Corinn ran and ran, just to get away, without direction. She turned onto Connecticut Avenue, a busy four-lane highway, then looked back to see if she was being followed. As her leather boots touched the center line, a bus roared out of Dupont Circle, honked and whooshed by, missing her by mere inches.
“Oh Jeez!”
She froze in place, shook as if she’d been struck by a bolt from the heavens. Anxiety closed her throat. She tried to calm her racing heart, breathe in, breathe out, while struggling to balance herself on the yellow, trying not to get bumped off by the zoom of the morning rush. A flurry of cars doing between 25 and 35 passed her on both sides, trapped her momentarily, hit her with chilly breezes and made her very nervous. She inched around, carefully turned her body to see behind her. Through a blur of traffic she saw the devilish figure in the three-quarter length black leather coat and blue jeans, his eyes washing over her.
“Fuck.”
Dead scared, she bolted, attempting a death-defying run through the vehicular rush. Tires screeched. Angry horns blasted. But she made it, charging onto a long stretch of pavement and past a pair of stone lions. She’d seen them before, then realized where they were, then where she was. “Ohmigod!” Her heart skipped a beat. She nearly stumbled. The fuckin’ bridge. I’m on the fuckin’ bridge!
The Taft Bridge was a busy four-lane stretch flanked by public walkways. It had a 900-foot span. From Corinn’s point of view, it looked like it went on forever. The thought made her knees go weak. She looked back.
Teardrop was 100 feet away, trotting along like an athlete, coming up fast.
“Uuuuuuugggggghhhh.” Corinn pumped her legs harder and harder, struggled to ignore the pain shooting through them as she considered her options. She thought about jumping over the railing, down the chasm to her death in Rock Creek. But suicide just wasn’t her thing.
She also considered pulling out the pistol that was digging into her lower back. It would have to be a quick draw. She figured the big monkey coming up behind her had a gun. There was nothing for her to hide behind. The exchange would attract a lot of attention, and she doubted she could outrun the cops.
Glad I have that…wait a minute. She grabbed her chest, felt the rattle of her frightened heart threatening to break its way out of her rib cage, the jiggle of her womanhood and the bra strap that kept it all in place; everything but the bullet-proof vest. “This is so not happening.”
The only alternative was the impossible. She had to outrun the creep by racing him to the other side. She was no track star. In high school she hid in the art room. In college she tickled computer keyboards and stole credit card numbers online. And for the past few years, she’d been exercising her creative talents while sitting on her butt and drinking on the weekends. She looked over her shoulder.
He was getting closer. She could see his twisted grin.
“Oh boy.”
Corinn was only half way across. She grunted, trying to force adrenaline into her bloodstream. She noticed the two-story Marilyn Monroe mural on the other side. She’d always been taken by its beauty. But while running for her life, the heavenly and haunting image made her blood run cold. Through the eyes of this frightened young woman, the painting of the late screen goddess looked as if it was about to blow Corinn the kiss of death.
Corinn’s ears picked up the slap of the devil’s footfalls.
Christ. Don’t fuck me like this. Corinn was huffing and puffing, losing balance. She was sure she’d be in his grasp in seconds. She was sure he’d crack her somehow. She was sure he’d feel her up. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. Her eyes watered. She wanted to scream. Desperate, she turned, looked at the oncoming traffic, saw a gray sedan coming up the driving lane doing about 35. There was nothing right behind it, just a semi a few hundred feet back. Corinn licked her lips. Had an idea, a crazy one, and only one chance at it. The desperate raven stepped over the silver guide rail on the edge of the walkway, then jumped onto the road in front of the car, held out her hands and yelled for it to stop.
The sedan squealed, burned its brakes and rubbed some traction off its tires. Corinn backed away as it slid toward her, but wasn't fast enough. As the vehicle skidded to a stop, the bumper banged against her lower legs and put her on the pavement. Bruised but not beaten, Corinn shot up, limped to the passenger’s side, flipped the door handle, slid in and hit the door lock.
“The FUCK are you doing?!?!” shouted the sharp-dressed woman in black behind the wheel.
“Just go!”
The semi rolled up behind them, hit its brakes then blasted its horn.
Then two giant hands slammed the passenger side window, shaking the car.
Cold fear shot through Corinn and the lady behind the wheel. Both screamed.
The smiling beast jimmied the door handle, threatening to snap it off.
Corinn threw her left leg over the car’s center console, hit the gas pedal, made the car roar to life and go from zero to 30 in mere seconds.
“All right! All right!” the driver protested, taking back control of the accelerator.
Corinn worked her leg back over the shift column as she turned to look out.
The man with the permanent tear charged, tried to catch up, slowed, realizing he couldn’t run 40 miles an hour, then laughed, somehow amused.
Corinn let out a sigh of relief.
“Jesus,” the driver said, her hands shaking.“You all right?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“That guy was chasing you,” the driver said, shaken. “Like he was really chasing you.”
“Yeah.”
“Your ex?”
Corinn shook her head, waved her hand, not wanting to even get into it.
“Look I’m late.”
“Just drop me up at the Metro.”
The driver handed Corinn her cell phone, told her to call 911.
Corinn thanked her anyway. “Don’t really think they’re gonna be much help.”