My black locks sung in front on my face. I brushed them aside irritably, trying to see the figures in the city fog. The figures were two men. One looked older, but I couldn't really tell because his back was to me. All I could see was his balding head shining in the misted moonlight. The other man, from what I could see from my hiding place behind the large dumpster, had dark brown hair tied back in a small ponytail and he had a small mustache on his lip.
The two men were talking in low voices. I leaned forward to hear more than a few choice words. A box that had been balanced on the dumpster's hood fell inside, making loud clanging noises. The younger man looked my way. His brown eyes narrowed.
A cat ran by swiftly. The older man sighed, his breath misting in the fog.
"Just a cat," he muttered. The young man cast an eye my way again, but turned back to his companion.
"Just a cat?"
"Yes. Didn't you see it?"
"The cat would've been much more startled had it caused such a racket."
The young man's voice was smooth, hinting around manipulation.
"Besides, old one, why are you so worried about anyone finding us here? The buildings on either side of us have been abandoned for years."
"I guess you're right. I can let my guard down for a while."
"Then you have forgotten why we have come all the way out here. We didn't come all this way for an everyday chat, Orlando."
"Ah, yes." the old one hung his head. "You came to kill me."
"Tsk. King Farr can't have a double agent, can he?" The young man unsheathed a nine-inch-long blade. The older man took a frightful step backwards.
King Farr? Who was this man speaking about? I searched my head for name origins. I'm good at remembering things like that. I didn't find anything that suggested a terrorist. Farr was English.
"W-wait. We've worked together for a long time, you a-and I." As the young man raised his knife, Orlando was beginning to shake. "I-I'm sure the K-king will let me stay in his d-d-dungeons."
"Sorry, Orlando." The young man gave him a sickening smile. "Orders are orders."
"Wait! Clo-!"
Before the man could finish, the young man pierced him through the hurt. I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from whimpering. Orlando gurgled and choaked on his last words. The young man took the knife from the dead man's chest, which fell to the ground. Then the young man wiped the crimson blood from his knife with a small cloth. He sheathed the knife and looked my way again.
"Come out." He ordered gruffly.
I stayed put. I didn't want to risk being murdered myself.
"Come out or I'll come over."
Thinking it would be better if the man didn't corner me, I stood and walked out from behind the dumpster.
"What am I going to do with you?" This was obviously a rhetorical question. Whatever I said would most likely be denied. Seeing as I just wanted to go home. I hadn't even meant to come way out this way. I was miles from downtown.
The young man walked a couple steps forward. I walked a couple steps back. He wrinkled his nose and re-did his ponytail.
"Come, come, miss. I can't stay at a crime scene for very long. I'll be known as a killer and a loony."
"Good for you." I managed to say.
"Spunk." He mumbled to himself. Then to me: "You'll have to come with me."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Oh really?"
I'm a pretty fast runner, I'll give you that. When I was in high school I had ran with the track team. I turned away from the man and ran back down the alleyway.
"Let's go!" I heard him say to someone.
I swore over and over in my head. There was more than one person involved with this murder. If I could just make it to a slightly more populated area of New York City...then he would be less likely to follow me. I couldn't die. I was too young to die now.
My dreams of possible escape were crushed when the young man swerved out of an alley in front of me. He grabbed me by the waist, lifted me onto his shoulder, and took off running again. I clutched the back of his shirt in terror, realizing that it was made of kevlar. How could an ordinary criminal have kevlar in his posession? And how could this man be running so fast? He wasn't exactly running in a straight line either. He was zig-zagging.
"Don't make a noise," he hissed to me.
I didn't feel like being quiet. I squirmed out from underneath his arm and landed in a heap on the pavement. I cried out in pain and stood. How on Earth did we get to down town New York so quickly? A cab honked and swerved, it's headlights bouncing against the street lights. I glanced up to see a truck coming towards me.
A hand grabbed me by the arm and pulled me onto the curb. I turned to see the murderer. I scowled at him. He returned the look. A few late night stragglers watched us in confusion as they walked past.
"Don't pull a stunt like that again." The murderer growled. "You could've died."
"Like you would care."
He touched the hilt of his knife with a finger. He looked up at me and his eyes flashed a red color.
He grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me onto his shoulder again. He began running again, but this time kept his arm tight against the back of my legs. I sighed and held onto his shirt. Lights and noises flashed by at dizzying speeds. Impossible speed. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the confusion. Instead I set my mind onto where this killer was possibly taking me.
