CHAPTER 1
Top of Form

It was ok. She could take slower steps now.

Becky Yeager looked upwards into the night, taking in the pitch-black as her heels click-clacked on the concrete sidewalk. A cool breeze sent goose pimples sprawling up and down her bare arms, forcing her to wrap her arms around her small frame. The lace edge of her plunging V-neck blouse scratched against her skin, making her pull her arm away while a small sigh escape from behind her lips. She hated this top with its plunging neck line and see through netting, but it served its purpose. It always did.

"Are you ok?" a voice whispered beside her. Male. Husky.

Hush, she thought. Don't make this harder.

"Are you ok?Are you cold?" he repeated, the roughness falling away, as if made aware of the sham it was.

She looked up, turning her head to the man beside her. His attractive face looking concerned in the cool burn of the yellow streetlights. So young. What a shame.

"You're cold," he repeated, the concern in his eyes growing as his fingers reached for the edges of his jacket, his thumbs stroking the large buttons. "Here…take…"

"No…" she said quickly, putting her hand against his chest, feeling the warmth there. His answering tremor. "Don't do that." My voice is trembling, she thought. Then stop trembling, Becky.

And don't forget to smile.

Stopping, she placed her other hand to his face, taking his lean face in hers. Feeling her lips widen as she tried to smile."You can do that later…" she said, her voice soft. Quiet. Did he like that? Did that sound right?

The answering lust in his eyes told her it did. She took his big hand in hers, taking in its warmth and softness; he was obviously rich. Most of the others didn't have smooth hands. They were mostly working-class stiffs, their palms always chafed and chapped. Always gripping hers with fists of iron.

And don't forget to smile.

She glanced at the street as it spread outwards to the right of them, empty and deserted. No white sedans with the words 'NYPD' inscribed on them roared past. No honking taxis. No joyriding teenagers. The Lower East Side was quiet tonight.

"I never figured you for the adventurous type," he said, his grin boyish and vapid , his hand gripping hers even tighter. It just slid through hers, like butter. "I mean Derek gave the impression you were …well…"

She stared at the graffiti filled walls, the pavement stretching on forever in front of them. The air getting thinner. "Well…?" she said, not as quickly as before.

He rubbed his hair suddenly, his beautiful face screwed up in confusion. Dark locks falling over his forehead while his boyish grin wavered. "You know…a prude…"

Something burned on the inside of her, like a match had been lit in her throat. Great timing, Gorgeous. I was just feeling sorry for you…then you go and say that.

Looking up at him, a wave of sadness flooded her as she saw his uncertain smile. Staring at him as he rubbed his head harder still, saying nothing as her smile tightened in the darkness.

She said nothing, her smile tightening as the darkness thickened around them. The streetlights were getting further apart. Funky smelling mattresses lined the sidewalks with broken bottles and old pieces of cardboard. Sirens echoed in the distance, forcing visions of ambulances tearing through Manhattan; zigzagging through the dead traffic. Their victims probably already dead.

Like you, she thought sadly, something catching in her throat as she watched his shrinking grin.

Calm him, now.

You're almost there.

She tried to close more of her small palm around his, her smile ever-widening as she tossed her hair back, the long strands tickling the back of her neck.

"I'm…I'm…are you sure about this…?" the man beside her whispered, his brown loafers making shuffling noises on the cracked pavement. Lines appeared beside his eyes, making him look much older instantly. His grin was gone now, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

She said nothing, her nose wrinkling instinctively at the stench of urine that stole through the air. Gagging, she gripped his hand even tighter, pulling him further along while concentrating on the secured iron grates lodged in between graffiti-splattered walls. They past the last streetlamp minutes ago, its reflection glinting dimly on the side of a dumpster a few feet away.

The smell of ammonia filled the air.

His voice seem to come from far away. "I mean …I'm all for spontaneity, but…"

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Not yet. Not until she was sure.

