Sarah stumbled out into the New York City night, her high heels clicking unevenly against the pavement. She had to hold herself up against the door of the bar for a moment, making sure she was going to be able to walk. She’d had a bit too much to drink whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Around her, the city was ablaze with life, though given the late hour it wasn’t quite as alive as it usually was. Not on a Tuesday night, anyway. Still, neon signs blinked in a frenzied dance of colors half a block over. Taxis honked incessantly, their yellow bodies weaving through traffic like frantic bees. Above, the skyscrapers were jagged silhouettes against a sky that never truly darkened, stars obscured by the perpetual glow of the city that never slept.
Sarah clutched her purse tighter under her arm, aware of just how badly off her equilibrium was. Her mind was a blur, her thoughts as tangled as the people spilling from bars and clubs onto the sidewalks. She should book an Uber, she thought, but pride and a desire to shake off the cobwebs of too many cocktails spurred her on.
“Just five blocks,” she muttered to herself, trying to steady her spinning world with the promise of a short walk home. “Walk it off…”
So that’s what she decided to do. On slightly wobbly legs, she started venturing toward her apartment building.
“Hey there,” came a voice, smooth as silk but with a predatory edge that cut through her inebriated haze. A man she’d seen in the bar sidled up to her, coming out of nowhere like some horny ghost. He had chatted with her in the bar, laughter easy on his lips, but now, outside, he seemed more imposing. His hand brushed against her arm, his touch sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
“Let me walk you home,” he offered. It was obvious that he was drunk, too, his words slurring slightly. His eyes were hazy as well, but it did little to disguise the lust there.
“I’m fine,” Sarah replied, her voice firmer than she felt. “It’s just up the street.” She tried to step around him, but he shifted to block her path, his presence suddenly suffocating.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he pressed, his flirtation now a mask barely concealing frustration. “You were being all friendly in the bar.”
“Because I knew I could leave whenever I liked.”
Being hit on was nothing new to her. And, to her credit, she’d made quite the art form of letting men down gently. But if this guy kept pressing, she didn’t think there would be anything gentle about how she eventually reacted.
No, really,” she pressed. “I want to walk. I need some air.” With a practiced wriggle that came from years of barhopping, she managed to move past him.
“Your loss,” he called after her, his voice carrying a note of wounded ego.
She smiled at the sound of it. Good.
Relief flooded Sarah as she put distance between them, the encounter leaving her skin prickling with unease. She quickened her pace, the city’s rhythmic pulse now a backdrop to her racing heartbeat.
Maybe it was time to stop going out so late, stop drinking so much. She considered herself to be still young, just thirty-two years old, and finally making a name for herself at work. It was time to stop worrying about the next party or the next happy hour; instead, it was time to put her attention toward that corner office that awaited her, the glass walls, the skyline view—the reward for years of relentless drive. She’d been told in no uncertain terms that it was hers if she wanted it. She just needed to give a bit extra at work, a bit more focus.
Her mind raced through campaign strategies and client meetings. She’d have a hell of a headache tomorrow, and she had no one but herself to blame. Yeah…it was definitely time for a course correction.
The city’s night-song dulled to a whisper as she turned onto a quieter street, where the buildings pressed closer together. Peering ahead, she could see the upper portion of the roof of her building. And somehow, it seemed she had sobered up a bit—whether from the thoughts of her future or the walk itself, she wasn’t certain.
As she headed toward home, her ears caught a thread of conversation to her right. Men’s voices, hushed and coarse, sliced through the quiet. They were close, too close, their whispers laced with the sharp edge of anger and urgency. Sarah slowed her steps, instinctively drawing her coat tighter around her.
Her apartment was just ahead, about a block and a half. Yet, even as she yearned for the comfort of home, curiosity tugged at her. Who were these men, and what were they trying to be so secretive about? As she recalled the man who’d tried picking her up less than fifteen minutes ago, her thoughts turned to other helpless women and how predatory men did everything they could to take advantage. What if that was what she was hearing, and she simply walked away?
A sense of foreboding crept over her, a silent alarm that buzzed at the edges of her consciousness.
She chanced a discreet glance toward the source of the whispers, careful not to betray her attention. Nothing seemed amiss, just the ordinary play of light and shadow along the streets. Sarah shook her head, berating herself for letting the night’s earlier encounter fray her nerves.
But then there was movement. Two shadows emerged from the yawning doorway of a nondescript brownstone, their forms swallowed by the inkiness of the night. Sarah stopped mid-stride, her gaze locked onto the figures. They were both dressed in black from head to toe, faces obscured by ski masks that left only their eyes exposed. They moved with a fluidity that was almost spectral, their steps silent on the pavement, bodies tensed like snakes giving a warning.
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. The promotion, the bar, the unwanted advances—all of it evaporated as one of the men locked eyes with her. One of them, bulkier than the other, carried what appeared to be a duffel bag, its contents hidden but undoubtedly significant given the care with which he cradled it in his arms.
Her heartbeat continued to flutter as she realized that she had stumbled across something clandestine, something illicit.
And with this realization, one of the men turned in her direction. For a bloodcurdling moment, their eyes locked.
Panic clawed at her insides, urging her to turn, to run. Yeah, right, she thought. Run while drunk and wearing these heels?
Still, she did attempt to retreat, to get home as quickly as possible. She pivoted on unsteady heels, her legs a blend of lead and jelly as she quickened her pace.
She had barely covered a few yards when a sudden pressure clamped around her arm, iron-strong and unforgiving. In that moment, time contracted, the bustling cityscape narrowing to the vise-like grip that anchored her to the spot.
She raised her free arm to strike at whoever had grabbed her at the very same moment she opened her mouth to scream for help. But before she could do either, she was wrenched backward. A fist buried itself in her abdomen, the force blunt and unexpected. Air whooshed from her lungs, her scream dissolving into a helpless gasp. She doubled over instinctively, pain radiating through her core.
Her captor grabbed the fabric of her coat as he hauled her, half-stumbling, half-dragged, toward a nondescript van parked at the curb. Its back doors yawned open like the maw of some great beast. The interior was shrouded in darkness. The other masked figure had already slipped inside, waiting.
Sarah’s mind raced. She knew she needed to scream, to call for help, but her breaths came in shallow, ragged pulls that made her head spin even more than the alcohol still rampaging through her.
As they neared the van, the world tilted dangerously, her perspective narrowing until there was nothing but the cold grasp of her captor…and the waiting maw of the van.
“Please,” she managed to whisper.
But her plea went unheeded; the only response was the tightening of the man’s grip and the looming shadow of the van as she was shoved inside.