Rochelle hurried down the street, tugging a packet of cigarettes from her bag. She paused to light one, but was soon on the move again. She had never liked this neighbourhood – there was a reason the rent for the community hall was so low – and she wanted to distance herself from the scene she’d just witnessed.
Inexplicably, she felt embarrassed. It wasn’t she who’d freaked out, who’d been ranting and raving, so why did she feel so stupid? It wasn’t her fault – though obviously something she’d said or done had set the girl off. Up until that point, things had been … ok. She had deliberately let some of the other girls share first, to avoid putting the newest member of the group on the spot. She’d hoped Kassie, who appeared closed and truculent, would relax into the session, realizing it was a show of strength, not weakness, to confide in the others about her addiction.
She had tried to be gentle with her, to give her all the time she needed. And, after some words of encouragement, Kassie had eventually looked up at her, as if about to speak. Rochelle had taken that as a positive sign … but actually that was the moment when everything went wrong. Kassie had stared at Rochelle for a moment, as if pole-axed, then had suddenly launched herself at her, screaming as she did so.
Rochelle had had to break up the group and send the other girls home. She’d called a cab for Kassie, but the teenager refused to leave, insisting she needed to talk to Rochelle, to warn her. Warn her about what, for God’s sake? Rochelle should have stayed perhaps, but as soon as the cab arrived, she took her leave. Her expertise lay in addiction therapy, not mental health counselling, and, besides, if she was honest with herself, she was scared. The teenager appeared incoherent, yet persistent, clinging to Rochelle for dear life. The girl was actually hurting her, so Rochelle had extricated herself as best she could and got the hell out of there. Maybe it was cowardly, maybe it was an abrogation of her duty, but she had been attacked before during sessions and didn’t want to go there again. As soon as she was home, she would call Kassie’s outreach team – this was their domain, not hers.
A noise behind her made Rochelle turn. Somewhere in the middle distance, a can had been kicked and was now rolling into the gutter. Pulling her bag up on to her shoulder, she hurried on her way. The street was only intermittently lit and, like most of Chicago, had alleyways leading off it. Suddenly Rochelle felt scared and alone.
She picked up her pace, marching towards the ‘L’ station. She didn’t want to run – she told herself that she was being paranoid and that it was unnecessary. In reality, it was because she feared that if she did break into a run, someone would suddenly burst out of the shadows in pursuit. She berated herself for her stupidity, but there was no denying how she felt. Her nerves really were shot today.
Another noise behind her. Without breaking stride, she craned her neck around. To her horror, she now spotted her pursuer. It was Kassie.
Rochelle stumbled on, dumbfounded, for a second, then turned and sprinted towards the ‘L’ station at the end of the road. The teenager had been looking directly at her, hurrying towards her – there could be no doubt that she was being pursued. Somewhere behind her, Rochelle heard a cry, but she didn’t stop, tearing down the road, her heavy bag crashing into her side as she ran.
She was a hundred yards from the ‘L’, now fifty, now twenty. She could hear pounding footsteps behind, so she didn’t hesitate, slamming her card down on the ticket barrier, before bursting into the station stairwell and climbing it three steps at a time. As she did so, she heard the familiar rattle, felt the vibrations beneath her feet – a train was coming.
‘Rochelle, wait!’
Her pursuer had vaulted the barriers and was at the bottom of the stairs, breathless and crazed. Rochelle turned away and ran on to the platform just as the train ground to a halt. Turning left, she pushed through the small stream of commuters disembarking, diving into a carriage near the back of the train.
‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered, willing the doors to close.
Right on cue, the alarm sounded and the hydraulics sighed. Just as they did so, her pursuer made it on to the platform. A quick scan of the place, then the crazed girl lunged towards the train, even as the doors began to slide shut. Just as she did so, Rochelle made an instinctive decision, stepping purposefully off the train. The doors drew together and, to Rochelle’s enormous relief, she saw that her pursuer was now trapped inside.
The train moved off, leaving Rochelle alone on the platform, caught in the gaze of the girl, whose face was now pressed to the window. Rochelle watched her go, breathless and relieved, but, even as she did so, her attention was drawn to the train on the other track, now rattling towards the station from the opposite direction. Without hesitating, Rochelle hurried back down the stairs, darting through the subway and up on to the adjacent platform. Catching the incoming train would take her in the wrong direction … but it would take her further away from her. Furthermore, there was a cab rank at the next station and today she was willing to swallow the cost of a cross-town journey.
Now more than ever, she just wanted to get home.