She said goodbye to her friends who were more than a bit tipsy. She whished she hadn't taken the car, though someone had to be the responsable one, right? With a final hug she set off to the car pack only half a block away. As she turned a corner down an almost desolate street a strange feeling swept over her. She felt nervous. Like she should be cautious of something. For most woman it was strange not to be nervous walking down a street alone at what, 10:55? But not her, not the FBI's very own Jenifer Jareau. She shrugged it off, putting it down to tiredness.
Walking the sidewalk, she sighed at the thought of work tomorrow. The weekend just didn't seem long enough to justify the long hours she spent at work. She was surprised when the feeling creeped back into her mind. "Stop being so paranoid", she told herself. She still felt the need to be alert. She flipped open her purse and grabbed the handle of her standerd FBI glock. "Look at yourself, JJ. Paranoid" she told herself under her breath. Suddenly, just as she was releasing the handle of her gun, a dark figure slammed into her, knocking her into a dark, desolate allyway.
She landed on her hands and knees, dropping her purse and spilling it's contents and her gun on the hard ground. Instinctively she reached towards her peice but her attacker did not permit it. He slammed his foot into her ribs, knocking flat on her back. She tried to stand, to fight back but another three blows to her abdomen and ribcage left her gasping for air. He leaned over her slight body and grabbed her blonde hair, yanking her off the ground. He slammed into the nearest brick wall side-on.
She could see his pearcing green eyes grimacing at her under his black ski mask. He was enjoying this, she thought. She was still gasping for air. Blood trickled down her face from her temple and every breath hurt more than the last. He threw a few more punches at her, but still she fought against him. He looked in her eyes, expecting the usual fear, but instead he saw sheer determination. He smiled, he would not give up until she pleaded for mercy. Mercy, he would not give.
He pinned her against the brick wall. Just one of his large hands held both her wrists above her head. She tried to scream for help but he brought a knife up to her throat.
"Scream, and you die right now, right here," he threatend. His voice was rough, it was clear he was loving every moment of this. He was surpirsed when she didn't beg or pleade. It angered him too, how dare she not fear him. He would just have to show her. He slid his hand down her, slowly, but still she did not budge. Knife still in hand, he began to loosen his belt. She tensed, was he going to rape her? On the outside she did not budge, but on the inside fear paralysed her. It scared her how easily he operated the belt buckle one-handed. He had done this before. How many women had he sexually assualted before her, she thought. She closed her eyes, unwilling to look him in the eye.
"What are you doing?" another voice bellowed. "Get off her!"
Who was that, she wondered. Had a passer-by seen and came to help? She forced her eyes to open and sure enough, a figure loomed in the alley opening. She could not see him properly, he was lit only enough by the orange street lamps for her to be sure he was there, not just a figment of her imagination. No, not imagination. A figment of hope.