Rachel stared at the map, still lying on the table where she'd left it the night before. She traced the outline of Central Park with her eyes, studiously avoiding the little black X, only to find that her eyes unwillingly flitted back to it, drawn the way a moth is drawn to light. Lightly, she touched the tip of her forefinger to the X. Common sense told her it was folly to go, but instinct whispered louder, urged on by curiosity. She bit her lip, but made a decision, folding the map up and stuffing it inside her bag. Grabbing her keys, she headed for the door. With one hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Twisting on the heel of her foot, she strode back inside, heading to her bedroom where she opened her closet and pulled a tiny box from the backmost corner. Gingerly, she opened the lid, revealing a Swiss Army knife, a gift from one of her college friends; they'd taken her hiking one weekend, and Rachel, much to her amazement, loved it - the knife was a celebration of that discovery. She slipped it into the front pocket of her bag, close at hand. She didn't know what might await her at the spot marked with an X, but she wasn't stupid enough to go ill prepared; this was New York and not everyone was benevolent.
She wondered about it as she made her way to the Park, barely seeing her surroundings as she caught the subway. Who on earth would leave a package with a map outside her apartment in the middle of the night? It was all so very mysterious, and ignited the spark of adventure that Rachel nursed within herself. At the same time, she worried. David had been right, the city was full of crazies, and she was well known; it probably wouldn't have been that hard for an obsessed fan to find out where she lived and lure her into an ambush. As she emerged at 103 St, she realised she hadn't been very intelligent in picking a time to investigate either. She'd spent much of the day doing the cleaning around her apartment, then going to the gym, before coming back and pouring obsessively over the map. Now, the afternoon sun was sending its last few rays of golden light over the horizon, bathing the skyscrapers in an orange glow. In the park, twilight had already fallen, a grey-purple blanket smothering everything. But Rachel pressed on ahead; she was too curious now to go back, even if the logical part of her brain told her that it might be dangerous.
She didn't need the map to know where she was going, and carefully made her way over the ground, leaving the park's path and heading off down into the forest, away from the concrete and glass and steel. She picked her way through the foliage, brushing aside tangles of leaves and hanging spider webs. Her footsteps crunched on the dead leaves, and for a moment she panicked, knowing that if there was someone waiting for her, they would easily hear her here, where the sounds of the city were deadened by the trees. Putting the thought out of her mind, trusting that the person who'd sent her the map meant her no harm, she continued, and soon heard the bubble of a stream. The Loch was a tiny stream, trickling through the northern part of Central Park, and as soon as Rachel heard the running water, she knew that's where she was headed. She'd never been there before, but as any resident of New York knew, the Loch was one of the most natural, secluded places in the park. She kept walking, but put a hand on the knife in her bag, reassured by its metal surface.
The light was darker now, the trees blocking out even the twilight. Everything was grey, dark, and Rachel's eyes strained to see ahead. Something to her right caught her attention. She swivelled her head and saw that it was a light, a yellow beacon amongst the dark. Wary, she moved towards it; light was better than this dark which descended around her. She came to the bank of the stream and looked in both directions. To her left was only darkness, to her right, the glow of the light, which she saw was a candle light inside a lantern, hanging from the low branch of a tree. Beyond that, she could see another, a small speck in the darkness. She bit her lip. This must be it; there was nothing else around to indicate that it had been set up by the mysterious sender of the map. Still, she was hesitant to take the next step towards it.
She strode forward in an attempt to inject more confidence into herself, one step, and then another. On the third step, her foot caught on something. Rachel was thrown forward, landing hard on her side, on the slope of the bank. She rolled downwards toward the stream, towards the rocks which lined it. Scrambling, she tried to find a hold. The leaves slid out from beneath her hands and feet. Her heart had climbed into her mouth, beating at a pace too fast for her to believe. Her blood ran cold. Something scratched her bare stomach where her shirt had ridden up from the slide, and she grunted in pain. Her fingers brushed something hard and she grabbed, hoping it was rooted in the ground and wouldn't give way. For a brief moment she thought it would, but to her relief, it held, and with an aching arm, she stopped her descent. Somewhere above her, a twig cracked loudly, and there was a crunch of leaves. Rachel's heart stopped, and she scrambled to right herself. Going to grab her bag and the safety of the knife, she felt her stomach drop as she realised it wasn't on her arm anymore.
