MASON
Walking down the street, the faces of the people making their way past me are illuminated by the lights pouring from the windows of the shops. Even though it is past 2:00 a.m., this is a large city and the street is still bustling with people. While it would normally be even busier, the unexpected downpour has soaked the big city to its core, and those unwilling to trudge through the unexpected weather have sought shelter. The rest of us, I imagine, have been soaked, like the big city, because of the weatherman’s unsurprising failure to predict the fickle fall weather.
The sidewalk is slick due to the rain, so I take each step carefully. I should have worn better shoes and I should have brought my umbrella. Water is pooling into puddles in low spots on the street, and a car drives by and sprays the now brown water onto an unlucky pedestrian twenty feet or so in front of me. I see the person throw their arms up and, as futile as it may be, start to shout at the car. Looking around, some of the other people look at the now water-logged person listening to their chain of obscenities, others ignore them altogether. I fall into the latter category knowing that the water-logged person’s shouts aren’t going to get them anywhere.
Continuing down the street, I pause every so often to look into one of those windows to see if anything sparks my interest. Unfortunately, it’s more often that nothing does. I walk about a block, and then, I do see one shop that catches my eye. I’ve probably walked past it hundreds of times, but this is the first time that I stop to take a look.
Like most of the stores on this street, the store is an older brownstone and connected to the shops on either side. To the left is a pet grooming salon, and to the right a small bakery. The store that has caught my eye has a dark purple banner above the doorway, and there is scrawling silver script displaying just one word, “Genesis.” That’s simple; I’ll give them that. Beneath the banner, there are two large windows showing the shop’s wares. Without having to look too hard, I see that it’s a new age shop; the products displayed in the window sit upon violet-colored silk. There are crystals, ranging from opaque white to deep black, and books about finding yourself and learning spiritual laws. Not going to lie, I’m not a big believer in all of that. Despite this, a compulsion keeps my attention directed at the shop’s window.
What appears to be a deck of cards captures my attention. It is clearly a deck of tarot cards, but what interests me is that the shop has one specific card from the set on display. The background of the card is a deep, sapphire blue. With the way that the art was drawn, there is a large full moon, which is partially shrouded in clouds in the background. In the foreground, there is an old man. In one outstretched hand, he holds a lantern as if trying to guide his way. In his other hand, which he holds closer to himself, is a long cane on which it appears he is supporting himself. The man has a long, white beard and he is wearing a light gray cloak. Looking at the bottom of the card, flowing gold lettering broadcasts that this man is "The Hermit." I can’t tell what it is, but something about this card resonates with me. As I continue to stare at the card, it’s almost as if the hand holding the lantern is moving. Are my eyes playing a trick on me? The lantern looks almost as if it is about to leap off of the card.
Something or someone pushes me from behind, and suddenly, my forehead hits the glass. Drawing myself up and preparing to confront someone, I turn and shout, “Hey, watch it!”
There isn’t anyone behind me. A few feet down the street there are a few drunk guys staggering along. They collectively cast a glance back at me, but they continue on. One of them must have accidentally bumped into me. I reach up to my forehead and rub the spot where it connected with the glass. It’s not too bad. There will probably be a red mark for a day or two. I turn back towards the window. I hadn’t realized how close I had gotten to it. Turning my attention to “The Hermit,” it looks exactly like it did when I first saw it. Not for the first time tonight, my imagination got the better of me. Tearing my attention away from the card, I see that my hard head cracked the glass. I silently swear to myself. When I look at my reflection, the crack is right below my eye. It almost looks like the crack is creating a trail of tears on my reflection.
After being jostled by the stranger, the compulsion I had been feeling is broken. Now that the uncanny attraction to the shop window is gone, I should probably continue on my way home. Camille will be waiting up for me though she would never admit that. Camille and I met during our freshman year at college and immediately hit it off. We worked at a retail store that sold apparel from the university that we attend. We’ve been nearly inseparable since we met and after we moved out of the dorms, we decided we’d live together. I know that Camille hates these late-night walks I take, but they are the only things that let me sort myself out. While she will be in her room, I know that Camille won’t allow herself to fall asleep until she knows I am back home. She has been working on a big business deal for her internship as of late, which has left her exhausted, so I start to feel guilty for contributing to that exhaustion.
I take one last look at my reflection. The familiar green eyes stare back at me. Dark bags under my eyes lie in stark contrast to the rest of my pale, freckled skin. Maybe Camille isn’t the only exhausted one. I also see my hair, which is auburn and at my standard medium length, is matted down due to the rain. As he often does, the weatherman got the forecast wrong for today, so what was supposed to be a clear, starry night is actually nearing on torrential and, once again, I should have brought my damn umbrella. One backpack strap is slung across my right shoulder. My headphones cover my ears and the cord leads to my phone that I have tucked away in the pocket of my black jacket, which covers my flannel uniform. I look down at my torn jeans and my vision finally trails to the black boots I’m wearing. By all accounts, I’m soaked. That damn weatherman.
