3 – Streetlamps

The gears of a monorail screamed in the distance, fading into a far-away echo that careened off the edifices above, then raced after the train. In the dark walkways that bordered each of the ash-gray buildings, corroded streetlamps lit escaping steam with their scattered amber beams, volts humming like calling insects.

A figure cut through the glowing steam, not once halting to observe the copy-paste scenery from the last few blocks she now passed. Her dark hair fell in sleek waves over her shoulders and caught a copper gleam each time she passed under a working light. A gush of air released from beneath her feet, tossing the unzipped edges of her light sweater in every which way. She took these edges in her hands and returned them to their undisturbed positions, wrapping her arms around herself not because she was cold, but merely to keep her apparel in place. Around her, air rushed out of narrow vents, air passed in and out of the rebreather she adjusted every half-minute, and the electric hum battled to drown out the distance grinding of the transit system. The only other sound she could distinguish through the surrounding drone was her own rhythmic steps as the heels of her shoes made their low click-click against the concrete.

She came to a corner and turned right, keeping her pace steady and brisk. She did not stop, nor look back, as another person made a left turn into the alley she now walked. His shoulders were broad, and he breathed the air of that dark night without assistance. Had he been standing next to her, she would have been able to see that he stood a full head taller than her, but for now, he stood at that corner, his jaw set without expression and his piercing gray-blue eyes following her outline in the shadows of the buildings. His steps did not make a sound. He followed her.

She walked in the darkness between the two buildings, without streetlights to return the copper gleam to her hair or cynically timed vents to play havoc with her things. She kept her eyes trained ahead on the sulfur-colored patch of pavement where a streetlight would be waiting to welcome her as she emerged from the alley. Her heels continued to click-click as she came closer and closer to this salvation. The man following behind her matched her pace with slow, patient strides.

Finally she came to the edge of the alley, again bathed in a misty glow. She knew home was left, but she slowed just long enough to glance in both directions. She had seen no one. No one was out late this night to shuffle along with the discarded paper that traversed the edges of the buildings, only stirring either occasionally or all at once when caught by a favorable vent. Her shoes click-clicked as she reached up to adjust her rebreather, pushing it closer against her face.

Another monorail screeched by. It was a couple of blocks away. She whipped her head around to glance over her shoulder, intent on whipping it right back. The man had followed her, and now he was only an arm's length away. She startled seeing him that close, the light above casting a golden sheen onto his brown hair and jacket, his eyes watching her, almost as startled as she was because she had looked back, and she ran. She could feel the adrenaline building up in her systems as she took that first long stride, her heels no longer making the same methodic click, but in beginning the third stride of her frantic sprint she felt a powerful hand come down and close upon her right shoulder, dragging her back. Catching up took hardly any effort as he brought his body closer to hers, reaching his free hand up into her face to push the rebreather out of the way of her mouth. Now holding her firmly by her arm, his main control exerted though her head, he hastily guided her into the nearest alleyway.

She fought against his hold but she could not scream. She could smell his hand beneath her nose and feel the rough fingers against her cheek. The adrenaline surged but he merely held tighter, both of them engulfed by the darkness of the alleyway, finally leaning in to speak, his breath warm against her ear.

"Shh, don't scream, you're okay, don't scream," he said to her, manipulating her so that she stood facing him, her back to the wall of the nearest building.

She could barely see him, the weight of her rebreather pulling on her ear.

"Just calm down," he continued saying to her, his voice smooth and reassuring, "I don't want to hurt you."

Her breathing began to slow, the strain of struggling against him subsiding, and eventually his hand began to fall from her mouth.

"That's it," he encouraged her, "just stay calm."

She wanted to look away. She wanted to run away. Now his only hold on her was his light grasp on her arm, but despite this, his looming presence seemed to surround her. She was trapped, breathing the unfiltered air and becoming light-headed.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he said to her slowly, his words smoother than glass. "You're so beautiful," he said, again raising his hand to her eyes.

She flinched away at this motion, frozen in her place as she felt him run the back of a finger down her face, spinning a lock of her hair when he had reached her neck. Her throat had made the sound of a whimper, but her mouth had closed before it could escape.

"Don't be afraid," he assured at her flinch, his eyes never once leaving her.

After he had said this, she could feel his hand pulling her arm towards him, slow but firm. In response, she braced herself, standing as still as she could while pulling back against him. His hand merely pulled harder, his grip tightening slightly due to her resistance. She pulled back, this time having to strain herself against his greater strength until they were physically struggling against each other in the darkness.

"Come on girl," he said to her, his tone showing his slight irritation at her continued resistance. "Come on, don't be afraid."

