She walked quickly down the bustling street, careful to avoid bumping into the tourists and business folk walking past her. She kept her eyes trained straight ahead, a hard look on her face. With her iPhone headphones stuffed in her ears, it made it easy to block out most of the world. You had to do that, working in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. The streets were overcrowded with the homeless and poor, harassing you for money or cigarettes. She kept an eye on her feet, careful not to step in any trash or urine puddles.
It only took fifteen minutes to walk from the subway stop to the building her office is in, but she spent the entire time anxiously speeding down the street. It wasn't that she would get harassed, but that someone would see her and recognize her. She finally fit perfectly into the life she had created, and she wouldn't let anyone mess it up now.
Reaching the front door of the San Francisco Chronicle was always the best part of her day. The smell of freshly waxed linoleum greeted her as she pulled open it's wide front door.
"Good morning, Jandro" she called to the doorman as she breezed past him, a smile gracing her features. Jandro waved and called back to her. She stepped into a crowded waiting elevator, and rode to her floor. When she stepped out, the cacophony of the newspaper news room met her ears with a rush. The girl smiled wide, she loved it here.
"Natalie!" shouted a familiar voice: her boss Joe, "you're late."
The girl grinned and removed her jacket, slinging it over her arm.
"Joe, I'm ten minutes early. Just like I was yesterday, and the day before that." She told him, still walking to her cubicle. She hung her jacket over a coat hook hanging behind her chair, and turned to her boss, now standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips.
"Well you're always late for the news, I've got an assignment for you." She sat down and pulled herself into her desk, logging into her computer.
"Yeah? What's up?" she said, focusing on her computer.
"There was an altercation last night between a tech CTO and a homeless man. People on Twitter are claiming class warfare, they want justice. Things are getting heated." Joe said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I want you to write a response."
"You're giving me an opinion piece?" She asked incredulously.
"Yeah, well you're getting too big for lifestyle anymore, so I figured you would enjoy a challenge." Joe said, a smirk on his face.
"Thank you!" She beamed, her mind already whirring about the article.
"Don't thank me yet," Joe said, "1,300 words by tonight." She nodded, already beginning to type notes into a word processing program open on her desktop.
Hours slipped by, Natalie toiled away at her desktop. Lunch came and went, she had not yet gotten up from her desk. Slowly the bustling news room began to empty and she took a moment to stretch. As she stood up from her desk, she realized the sun was dipping low in the sky, and most people had already gone home for the day. Her stomach growled, echoing in the now empty space. She glanced down at her screen, 1,100 words. Not much work left to do.
She took a deep breath and grabbed her wallet, intending to slip out of the office for a moment to grab dinner. As she made her way downstairs, she realized it was after 6, and Jandro had already gone home for the day. She waved at the night guard; she hadn't yet learned his name.
As she made her way past the lobby, something caught her eye. Sitting on one of the couches was a well dressed man, a mop of curly hair hidden behind a magazine. A jolt of adrenaline ran through her, she could feel it all the way through her fingertips and toes. She needed to run far away and fast.
Holding her breath, she spun on her heel, catching the man's head start to rise out of the corner of her eye. She nearly ran back to he elevator, catching the door just before it closed. She held the button for her floor until her fingertips turned white.
Back at her desk, she began to hyperventilate. He couldn't be here, it wasn't true. She had made sure she didn't leave a single trace of her old life behind. It simply wasn't true. She took a trembling breath. It was a hunger induced hallucination, that's all. She ducked her head and threw herself back into the article.
Four edits later, Natalie smiled. Her article was finished. She saved it, loaded it onto a flash drive, and packed up her things. She left the flash drive on Joe's desk as passed through the dark and empty building. When she reached the lobby, she stopped just out of sight of the couches. No one was there. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, she readjusted her jacket and walked out into the windy San Francisco evening.
Her usual commute home was upwards of 45 minutes, and so as she settled onto the train, she pulled a copy of The New Republic magazine out and proceeded to get lost. She glanced up occasionally to check the stop her train was arriving at, but she never thought of the curly haired man in the lobby again.
It was pushing 10pm by the time she reached her front door, and it took her three tries to put her keys in the door. Her eyes began to blur with exhaustion, and she briefly considered just sleeping outside. Finally, she was able to unlock the door, and it swung open. She stepped across the threshold into her home, and began to close the door behind her.
At first she didn't acknowledge the hand that stopped the door, she was so tired. But as she turned around, all of the adrenaline from earlier in the evening came flooding back. The world began to tilt and flash around her.
The curly haired man was standing on her porch, one hand on the door, the other on the door frame.
"Emma," he began, his tone soft and plaintive, as if he were talking to a frightened child. Natalie, eyes the size of saucers, took a step back. Her breath came in short little gasps.
"Emma," he continued, "it's alright." He put a hand in front of him, what was meant to be a soothing gesture.
Natalie shook her head. The world continued to spin and tilt dizzily. She couldn't speak, she continued to gasp. She began to sway. He rushed inside, and put a hand on her elbow. She shook her head with her eyes shut.
"No, no..." she said, weakly pulling away from him. Her chest heaved now from the effort of drawing in air. Dark spots began to dance in front of her eyes. She swayed to the other side. He stepped forward, concerned.
"Emma, you're having a panic attack." He said, guiding her to her love seat. She to draw a breath. She began to struggle, attempting to bat his hands away from her.
"Take a deep breath Emma." He said, his hands now holding both shoulders. She shook her head violently. The dark spots in her eyes danced and grew.
"C'mon, stay with me." His hands remained firmly on her shoulders, easily overpowering her weak protests. "Breathe, Emma."
Her eyes began to flicker and she continued to gasp. His hands down moved to her cheeks, holding her head in his hands. She registered their warmth, and felt a rush of safety. She drew in a hoarse breath; his thumbs brushed her cheeks.
"That's it," he reassured. "Big breath. Breathe with me." She took another breath, the dark spots shrinking away from her vision. He was kneeling in front of her, both hands on her cheeks, an encouraging smile on his face.
"Hank..." She wheezed, blinked, and shook him off of her. His face hardened and his jaw flexed briefly as his smile faded.
She curled up into the couch, shrinking away from him. He stood up and moved into her kitchen, she followed him with wide eyes. He rummaged in her cupboards for a moment, coming back with a pint glass full of water. He handed it to her wordlessly.
She took a sip, her brown eyes never leaving his. He sat on her coffee table.
"What are you doing here?" She asked quietly, still curled up into the love seat. Hank sighed.
"I guess I could ask you the same thing," he said. She put the water glass down, and curled her hands up into her lap. She remained silent.
"Emma, you disappeared 9 months ago. Did you not think we were looking for you?" Hank said, his voice growing stronger, more determined. "You have us all terrified. You can't just pack up and leave like that."
Natalie stood up suddenly, startling Hank. She crossed the room, quickly pulling her front door open.
"Please leave my home. Now." She said forcefully. Hank remained where he sat.
"Emma, lets talk about this." He said.
"Leave. Now." She said again, growing angry. Hank did not move.
"Leave!" She said, frustration bring tears to her eyes. Hank stood up, but still refused to leave.
"GET OUT!" She roared tears began to stream down her face. Hank took a step forward, closing the distance between them. A sob ripped from her throat. He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her into his chest. She continued to cry, he brought a hand up to rest on her head, gently stroking her hair.
"Let me help you, Emma." He murmured into the top of her head. "It's okay, I can help you, we can help you."
They stayed like that for a long time.