Having determined that the rain has left me looking like a dog that recently took a dip in a nearby pool, I turn and continue on my way. I’m about five blocks from my apartment. Again, I can’t help but take in my surroundings as I walk on. The drunk guys from before are stopped on the other side of the street. They must have crossed the street while I was assessing my reflection in the shop window. They call out to me, I think. With the music blaring from my headphones, I can’t hear them; they are mouthing things while looking in my direction. Should I stop and hear them out? No, it’s already too late and who knows how long that conversation might last. I turn my attention back in front of me and continue on.
Once again, I’m glad that I won’t leave the house without my headphones. They act as my own personal shield against the rest of the world. The music that is thrumming in my ears ensnares my attention. As I listen, I realize that I may have been a little heavy-handed with the bubblegum pop tonight. Oh well. My head rocks with the beat and my mind wanders with the synth as it weaves in and out with the singer’s voice.
Coming out of my electro-pop stupor, I’m now about three blocks from my apartment. While I had been absent-mindedly walking the last two blocks, something out of the corner of my eye brings me back to my senses. On the other side of the street, the group of drunk guys must have taken off in another direction because I can’t see them anymore. The closer I get to my apartment, the fewer shops and bars there are. Because of that, there are fewer and fewer people around me. But I do see one person, dressed in all black, which nearly mirrors my own outfit. While there is nothing about this person that is obviously threatening, something in my gut tells me that this person is terrifying. The people and shops, and their lights, are behind me. The fear could be the lack of lights, the time of night, or because I can’t see the person’s face, but I’m not sure. Nothing about this person indicates that they are a threat to me, but that doesn’t stop my mind from conjuring up a thousand different things that this person might do to me.
It’s just another person taking a late-night walk; I think to myself in an effort to calm down. It doesn’t work. How many times have I seen someone just like this out my late-night walks? What is it about this person that has sent me over the edge. Now, it’s not just rain wetting my face, but sweat has begun to mix. My breath is catching. Am I about to have a panic attack? If this person is after me, I can’t stop to try and catch my breath. My pace quickens trying to make it to my apartment. But when I quicken, I notice the person keeps pace. Is my mind playing a trick on me? Despite how hard it is, I slow down and confirm that the person does the same. The beating in my ears is keeping time with my heart. The realization slams into me like a wave crashing into shore.
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At this point, my apartment is only a block away. Do I call the police? What would I say? “I think a person is following me?” Probably. I look to my left and see that the person is starting to cross the street. My heart begins beating double-time. My hand instinctively reaches for my phone, my body apparently making the decision to call the police before my mind could. The person reaches into their jacket and their hand disappears for a second. When they next reveal their hand, they are holding something that is reflecting the light from the street lamps. It doesn’t take long for it to register with me that the person now has a knife in hand, which is pointed directly at me. Where my body had made the decision to call the police, it now decided that the most appropriate reaction would be to run. Fast.
At this point, the only thing I can think is “don’t go home.” I can’t let this person know where I live. My mind is reeling. I need to find people. Without thinking about it, screams escape from me. My screams mix with the synth blaring in my ears. Chancing a look behind me, the person hasn’t stopped their pursuit and is running behind me.
I pass by my apartment. I keep running. My breath is getting ragged due to the running and the panic.
Up on the right, I see light emanating from an intersection. Once I reach the light, I turn towards it hoping this will throw the person off.
I turn and continue about ten feet, then, a full stop. Fuck. This is a dead-end alley. The light that was from a single bulb on the back wall of a restaurant over the restaurant’s dumpster. I look back and the person hasn’t caught up with me yet, but if I were to try and go back, I would run right into them. My only chance is to hide behind the dumpster and hope that the person didn’t see me turn.
I reach the dumpster and kneel down. I do my best to regulate my breathing. It’s not easy. I reach into my pocket and turn my music off. I strain my ears trying to listen. Did the person follow me down the alley? All there is is a “whoosh” of blood rushing in my ears. Focus. I hear it. There are footsteps in the puddles that pooled from the rain. I begin to hold my breath. I slip my backpack off my shoulder; if nothing else, I can throw it at my pursuer as a distraction.
I pull the backpack in front of me and get ready to throw it. I see one leg appear in front of me. As fast as I can, I jump up and launch my backpack at the person.
“What the fuck?” I hear. I’m about to start running, but I see this person isn’t my pursuer, rather someone, likely a busboy, who was taking out the last of the restaurant’s garbage from the day. I quickly glance around, but I don’t see my pursuer.
“Hey, uh, I think you dropped this,” the busboy’s words bring me back to my senses. I look at him and he’s holding my backpack out to me, clearly wanting me to take it. Looking at him, a mixture of exasperation and frustration stares right back at me. “What were you doing hiding behind that dumpster?” He asks without waiting for me to take my bag back.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” I stutter with a bit of a chuckle, trying to lighten the situation. “I was on my way home when someone started following me. They were dressed in all black, and I could have sworn that they had a hunting knife or something.” I spit this all out as I realize that I was beginning to ramble. As I explain the last few minutes of my night, I see the look on his face transition from annoyance to concern. Looking back on it, could I have imagined the whole thing? It was late and didn’t have the easiest day. Maybe it was a trick of my imagination.
