"There."

It was with a self-satisfied grin that Claire snipped the thread of the last suture. Her patient – a twenty-something year old with far too much make-up on – looked down at her handiwork, but didn't look as happy with the result as Claire did.

"Is it going to scar?" she demanded.

Claire sighed. Of course it was going to scar. It was a three inch gash on this woman's calf, incurred when she attempted to descend some industrial metal stairs leading from the nightclub in six-inch heels and failed. Claire may have managed to piece her leg back together neatly, but injuries like that always left a mark. She was a doctor, not a miracle worker, for God's sake!

"I'm sorry, but yes," Claire replied, trying to keep her most professional doctor voice on. "But scars do fade with time. In six months, it should be far less noticeable."

"Six months?" the woman exclaimed. "I'll never be able to wear a mini again!"

I somehow doubt that, Claire thought, but she kept that to herself. Instead, Claire mumbled something that was meant to be comforting, before ushering her patient out towards billing and a hopeful exit. She set about cleaning up her suture kit, when she heard someone chuckle behind her.

"Another happy customer, I see."

Claire turned around and spotted David, and felt her heart flutter slightly. David was another emergency registrar she worked with at Mercy General, and she had had a hopeless crush on him ever since she started her rotation here six months ago. He wasn't what she had generally considered her type. He had dark brown hair, so brown to be almost black, slightly too long to be considered business-like. His eyes were just as dark, hidden behind hipster-style glasses. He had a slightly hooked nose, which she normally wouldn't find attractive, but somehow it matched the slightly cheeky lilt to his smile. All these features somehow managed to encapsulate his personality, and it was that that Claire found herself infatuated with. David was a jokester, but he had heart. He always exuded a sense of warmth, and that was something that was desperately needed when working in an emergency department in New York City.

Claire smiled.

"Another day, another life saved," she replied. "How's your evening been?"

"Oh, you know. Just your usual Saturday night."

David came and leaned against the barouche beside her.

"Usual collection of drunks and assault victims. As satisfying as ever."

Claire laughed, but she wasn't sure why. David had is arms crossed across his chest, and he looked at her sideways under his curls. She watched that slightly crooked smile creep across his lips again.

"Pretty sure it's home time," he said, pushing himself upright. "A couple of the guys and I are going to go out for a drink, if you'd like to come."

"Can't," Claire said, before she thought about what she was saying. "I've got work tomorrow."

"That's a shame," David replied. "Did you want me to walk you to the subway or something?"

YES! Claire thought, her heart thumping in her chest, but for some reason she replied with, "Oh, it's not that far. You go have fun."

David sighed.

"If you're sure…"

David looked slightly deflated as he walked out of the cubicle. He stopped, clutching the edge of the curtain.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" he asked.

Claire's heart fluttered again. It felt like a phone vibrating in her chest. No – wait. It was. Her mobile was in her scrubs top pocket, and it was ringing. She pulled it out, and saw it was her mum ringing.

"Yes, of course," she said. "…I'm sorry, but I've got to get this. Hi, mum…"

David waved at her, and left.

It wasn't much later that Claire found herself leaving Mercy General. The faint sound of an ambulance siren echoed off in the distance, but it was no longer her problem. She flipped up the collar of her coat, to protect the back of her neck from the cold night air and walked down the street towards the subway stop. She felt like an idiot.

David had asked her out, and she had said no! Yes, it had been out with colleagues, but it was still out. There was subtext there. But no, she had said she couldn't cause she was working tomorrow! She was such an idiot! Six months, she had been hoping that he would ask her out, and the one time he does, she says no.

She had a feeling she was going to be feeling stupid for a while.

Just then, someone grabbed her from behind and pressed something cold to her throat.

"Make a noise and you're dead."

Claire felt herself freeze. In the seconds that passed, she realised that someone was holding a knife to her throat. She knew that if he used it, she wouldn't be around long enough to worry if the cut would leave a scar.

"My wallet," she said. "It's in my handbag. Take the whole thing. Just don't hurt me."

He chuckled.

"I won't hurt you if you do what I want. But I don't want your wallet."

A cold shiver ran down Claire's spine. This wasn't a mugging. And if it wasn't a mugging, there were only a couple other options as to what the man wanted, and neither of those were good.

"Back up slowly now," he said.

She felt a slight pressure against her throat, as her attacker took a step backwards. Claire had no choice but to follow. Claire looked desperately up the street, willing for someone to walk by. If someone walked by, he'd have to let her go. Why wasn't there anyone here?

Claire and her attacker backed up slowly, step by step, until the street finally faded from view. Her hopes of rescue faded just as rapidly as her view of the street had. They were in an alley – it could have been any, in New York. Her attacker spun her around to face a car, the ovular Ford badge visible from this distance.

"Back seat. Now."

Her attacker relaxed his arm and removed the knife from her throat. He waited for Claire to do as she was told. She hesitated, as she contemplated running. She knew if she got into the back of his car it was over. If she ran now and screamed her guts out, maybe someone would hear and come to her rescue. But this was New York. Claire hadn't lived here long, but she knew the stories of how it was more effective to call 'Fire' than 'Rape'. Even if someone heard her, there was no guarantee they would help. And then if he caught her again, it would only be worse.