Moving faster, she tugged at his reluctant hand, her eyes peeled on the dumpster in front of him. Black bags and faded newspapers cluttered the ground in front of her. Something squeaked.

Where are you?

"Becky, are you…?" he muttered, his voice distant and afraid.

She came to a sharp stop, her heart thudding against her chest as she felt the cold close around her neck.

"I think we should go," he said, his voice irritable. "I wanna go back. I've got work in the morning."

One…no...two, three fingers closing around her throat, digging into her flesh, invisible.

Calm him.

Her heels made loud click-clack sounds as she turned toward him, her palm still firmly gripping his. "I don't want you to go back." She put her other hand to his face again, leaning into him. The scent of his cologne tickling her nostrils. Subtle yet strong. "Please stay."

I mustn't cry.

Features softening, the fear left his eyes for an instant. But only an instant. "Look…I think you're really cute …but…"

She leaned in further, feeling his warmth, wishing it was enough to drive the cold away. Enough to make her forget the invisible slivers wrapping themselves around her neck.

They dug deeper in response. She pushed her fingers into his hair, fluffing up his well trussed locks. "Stay," her voice sounded unnatural. Robotic. She tried again."Please stay."

Calm him.

But it was too late. She could feel the dread flooding through him, his muscles tensing. Fear stark in his eyes. "Get away from me," he stammered, pushing at her violently.

She fell back, her backside slamming against the concrete, arms scraping against the uneven floor. Pain shot through her like lightening as she rolled on the ground, something barely resembling a squeal coming from inside her.

His…it's… fingers clawed at her neck.

Moaning now, she forced herself to an upright position just in time to see the man running back the way they came, his silhouette racing toward bright lights and home. He's so young, she thought, the tears falling free now. So young.

The man's form got further and further away, the sound of brown loafers pounding the pavement gone. He was almost a spot in the distance.

A lick of hope flickered inside her. Maybe…just maybe..this time he'll let this one go.

The dark spot jerked upwards, rising nearly four feet in the air.

Exhaling sharply, she reached for her neck . Trying to prevent the inevitable wrench on her wind-pipe, knowing at the same time she could do nothing to stop it. But she couldn't feel the fingers anymore.

A piercing scream tore through the air toward her, forcing her to look up at her companion's arms and legs flailing furiously in the distant glow of the streetlamps.

There was another high-pitched yell.

And then another.

She covered her eyes, her heart thrusting forward against her chest. Oh no…Oh no…

This time a series of screams. And they were getting louder.

Falling forward, the sidewalk's jagged surface tore at her face, her arms folded in front of her. Screaming at the concrete. NO. NO. NO.

A whooshing sound thundered above her, sending her hair billowing off her neck. Another scream tore itself from her lips while she removed her hands from her face and looked up.

Her date was above her. Almost three feet.

Limbs thrashed while his jacket swelled around him. His lips rounded , getting ready for another scream. The whites of his eyes stark. Desolate. Lost.

He then soared over her, past the dumpster; disappearing into the darkness beyond it. Choked screams heralding his flight bounced against defaced walls and empty asphalt.

Then there was silence.

She stayed still for a few minutes, too shocked to get up. Her hand trembling as she wiped the slick sweat from her forehead. The cold was gone. He…it had its boon.

Her sister will live.

A small ball of fur scurried from under the dumpster, squeaking noises breaking the silence of the quiet street. It stopped in front of her, taking in her disheveled hair and scratched arms. Its squeaking ceasing momentarily as if wondering what she was doing there, then it took off in the opposite direction. Its tail slithering behind it as it headed for the lights in the distance.

It's time to go, Becky, she thought to herself as she rose slowly off the ground, the pain dulling as she stood to her feet. It'll be better next time.

She looked around her for the last time, rubbing her palms across her neck, her eyes scanning the darkness behind her.

It'll be better.

She followed the rat and limped toward the lights