Under the Rain

Seven

                                                                                        May

Everything was right back to normal again. Weird Tattoo was no longer in sight. Stiles had disappeared out of our lives for good. Work resumed every evening. But insomnia, and the invincible emptiness that crushed me every night, was my constant companion. These days, it had, however, impersonated a stronger, scarier form, that would sometimes, instill a petty nervous breakdown, or make me depressed for no reason at all. 

 In the beginning, after the day when we had last encountered, I had expected a couple of times to see Weird Tattoo again. Glancing through the window over and over again, or being alarmed whenever I would see shadows at night, but he never turned up.  When nothing changed for as long as my anticipation was bright, I had begun to lose hope. And gradually, he became a vague distant lantern of memory, although not completely erased, for the fire of my gratitude for all the times he came to my rescue still charred within me.  But this was not like any other night. 

This one was the night when the real story began.

                                                                                                 ⁂

I walked out of 'Booker's Haven', my favorite bookshop with a much-awaited novel tucked under my arms. Even though the night wasn't as vigilant, it was beautifully melancholic. I hugged my book, strolling along the Hudson bridge, solely longing to get lost in the world that hid beneath those pages.

And then I heard the footsteps.

Feigning unawareness, I tried to appear as casual as possible. They erupted out of nowhere, the footsteps. I was completely alone all this time while I was walking. Minutes afloat, the Hudson was no longer flowing alongside me. But the footsteps kept following, slow and suspiciously arrhythmic. I fought the nagging urge to look around and continued moving.

I recalled that night when I last saw Stiles and my adrenaline lost control.

On the wayside of the path, there was an alleyway.  Without pondering, I jerked my direction and dived into it, ardently hoping the footsteps had left me. But they hadn't. The traumatizing 'serial killer' hobbles traced me. So, gathering every morsel of my confidence, I quickly hid in the corner of the alleyway, behind a dilapidated building,  that split the road to a different pathway.

 And waited. 

 The moping of shoes halted for a while, but then it started again. I held my breath.

Suddenly, as I glimpsed the shadow of the stalker reflected by the streetlight, creeping closer to the corner, I immediately pounced into it and slammed it against the wall, armed with pepper spray that I saved for moments like this.

"What do you want?"

The face was hidden by the darkness. But it was quivering.

I shoved him harder against the wall. "Try imagining  your sister and your mother in the same situation before you plan to take advantage of a lone girl at night, creep!"

It said nothing, but the trembles said it all.

I yanked him and roughly propelled him to the wall again, and without a look back, skidded away. Midway, I realized I had dropped my book somewhere along the road, but couldn't find the courage to go back searching for it.

                                                                                              ⁂

It was but the next night, when I was lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling because sleep had beguiled me again, I noticed a silhouette blocking the moonlight, by the window.