Having already thrown my backpack at him, I don’t want to be any more of an imposition. “You know what. Maybe it was all just my imagination. It’s pretty late and I’m tired,” trying to be as convincing as possible. Based on his facial expressions, I don’t think I’ve succeeded.
“Do you want to come inside the restaurant and call someone? We just finished closing up. My manager is still inside and we could wait with you or something.” A concerned look still plastered on his face as he says this. This only further cements that my attempts to be reassuring failed.
“Thanks for the offer, but really, I should be okay. I only live about two blocks back. In the case that some maniac was trying to off me with a hunting knife, I didn’t want to lead them right to my place.” I slap a smile on my face as a second attempt to show that I am fine if not a little paranoid.
“If it’s that close, I could walk you back quickly. Let me just tell my manager quickly,” he says starting back towards the door.
At this point, I’m feeling a little ridiculous. Maybe someone had been chasing me, but it was clear that they weren’t here anymore. Now, I have this guy who probably just wants to finish his shift offering to walk me home. I can start to feel the embarrassment welling up in my stomach.
“Honestly, it’s okay. You don’t need to walk me home. I should be able to be back there in less than five minutes,” I say.
He pauses with the door open about three-quarters of the way. Turning back to me, “You know, it’s not every day that I have a backpack chucked at me and get the chance to rescue a cute guy. So, if I can help, I definitely will.” What was concern less than minute ago is now a smile directed right at me.
That sinking feeling that I had been feeling in my stomach morphed into a burning flush radiating from my cheeks. “T-thanks,” I sputter with the one-word response. “Finally, proof that chivalry isn’t dead. It only took me throwing my backpack to find it.” I shoot him a genuine smile.
“Well, if I can’t convince you to let me walk you home, can I at least walk you to the end of the alley?” He pleads with a downturned face and looking at me with puppy-dog eyes.
“I guess that couldn’t hurt,” accepting his offer. With that, we turn towards the opening of the alley and begin walking. As we walk, I begin to calm down.
We reach the mouth of the alley and the busboy turns towards me. “Since you won’t let me walk you home, can I at least convince you to come see me at the restaurant some time?” A hopeful face on full display.
“I could definitely see that in the cards.” A flush creeping in on my cheeks.
With that, his face lights up. “Great! Just ask for Tony,” he exclaims with a huge smile. “I guess it’s time for us to part ways,” Tony states matter-of-factly, if not a little disappointed.
Reluctantly, I agree and Tony walks towards the back door of the restaurant. Once he reaches it, he opens the door and gives me one last look and a wink. He walks into the back of the restaurant and the door shuts with a thud. Because the night is so silent, I can hear the click of a lock engaging. It’s only then that my face begins to cool from the flush.
Tony. This could be very interesting. I replace my headphones and start my music again. Taking the short walk back to my apartment shouldn’t be too bad. The interaction with Tony has completely wiped away my earlier fear. This night has been a rollercoaster.
When I’m about 30 feet from my building, I look towards the door. Any blush that was still remaining is immediately gone. I stop dead in my tracks. Standing on the first step leading to my door is a familiar figure. Someone dressed in all black. The person is looking right at me and as some sort of macabre wave is swinging the knife in a back-and-forth motion. A dark cold invades the warmth and security I had been feeling from my encounter with Tony.
Before I can process this scene, the person jumps off the step and resumes the chase that had been interrupted earlier. I turn on my heel and run back towards the alley. Maybe I can get Tony’s attention by banging on the door. I force myself not to look behind me and focus on moving forward. I take the right down the alleyway and can hear something slice through the air right behind me.
I make it to the door and begin hitting the door. Within seconds, the person is behind me. Before I can turn around to confront them, I feel pain in my lower back. My breath catches. As my attacker pulls the knife out, a burning sensation, completely different than the burning in my face earlier, starts to pulse through my body, originating from the wound on my back. Salty, warm tears begin to stream down my face. That familiar pain hits me on my right side about halfway down my ribcage. I start to cough and hold my hand to my mouth.
As I draw my hand away from my mouth, it has been tinted crimson red. The burning again as the attacker unsheathes the knife from my body a second time. My legs become weak and I fall to my knees. The only thing supporting me is the cool metal of the back door to the restaurant. I should have went with Kailyn tonight.
My brain starts to get fuzzy, almost like white noise. Tears well up and my vision gets fainter. My breathing becomes more laborious. I’m too weak to turn my head and look, but as I’m fading out, it’s almost as if theater curtains are closing to prepare for intermission. Black shrouds the edges of my vision and begin to close. I can no longer smell the humidity on the air that the torrential rain had imbued. I can’t move my arms and longer and I can’t feel the cool metal of the door on my forehead anymore. The only thing left is the splashing of puddles that the stranger trudges through, which sounds like crashing waves in the dead night. The crashing begins to subside, and I hear my attacker whistling a high-pitched tune floating over to me. Then, silence.