"Thank you," Alice said as she smiled at the bank teller and zipped her wallet up, awkwardly trying to shove it back into her bulky purse.

Stopping by the bank was the last thing on her list of errands for today. She was a solitary person who, in the whole reality of it all, was rather boring; although she would never admit it, even to herself. She enjoyed nothing more than spending time at home with her nose deep into a good book or watching the latest episode of her favorite TV show. She had inherited a large sum of money after her parents' deaths, so she never had the desire to obtain a job, she loved to be home. Home was where she could shut out the noisy sounds of Gotham's constantly busy streets.

It wasn't that she didn't like going out every now and then, however. She did. She enjoyed seeing new faces and seeing what her small confines of the world could offer. Christmas was her favorite time to go out. She loved seeing the bright glittery holiday lights and the small white flakes of snow as they fluttered to the ground, painting a sparkling layer over the image of the city before her. Plus, people in Gotham generally seemed nicer around the holidays. Nicer people in Gotham . . . that's always a plus.

As she walked out the large doors of the bank into the crisp, winter air, she immediately found herself being shoved downwards onto the sidewalk. Something between a gasp and a grunt escaped her lips. Looking up to see who had so rudely knocked her down, she was shocked to see what looked like seven men wearing black suits and black ski masks, all sporting large guns.

Alice hastily scrambled to her feet in a desperate attempt to get away from the action. The streets were quickly becoming chaotic as Gotham's citizens ran in every direction, screaming obscenities and yelling for the police. Darting to her left, she seen a small, empty alleyway and heaved herself into it. She reached into her bag to pull out her cell phone so she could call a cab, but found that it was not there. She had it in the bank, why was it not there? Suddenly it hit her that she was carrying it in her hand on her way out of the bank. It must have been knocked out of her grip when she was pushed into the sidewalk.

What was she going to do now? There was no way her phone was still there, and even if by some miracle it was, she wasn't lucky enough for the universe to grant her a second miracle of it still being intact. When people are running for their lives, they don't stop to avoid stepping on a cell phone.

She signed and leaned back against the rough, brick wall and looked up at the sky. It was like a brusque painting of yellow and orange topped with messy streaks of red, almost as if someone had taken bloody fingers and carelessly smeared them across the canvas.

A cacophony of gunshots erupted from within the building behind her back. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried not to imagine what was happening behind that wall.

Silence.

This day had taken a horrific turn. She knew there was plenty of crime in Gotham, but was naïve enough to think she'd never witness any firsthand. She hoped that it was all over now, and that everything would be normal again soon. Normal and safe. They had come to do what they wanted to do, and now it was silent. It must be over.

But she silence was short lived.

More gunshots began as she squinted her eyes even harder this time. This round was longer than the last, and they seemed to be getting louder by the second. So loud that she reached her hands up in a feeble attempt to cover her ears and block out its harsh intrusions.

When it seemed as if the deafening bangs couldn't get any louder, they finally came to a stop. Slowly, unsurely, Alice removed her hands from her ears. But this time, there was no silence. It wasn't gunshots she heard on the other side of the wall anymore, it was voices. Loud, muffled voices.

She heard a heavy thwack to her left. Turning to see where it had come from, she noticed that she was standing beside a large metal door that led directly into the back of Gotham City Bank. How did she not notice!

More voices arose and this time she made out the word 'open'. That's all it took. She jumped away from the wall and sprinted to the back of the alley, hopping behind a small trash can. Hopefully they would have a getaway car parked on the main street and would never see her hiding.

As she waited for the door to inevitably open and the masked criminals to jump out one by one, she looked around at her new surroundings. The sky was getting darker and she felt safer yet more vulnerable at the same time. It was an unusual and equivocal feeling, and was frightfully unpleasant. Looking behind her, slightly to her left, she noticed the alley did not end where she thought it did. There was a small entrance into what looked like a private parking lot.

And her question was this: why hide behind a mucky trash can when there's a whole hidden parking lot? The latter sounds much better.