So she did as she was told, and sat down on the back seat, careful to make sure her legs were hanging out of the car. She looked up at her attacker, and for the first time saw his face. She didn't know exactly what she was expecting, but she was still surprised by his appearance. He just looked like a normal guy. Maybe in his early forties, with close cropped hair and wearing a button up shirt. On any other day, she would have walked past him on the street without a second thought.

"Take off your pants," he said.

He swallowed hard.

"Bit difficult, from in here," she said.

He sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Stand up."

Claire did as she was told, but that was the last time she'd be doing that. If she was going to act, she'd have to act now.

Claire made a show of standing and undoing the top button of her jeans. She used this time to scope out her escape route, as her attacker was distracted by her button theatrics. They weren't that far down the alley. Maybe eight or ten feet. It wouldn't be that hard to sprint past her attacker and back where she came. She'd just have to run and keep running. Claire thought back to all the hours she'd spent in the gym on the treadmill. All that training would finally come in handy.

But first she had to get past him.

Claire's hands released the button on her jeans. Her zip remained tightly fastened. She allowed her hands to drop by her side.

"You do it," she said, trying her best to sound alluring.

Her attacker looked confused for a moment, so she smiled at him. She was surprised when he smiled back. He tucked his knife into his back pocket, and took a step forward to help her out of her jeans.

She kneed him in the groin.

Her attacker groaned, but crumpled to the ground, nonetheless. Claire took this opportunity to escape. She tried to duck around him, but he grabbed her ankle. She fell to join him on the ground. Claire struggled against his grip, and could feel the grit and detritus dig into her skin, but he wouldn't let her go. He pulled himself on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She tried hitting him, but it didn't make a difference. His hands clasped around her throat and squeezed. Claire dug at his hands, trying to pry them from her throat as she struggled for air. Her legs kicked and flailed as she tried to buck him off, but it was to no avail. She gasped and gasped again, but she couldn't get any air. Darkness started to creep into her vision. The last thing Claire would see was her attacker's cold, grey eyes, staring at her with a fevered mania while he forced her to leave this world.

It took a few moments after she stopped struggling for Claire's attacker to realise that she wasn't going to anymore. He allowed his hands to relax, his fingers protesting as he did so. They almost creaked as they finally released Claire's neck. The woman he had cornered lay motionless under him, her face a dark red that was already starting to fade.

He reached out to take her pulse. There was none.

Shit. He killed her.

This realisation struck him hard. That hadn't been his intention, when he decided to grab her off the street. She was just meant to do what he said, and he would have let her go, like he had all the others. She wasn't meant to fight. She wasn't meant to end up dead. She was useless to him now.

And it was worse. Murder was considered a far more serious crime than rape was. People would expend a lot more effort looking for him now there was a body left behind.

He couldn't leave her here. Someone would find her. Besides, they had fought. There would be evidence on her body. Evidence that could lead the police back to him.

The river. The river would wash away his crimes. No DNA meant no way to trace back to him. Besides, if he was lucky, she would never be found. The river would be his salvation.

He bundled her body into the boot of his car, before getting in and driving away. He realised as he drove that he'd have to dump his car later. Have it declared stolen, so no one would trace it back to him. He'd probably have to burn it, too, just in case there was any forensics left.

He drove down to the pier. At this time of night, he was the only one there. He pulled on a baseball cap, before getting out of the car. He opened the boot, to find the woman – still motionless – inside. If it weren't for the rubbish caught up in her brown hair, or the muddy stains on her back and legs, she'd just look like she was sleeping. He hoisted her out of the car, before dragging her to the edge of the pier, and tossing her into the river.

In that moment, as he stood there, watching the body of the woman he killed float away, it all just felt so easy.

The river would wash away his sins.

The river would wash away his sins.

Claire gasped as she breached the surface.

It took her a moment to realise where she was. That she was in the water and drowning, rather than suffocating. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, trying to coordinate her arms and legs so she was now swimming and keeping her head above water.

What the Hell was she doing here?

The events of that evening flashed through her head. Leaving work. The man with the knife. Him choking her and her vision going dark. But then what? It may have come in flashes, but it all added up to one thing. She should be dead.

So why was she swimming in the river in the dark?

Claire wasn't that far from the riverfront. The lights from the streetlamps lining its length shone strongly in the darkness. Even if she didn't know how she got here, she knew she had to get herself out. Claire had always been a strong swimmer, so it didn't take her long to propel herself back towards land and safety. It wasn't until she reached the rocks that lines the esplanade that she realised she had no idea where she was. She hadn't lived in New York that long, and she didn't really leave her neighbourhood that much. She could see the Williamsburg Bridge off in the distance, and she had seemed to have beached herself by a running path, but beyond that was lost.

More to the point, she couldn't see a way up to that running path.

"Hello?" she called. Her voice wasn't nearly as raspy as she thought it should have been, given that she had been nearly choked to death. "Anyone? Help!"

She almost cried when no one replied.

"Please? Someone? Help me, please!"

"What are you doing down there?"

A fat, middle aged man looked over the railing, down where Claire clung to the rocky shore.

"Oh, thank God," she said. "Please, help me."

"Gimme a sec. I'll call the cops," he said.

He was only on his phone for a couple of moments, before he hung up.

"They're on their way."

"Thank you," she said, her relief heavy in her voice.

"No problem," he said. "…So… Hope you don't mind me asking… But why are you naked?"