A raindrop hit the page I was writing on I looked up, startled. Darkly heavy rainclouds blanketed the sky. The sun was completely blocked, making for an ominously early twilight, and even as I gazed, two more cold drops hit my upturned face.
"Shit," I muttered, hastily closing my notebook and tucking the pen into the spiral binding. Turning off my music, I pulled off my headphones and put all my belongings into the old backpack on the park bench next to me. I only took a moment to stretch before shrugging into my pack and heading off quickly. More droplets fell to earth around me and the rich scent of freshly wetted pavement arose as I emerged from the park and started walking along the streets.
A few people hurried past me, going the opposite direction, hunching their shoulders against the rain that only seemed to be getting started. I sighed and sped up a little. It was quite a ways to my apartment, and I hadn't brought any rain gear to speak of, having not heard anything about any showers due today.
"Shit," I said under my breath again. Well, at least my backpack was mostly waterproof.
I pulled the zipper on my thin little jacket all the way up, but didn't bother putting on the hood. The thing was mostly decorational, and wouldn't do anything to really shield my face. But I did get a little warmth from sticking my hands into the pouch pockets in front.
Well, I thought, blinking up at the clouds again, This is a break from the usual.
The usual being my afternoon in the park, mostly spent writing from the same old bench. For some reason, I was really able to focus there, and a lot of my best work is the product of those outings. Normally, I would write for a good three, or even four hours, before the light started to change and I'd head home to transfer it all from notebook to computer. From there I could tweak it, cut and paste and merge it with the rest of my slowly-emerging novel.
But today, it seemed, my routine was not to be. With as dark as they had made everything, I was surprised that I hadn't noticed the clouds coming in earlier. I could only figure that I must have been so absorbed in my writing that it blinded me to the dramatic change in the light.
Shit, again.
As I crossed the street, I suddenly noticed that the block I was walking through was in almost full darkness. Even thicker clouds had rolled in, adding their own contributions to the downpour, and further smothering the sun. I shivered, not completely from the rain. Benign enough by daytime, the buildings around here seemed much more seedy in this sudden dusk. A distinctly menacing feeling worked its way up my spine, a creepy sensation that emanated from the deep shadows. I realized nervously that I had never walked around this place at night. I had always finished my business well before nightfall, and right now, that seemed like a really wise idea.
I picked up my pace some more, and saw a lamppost up ahead that did something to diminish the dark. More, evenly spaced lights followed it, but they didn't get rid of the nagging sensation of danger that prickled my scalp and quickened my pulse. Twilight was when the predators came out to hunt.
I heard the rumble of their engines long before they appeared. Going slowly because of the rain, they growled up the street behind me. Their headlights were glaring cones of brightness, stretching shadows in front of the parking meters and signposts. I hoped for a second that they might just pass me, but almost immediately I heard them slowing down further. I was all-too aware of the picture I must have made, with my sodden jeans clinging to my legs, ass, and hips, and my similarly-drenched top molded to the curves of my torso.
"Hey, baby!" A rough voice called. I turned my head slightly and saw a guy on a motorcycle grinning at me from beneath a handlebar mustache. Neither he, nor his two buddies on their own motorcycles, were wearing helmets. I guess they must have gotten caught out in the rain as well. Or they thought it would clash with their bad-ass look.
"You want a ride?" One of the others asked. I looked at him briefly and flashed a smile of completely false confidence.
"I'm good. Thanks, though."
The first one snorted. "In this shit? You gotta be kidding."
"Seriously, I'm fine."
"C'mon, baby," the second one insisted, "Let us give you a ride."
Staring straight forward, I shook my head. Why did these people always have to go through the pretenses of being friendly? We all knew what they were really after, and what would happen if I didn't let them have their way. I was so nervous, I felt nauseated, but I tried to keep a cool appearance. One of the first rules of self-defense is to not look like an easy target, right?
"It's only a ride," the third chimed in.
Who was I kidding? At five foot one, and a mere hundred pounds, I don't exactly cut an intimidating figure. On the verge of panic I swung my pack off one shoulder and reached into the front pocket. The bikers watched me a little warily, but the only thing I could find was a ball-point gel pen. They laughed derisively at my pathetic weapon, but I did my best to ignore them, shouldering the second strap again and tucking the pen into my jacket pocket.
"Baby, I'm starting to lose my patience." The mustache guy said. Now his true colors were beginning so show. I swallowed and kept walking. If I could get somewhere with more people...
The third one leered at me. "Maybe you just need a little extra encouragement."
"Maybe you need to fuck off!" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I was filled with instant regret and sickening fear. What was I thinking? Three angry stares made me quake in my soggy shoes.
Idiot, idiot, idiot!
"You better watch you mouth, you little–"
"Is there a problem here?"
All of our heads turned to the source of the deep voice, and I stopped walking. A man stood on the sidewalk, his hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets. He had to be at least six foot three and he had broad, powerful-looking shoulders. I couldn't tell the color in the dusky light, but his hair was dark and had a wild sort of look to it. His face was still mostly shadowed, though I caught suggestions of fiercely proud features, enough to inspire curiosity about the full picture. He stared at the bikers with a calmness that immediately tipped me off that he was not a man to be messed with.
The bikers didn't seem to notice.
"Naw. No problem at all," mustache guy called back. Though his tone was mild, I heard a definite underlying note of warning. "We're just having a little chat, is all."
"Oh yeah? 'Cause it looked to me more like you were hassling this lady here." The man countered cooly.
"Well maybe you better get your eyes fixed," the second guy snarled. "We weren't 'hassling' nobody."
The man shrugged. "How 'bout we ask the lady what she thinks?" He turned his attention to me then, and even though I could barely see his face, I knew his eyes were on me. I felt a reassuring warmth in that gaze, even as I trembled in fear of the three other men. "What do you say?" He asked me mildly.
"I... I... " Swallowing, I tried again. "They..." It was no good. Words had abandoned me like rats flee a sinking ship.