As she slid out from behind the rancid smelling trash can, she heard the creaks of the door's hinges. She didn't wait around to see the men emerge. She was already in the parking lot before all of them even had the chance to step foot on the concrete of the alley. But their footsteps were following her. Was she wrong in her assumption that their getaway car would be out on the street?

She couldn't be. It would make for a faster escape.

There was a bright red vehicle just a few feet away from the entrance. She furiously pulled at its handles, but they refused to let her in. There was no time to keep trying. Just a few spots beside of it was a dark gray SUV. She tried the same tactic on the backseat of the driver's side and was actually shocked to find that it opened with her first forceful tug. She threw herself into the cramped floor of the very back seat and shut the door. There was no way she'd be seen in here.

As she laid there catching her breath, it occurred to her that all those people on the streets were safe and she, the very one who avoided them out of her fear, wasn't. Perhaps she'd overreacted. Her extreme actions were just what a character in one of her books would do. She wasn't a fictional character. She was a real person, and this was real life. There was no imaginary author who was out to make her life difficult for the sake of a bestseller.

No, she wasn't the victim after all. She was just an overdramatic woman who spent too much time in her fantasy worlds.

She laughed to herself, a small breathy chuckle at first, quickly turning into an almost crazed cackle.

This time she was right. They were going to take their little back way and be gone in less than five minutes. They'd just stolen money, for Christ's sake. They weren't going to linger around in some parking lot right outside of the crime scene, checking every vehicle for witnesses and wait for their arrests.

"Hey!" she heard a man scream. "Wh—"

A round of gunshots and the voice was gone.

"Larry, you son of a bitch!" another unfamiliar voice yelled.

"We don't have a spare!"

A single gunshot this time.

Alice slowly lifted herself up, just enough to see out of the rear windshield. Three men were there, right behind the SUV. She wasn't sure of the number, but she knew she had definitely seen more than five enter the bank. They were all standing beside a black van. One of its front tires was flat, and it looked almost as if it were sulking. There were two bodies littering the ground: one below their feet, dressed like his companions, and another who was slightly more mangled, wearing khaki pants and a crimson sweater. However, upon closer inspection, she realized that his sweater was actually meant to be white; the crimson color was an unwelcome hue brought about by the three men who were mounted right outside her trunk.

"Well, uh . . . then I guess we find a new car." A tall slender man said, almost sounding annoyed. He turned to face the SUV Alice was hiding in, and took a long stride towards it.

No, no, no, noo!

A warm tear slid down her cheek, and the vehicle roughly began to shake. It was all over. The door to the driver's side opened up first and then the passenger's side immediately followed.

"I'm in the front," a deep voice demanded.

A sardonic huff came out of the masked robber near the driver's door, and one more gunshot ensued. Two men climbed in, and the thud of the bag being thrown into the second row of seats made her jump. The discordant jingling of keys followed and the engine roared to life.

Whoever left their car unlocked and their keys in the cup holder in Gotham was just begging for their vehicle to be stolen.

Alice was surprised to find that the ride to get away from the scene was rather smooth. It wasn't the high speed, dangerous driving she expected it to be. The two men in the front of the vehicle remained quiet throughout the whole ride, neither one saying a single word. It seemed to come so natural to them. She, on the other hand, was having a difficult time trying to be still and inaudible. She wanted to cry and scream and attempt to jump out of the backseat door. But she didn't. Being quiet was her best chance at staying hidden, if she even had a chance at all.

Although the ride was gentle, it seemed to last forever. When the vehicle suddenly halted to a stop and the engine was cut off, Alice held her breath. The backseat door behind the driver's seat opened, and the bag was roughly tugged out. The force he had used to extract the bag had shaken her, and she let out a small, almost inaudible gasp.

Everything went quiet again. The door didn't shut. The man didn't walk away.

Had he heard her?

The answer to that question came when he shoved one of the second row seats down and tsked his tongue. She looked up to see a clown, with a ghostly white complexion and hollow black eyes. His mouth was carved into a permanent smile that was accentuated with a messy bright red outline.

"Well, well, well. . ." he mused. "And, ah, what do we have here?"