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Summary: "If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl- if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible." - Edward, Twilight pg 343
I shivered, imagining only too clearly what he described- the alley at night, the frightened girl, the dark man behind her. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened that before?- Twilight pg 343
My feet slapped the pavement as I ran. There was a light breeze out, a soft caress that would have comforted me on any other night. But, not this night, I was running for my life.
I could hear him behind me, gaining with my every footfall. I was scared, so very scared.
I didn't want to die, I really didn't. I should have listened to mama; I should have stayed in tonight.
I should have, but I didn't. And now, I was going to die.
"Come on, Doll. I won't hurt you." His voice sounded like gravel. He wasn't even winded even after three blocks. I was panting, my chest was on fire, and I was crying like there was no tomorrow. Because, I knew there wouldn't be.
I tried to push myself faster, but it was useless. So I tried losing him by turning round a corner, but miscalculated and turned into an ally. I wasn't thinking clearly through all the adrenalin, and didn't realize –until halfway down the ally- that it was a dead end.
He slowed down, but I didn't. He was playing mind games with me; he wanted to watch me suffer. I back against the wall and prayed. I asked God to save my life, to protect me.
I screamed. The wordless sound wasn't as loud as it could have been; it wasn't as loud as I wished it was. Fear choked me as he closed those few feet in between us, clamping a hand over my mouth.
He smelled like cigars smoked in speakeasies. Stale and bitter.
"Don't take any wooden nickels, Doll Face." His breath smelled like bootleg as it blew across my face. I was shaking.
I squirmed and he took out a shiv. It glinted menacingly in the moonlight as my tears pooled around the man's hand.
I prayed. I begged God to send me an angel to save me.
"I didn't want to have to use this, Bearcat." His voice was smooth and cold, like his dark eyes. He was a rag-a-muffin, clear as day from what he was wearing, dirty and greasy.
A shadow passed over the moonlight, and a figure appeared behind my attacker. His hair was the color of pennies, his skin the color of the moon. But, by far, the most terrifying thing about him- the thing that had me paralyzed with fear- was the dusty red color of his eyes. He had the eyes of a monster carved like two rubies in the face of an angel.
He grabbed the rag-a-muffin and told me –in a voice like silk- "Run."
And I did, without another thought.
-
He saved my life that night. He might have been as beautiful as an angel, but he still haunts my nightmares. Even after eighty years.
But, thanks to the angel with red eyes, I got to live. I got to marry the man of my dreams, and have children. I got to see my grandchildren smile, and have a chance to grow old. And I thank him for that every night.
Some definitions on 20's slang.
Doll - pretty girl
Shiv- knife
Bearcat- fisty girl
Rag-a-muffin - a dirty or dishelved individual
Speakeasy (plural: speakeasies)- place to bye and drink illegal alcohol during prohobition - a modern day bar
Bootleg- illegal alcohol
"Don't take wooden nickles." - Don't do anything stupid