Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I rushed past skeletal trees as the snow fell steadily, blanketing the ground and making my slippers skid.
I paused to lean against one, trying to catch my breath.
That’s when I heard a male voice.
He was speaking to other people I’d passed, asking if they’d seen a woman in a gown.
My stomach seized, praying no one would give me up, that everyone would know that a man chasing a woman through the park at night could have nothing but bad intentions.
I inched around the tree, trying to see through the darkness.
I saw a shadow move, following the path, moving away from me.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Only when I was sure he was far enough away not to hear me did I run, heading deeper into the park, watching my feet imprint on the freshly fallen snow.
But as quickly as my footsteps formed, the flakes started to fill them in again.
I made my way toward one of the many ornamental arches, sliding into the shadows beneath it, allowing me to escape the snow that had already soaked through my hair.
Shivers violently racked my body as I slid my wet phone screen into the slit of my dress to dry it off on my thigh so I could unlock my screen.
My finger hovered over the nine, knowing I was supposed to call the police.
But it was then I saw the voicemail icon.
I hit that before I could think better of it, then pressed my phone to my ear, hearing Venezio’s voice. Only it was different. Full of something that sounded a lot like panic. Telling me to get out of my apartment, to get somewhere safe.
Before I could think better of it, I hit the call button.
It barely rang before the sound cut off.
“Venezio!” I yelped, my voice tight, full of the panic flooding my system.
He said something, but I was barely paying attention.
“Help,” I cut him off.
“What’s going on?” he asked, voice tight, but controlled.
“He came…” I started.
But he didn’t let me finish.
“Where are you right now? I’m coming for you. Where are you?”
“Central—” I started, but suddenly didn’t hear the noise in the background anymore.
When I looked, the call had ended.
Did the service cut out?
But when I tried to call back, it went right to voicemail.
A whimper escaped me.
Had he even heard me?
Was he coming?
I needed to focus.
I needed to call the pol—
Even as the thought formed, though, I heard the chorus of male conversation drawing closer. Their voices were loud, so loud that I felt like they had to be drunk or high.
And the last thing I needed was to come across a group of men with dubious intentions in a dark park with no hope of help in sight.
I rushed out of the arch and scurried up the embankment on the other side, then got on top and lowered myself flat against the frigid stone.
My whole body was shaking violently with the cold on my chest and the snow at my back, soaking through my gown.
Tears pricked my eyes as I silently prayed the men kept moving, that they didn’t see me hiding up there.
Slowly but surely, their voices faded off in the distance, but I didn’t dare move until I no longer heard anything but the sound of the wind starting to whip around me.
I needed to call the police.
But I couldn’t tell them where I was; I had no idea.
I needed to get up, to make my way toward something distinctive, so when I called, they could find me. And quickly. Before someone else did.
Stifling a pathetic cry, I pushed up to my knees, then my feet, and started to try to make my way down the embankment.
But the snow was getting thick. And my slippers had next to no traction.
I slid almost immediately, slamming down hard on my ass, then sliding the rest of the way down.
Some part of me just wanted to stay right there, to curl up in a ball, to just give up.
It was then that I swear I heard my mother’s voice in my head, repeating a mantra I remembered all through my childhood, when we were in shelters, when the shelters were full and we were on the streets.
“We are made of strong stuff,” she’d say, over and over and over. “We can make it through this.”
We had been.
I still was.
So I pulled myself up off the ground and started running in the direction of the path again.
My body was shaking hard as I forced myself to keep going, knowing that the movement might be the only thing to keep me alive as the cold set in deeper and deeper until it felt like it was in my very marrow.
I was probably only on the path for a moment when I heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow.
Moving fast.
Running.
Right at me.
A scream caught in my throat as arms grabbed me.