I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets as I walked by the children’s playground that marked the beginning of the park. The pinkish-orange light from the setting sun reflecting off the slide and swing set reminded me of the background of an anime movie I’d seen recently. I was thinking about going over to swing for a while, when I heard a familiar sound.
Somewhere behind me, somebody was riding a bicycle.
I decided to skip the swings and turned left at the end of the block.
The bicycle was still back there, following at a distance of about ten yards.
During my freshman year of high school, I’d been followed by a car filled with seniors looking to perform an initiation rite, and I’d recently been followed by a Prius that led to a man called Crow threatening me on a bus, but there was something about being followed by a bicycle that felt intimate, more threatening. It wasn’t just the fact that a car was bulkier and therefore more easily outmaneuvered by somebody on foot; it was the sound. If you’ve never experienced it, the sound of somebody following you on a bicycle—the rhythmic clicks and creaks of the gears and pedals—is just really fucking creepy.
A minute or so after I’d noticed the bicycle, I jogged across the street, cut through the front yard of a low-rise apartment building, and hurried toward the parking area around the back.
The setting sun was hidden by an adjacent tall building, so it was much darker in the parking lot. I was looking behind me for the cyclist as I jogged between a couple of parked cars, and when I turned back around, I almost ran directly into a man wearing a dark gray wool suit. The color of his suit matched the darkness of the late evening almost perfectly.
“I’m sorry,” I said instinctively as I twisted to avoid him.
He didn’t flinch.
Maybe I was just feeling edgy because of everything that had been happening, but I had the distinct feeling that the man had been waiting there, behind that building, specifically for me.
At that moment, a car pulled into the parking lot, headlights slicing through the dark, and I caught a flash of something shining in the man’s hand.
It looked like a gun of some kind, or maybe a Taser.
I started walking away. Fast.
After a few seconds, I turned and risked a look behind me. The man in the wool suit was following, perfectly matching my speed.
I started lightly jogging up the alley toward the street, doing my best to look casual, like I was just a little late for a nice dinner with friends.
The man started jogging behind me. He had a slight hitch in his gait, just enough to make him appear a little bit crooked as he ran.
It made him even more menacing.
I sped up.
I felt like if I could just make it out of the alley, I’d be okay. There would be cars on the street, probably some people out walking. There’s no way the man would risk attacking me in such a public setting.
I started to run faster, and I heard the man behind me do the same.
I looked back, and saw him sprinting toward me, loping slightly as he ran, like some kind of comic book villain.
He was moving too fast, I thought, as he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing at my shoulders, his fingers raking my neck and back. At that point, fight-or-flight adrenaline kicked in, and I was able to hit another gear. My lungs burned as I pushed my knees and arms up and forward in a burst of desperate kinetic synchronicity.
After a couple of seconds that felt like minutes, I twisted my head back to check on the man. He was too far behind.
I was going to make it.
About ten yards from the street, as I started to slow down in order to ensure I didn’t lose my balance and tumble into the middle of the road, the cyclist from earlier burst into the alley directly in front of me, effectively blocking my way.
I swerved to the left and somehow managed to maneuver myself between two large recycling containers, jump a low gate, and keep my balance as I ran along the narrow pathway between two matching gray brick–and-glass apartment buildings.
I was in the zone now, running for my life.
I had no idea where either of my pursuers was at this point.
I felt nothing but the need to escape.
* * *
—
I didn’t stop running until my legs gave out and I stumbled out of a back alley, moving so fast that the front of my body ended up way over my knees, and I slid across the pavement headfirst into a parked car. My body was so full of adrenaline that I didn’t feel a thing. I stood up and took a quick look around. I was miles from where I’d encountered the man in the wool suit. No sign of him or the cyclist.
I relaxed a little and took a longer look at my surroundings.