She was about to scream; she could feel the fright rising up inside her as he handled her roughly during their wrangle for control.

Without warning, a third dark silhouette beamed through the shadows. It took ahold of the man in front of her and tore him away. She was jerked aside as well by the man's delayed reaction of releasing her arm to confront his own attacker. In the dark alley she lost her footing and fell to the ground, glimpsing up at the two figures outlined in the faint light who did battle above her as she pushed herself away against any solid surface she could grasp. Above her own breathing she could hear the release of the steam vents beyond the alley; the unfiltered air was like wet cardboard in her mouth as she finally panted in the panic that she had kept down until now. The two people exchanged blows in quick succession, the sound of hand striking face or chest even louder than the rushing air. By the build, she could tell the other was a man, not all that much unlike the first. They appeared evenly matched, neither relenting, and already she had lost track of which man had pulled her into the alley, and which had just leapt into the fray.

Then, one of the men's strikes broke the other free of the tussle, allowing him to stagger back. The one who had been hit, now with his back to the hazy air touched by the streetlights, hesitated a short moment, as if weighing his options, then took off out of the alley and out of view. Before he disappeared, she was able to catch a glimpse of his face in the yellow light, and recognized him as the one who had spoken false reassurances while holding her down.

The second man was left standing at the alley's entrance, fists finally relaxing into open hands as his shoulders rose and fell with each breath lost during the fight that he now struggled to regain. After a few moments of gasping in the stagnant air, she could see the outline of his shoulders turning as he looked at her. He turned back, looking out of the alley as he forced his breathing to appear more controlled before coming around completely and walking up to address her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, offering her his hand, the pant still present in his words.

She swallowed and nodded, just realizing that she had been trembling as she reached up to take his hand. Gently, he helped her to her feet. His hand was strong and warm, toughened by years of whatever it was he might do, but somehow softer than the rough fingers that had scrapped across her face.

After awhile, she suddenly realized that he had been standing in front of her, patiently waiting for her to say something, but what do you say in a situation like this? Was he waiting for some sort of gratitude or still just trying to catch his breath? She hated to think it but for some reason the thought had chosen that particular moment to pop into her head. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before, a pair like them on the streets, one rushing in to be the hero after the first had had a chance to rough up the victim. This poor soul would be unable to do anything but put their complete trust in the hero, and then they'd share her. He would be such a gentleman, not laying a finger on her because he understood her plight, offering company and his divine protection on her way home, his words just as venomously sweet as his partner's. The whole thing had been a ruse, her brain chemistry taken advantage of when it was at its most vulnerable.

He was still looking at her, though he probably couldn't see her any better than she could see him. Some time during her uncontrolled surmising, she had brought her rebreather back over her nose and mouth and was now breathing more slowly.

"Come on," he said to her, "let's get out of this dark alley."

She managed a nod as he guided her to go in front of him, an open hand resting lightly on her upper arm.

Back out in the main walking area the light was very bright and she squinted slightly. She saw no trace of the man that had wrestled her into the alley; the electric hum was louder than it had been before. To her side, she also heard the sound of air rushing in and out of another rebreather, and turned to see the man that had rescued her – finally able to see him clearly – taking a few deep breaths through his own apparatus. His face was softer, kinder than the other she had just seen, despite a few cuts and bruises at the corner of his mouth and beside his eyebrow. She saw his light blue eyes steal a few glances at her as well, as if to merely make sure she was still there.

"Are you hurt?" he inquired, removing his rebreather while he spoke, now holding her stare.

She shook her head. At least she didn't think she was hurt; she had fallen to the ground but it hadn't been far to fall. She was hurt in pride, maybe, but what could be done with that?

"What about you?" she replied in much the same fashion of lowering her rebreather then immediately replacing it.

For a moment, it seemed he didn't understand the question. Just as he was about to figure it out, she gestured to the area beside her own supraorbital process – her med student showing – suggesting that he take notice of his.

"I'm alright," he answered. "This is from," he added, "earlier."

She nodded. She still didn't have anything to say. He looked older than she was, a little older at least.

"Jim Shannon," he finally said, allowing his rebreather to dangle around his neck as he reached out to shake her hand, as per customary introductions. "I'm with the Chicago police force."

She tentatively shook his hand without removing her mask or attempting to speak, looking over Jim Shannon once more.

"Off duty," he stated, guessing at her questions.

She saw him smile at her. He had a very nice smile, at least she thought it was very nice. "Elisabeth," she said, removing her rebreather with her other hand. A smile of her own started tugging at her mouth. She saw him smile again and he released her hand.