gasping for air, wheezing like an asthmatic.
“Goddammit!” blasted into my ear.
I was scrambling to get up first (clearly the more panicked of the two)
when a steel hand clamped down on me before I could flee.
“Lemme go!” I screamed with no volume, having no air, while jabbing
at his eye sockets. Failing this endeavor, I tried getting in a swift, hard kick
at his soft parts.
“Settle down!” Ranger expertly dodged another blow to his groin, so I
began clawing at him now, cursing my lack of fingernails. “Get your ass out
here and help me with this hellcat!” he ordered, way past the point of being
put out with me.
Oh no! . . . No way I could fight off two of them at once! I redoubled my efforts to fight, flailing and clawing desperately. He captured both my wrists,
hauling me to my feet like a child in the midst of a tantrum. I took advantage
of my standing position by hauling off and kicking him in the shin. With the
pointy toe of my boot. Used all the might I had left in me to do it.
• 75 •
“Ahhh! You—” He finished with a swift, reflexive backhand, landing
me sprawled back on the ground, a tangle of arms and legs. A cry of shocked
pain escaped me, my hair flying about my face in a blinding screen. Ranger
was busy hopping up and down cursing, so I blindly closed my hand around
