"Don't move. Don't breathe."
She couldn't stop herself from choking out, "What are you going to do to me?"
In the damp darkness of the Manhattan alley, the girl could sense the sinister grin that crept across the young man's face. However, before he could make a reply, he was knocked to the ground by blunt force. The knife fell to the ground, its bloodstained blade clicking against the cobblestones.
Silhouettes of two young men brawling in the alley were barely visible, but the girl's apparent rescuer was, seemingly, the stronger of the two, for after a moment her assailant was out cold on the ground. The young man, breathing hard, drew a hand across his mouth, smearing blood across his right cheek. Grimacing, he wiped the blood that was on his hand across the right leg of his pants and made his way over to the girl, who had huddled in a far corner of the alley during the fight.
Absent-mindedly, the girl brought a hand to her throat and was startled to feel warm, sticky blood oozing onto her fingertips.
"You all right?"
She looked up to meet a pair of dark brown eyes staring intently at her. "I...never realized that he cut me."
Concerned, the young man took her hand and helped her up. "C'mere, let me take a look."
He led the girl out of the alley and into the soft glow of the street lamps. Leaning forward, he examined her lily-white throat. After much thought, he met her eyes. "Ain't much more than a little cut. You're fine."
A short pause followed as the two shuffled nervously in the dim glow. Finally, the girl whispered, "Thank you."
"Why you out so late? It's dangerous," the young man inquired, a tone of concern evident in his voice.
The girl answered not, but took that moment to get a good look at her rescuer. He was not exceptionally tall, though still some two inches taller than she. His wavy brown-black hair, skin tone, build, and features suggested Italian descent. She found him rather handsome, thought years of street life had toughened him outwardly, hardening his features and setting a look to his eyes that only children of the streets posessed.
Touching the girl's face with a calloused hand so as to snap her from her trance, the young man gently said, "I asked you a question. Didn't you hear me?"
"Yes, I heard," she answered in a voice just above a whisper. "But I cannot answer you."
Something in this girl's voice suggested fear and sparked suspicion in the young man's mind. He wanted to know why she kept hidden her reasons for being out in the streets so late at night. She was from a middle-class family, he could tell as much. The girl had auburn hair and blue eyes, and was of a slender frame. Her pale skin was set off by the plain, dark- colored dress she wore. She had soft features and a small nose that was dotted with freckles.
Thinking fast, the young man asked, "Where do you live?"
"Two blocks over, end of the row. Apartment 13B in the red brick building," she answered. "Could you walk me home?"
The young man took hold of her arm, thinking as fast as he could to make something up. He wasn't letting her leave until he found out why she was out. There was no reason for a girl her age, and she looked to be near seventeen, to be wandering the streets late at night. He was suspicious, he sensed that something was wrong, and he decided then and there that he wanted to help this girl. To be able to do it, however, was the problem on his hands.
"Look here, this is the way I see it," he began gruffly, leading her in the direction opposite of the way to get back to her apartment. "I just saved your neck, so you owe me something, right? To me, saving a life is about the biggest favor I can do for anyone, so that means you owe me big. 'Course, at this point, I'm not sure what you owe me. Maybe I just need a friend. A girl who's a friend. Normally, a girl like you would turn her nose up at me, that's why maybe I want you to know that I'm not trash. I don't know. But I'll think of something." The young man was an experienced liar, but so far that talent wasn't serving him well.
Horror in her eyes, she tried to jerk away from him, but he held her fast. Finally, deciding that resistance was futile, she looked up at him, frightened. "You don't want to hurt me, do you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," the young man laughed. "I'm not that kind of guy. I guess I just want some company besides that of the guys at the lodging house."
"But you don't need to kidnap me to be my friend!" she exclaimed.
"Girl, face it," he said, becoming more pleased with his lie as it progressed, "if I'd let you go, you would have gone back home and never even given me a second glance had we ever met on the street."
Several moments passed as they walked down the street, now arm-in-arm. The young man turned to the girl. "Well, I guess if you're gonna be around for a while I need to know your name."
"Madeline Smith," she whispered, staring at the ground.
Curiously, Madeline didn't seem very distressed that a strange young man had practically kidnapped her for no reason. He noticed this and it only added to his suspicion.
"Here it is," he said as they stopped in front of a building. "The Newsboys Lodging House."
"Pray, what is your name? I might as well know yours, also," Madeline said, staring up at the young man for an answer.
As he opened the door for her, he answered, "They call me Racetrack. Racetrack Higgins."