Panicked, she glanced around. She needed to find that bag, she needed that knife. What if the sound was the person who'd sent her the map? What if they were dangerous? Then she saw it, higher up on the slope, caught on a broken branch. Rachel began to walk haphazardly up the slope, crouching low to keep from slipping. Even so, several times her feet gave out from under her and she found herself falling to her knees, adding bruises to her bruises. Falling for the fourth time, she gave up trying to walk and surrendered herself to crawling instead. If the sounds she heard belonged to somebody, they were still out of sight, so she had no dignity to uphold. Better to crawl than to end up sliding down to the stream again. It worked. In no time, with even more scratched knees and hands, she made it up the top of the slope, where she could one again see the lantern, her bag safely slung over one shoulder. There was still no one in sight, and the forest was quiet, save for the sound of the water and the distant sounds of the omnipresent traffic. But just in case, Rachel slipped the knife out of her bag and held it in hand; she could never be too careful.
She started forward again, this time shuffling her feet, wary of other roots which might be hidden on the forest floor, ready to sacrifice her to the Loch. The lantern loomed closer, casting an iridescent circle of light over the spot from which it hung. Rachel stopped on the edge of its light and lifted up her shirt, examining the gash on her stomach. An angry red line marked the skin. Some minuscule beads of blood rose to the surface, but the cut wasn't deep - just a scratch. She was lucky; it could have been much worse. She wiped the blood away, wincing slightly as her abdomen stung in protest at the contact, and then let her shirt fall back to cover it. Next she examined her hands. They weren't so bad; a few grazes on her palms and forearms, but nothing that posed the threat of infection. In all, she concluded, she would be in pain for a few days, but would heal up just fine.
Satisfied, she now turned to look up at the lantern. It hung from a tree, held up by a thin piece of rope, expertly knotted. The candle flickered, but stayed alight. Frowning, Rachel noticed a folded square of paper hanging from the lantern's base. Reaching out, she touched it lightly, fascinated as it twirled in a small circle. One side of it had her name scrawled in small cursive letters. Sighing, she cut the note down with the scissor feature of her knife. At least she knew she was on the right path. Unfolding the note, she was careful not to let the paper touch her raw grazes.
Follow the yellow lantern road.
Rachel glared at the paper. How obnoxious, giving her directions. But she supposed that if she'd followed the map to find the lantern trail, then the sender assumed she would follow other instructions too. She'd come this far, she reasoned with herself, it would be a shame to turn back.
She made her way to the next lantern, aware that the grey of the landscape was turning to black. She moved slower, not wishing for a repeat performance of her fall. It was harder now; the ground was almost invisible. But she reached the next lantern without so much as a stubbed toe. There was no note on this one, so Rachel assumed that her instructions still stood. She could see the next lantern ahead. Taking a few steps towards it, she was struck by an idea. Turning back, she hacked the rope suspending the lantern to its branch. It came loose with a snap. Rachel took it with her, holding it out in front of her to light the way.
As she shuffled from lantern to lantern, she couldn't help but think that modern day technology was a wonder, and that she was an impulsive idiot to not think of bringing along a torch with her. The lantern light was not nearly enough.
Soon the lanterns led her away from the stream and deeper into the forest. Dutifully, Rachel followed them, increasingly aware that no one knew where she was. If the person who'd organised this wanted to kill her, she had helped them along. She pushed the thought from her head; this was paranoia, her mind jumping to the worst possible conclusions. Just to be safe, she ran a list of people through her mind, trying to find someone who might have a reason to murder her and leave her to rot in the middle of Central Park. She'd wronged a few people, but none enough to force them into homicide. The thought gave her a little comfort.
The lanterns led her to a clearing. It was lined with the flickering lights, creating a shifting, transient circle of light. It must look odd from the air, Rachel caught herself thinking. Something black lay in the centre of the dale. Rachel moved towards it, cautious. She held the lantern before her, hoping to get a good look before she approached too close. It was a thin book, she realised. It looked familiar. Kneeling down, she took it up, gasping when she found that it was the playbill from her production. Her heart began hammering in her chest. Flicking it open to the front page, she found the photograph of herself obscured by a note.
You made it. In celebration of your Broadway success, I took the liberty of buying you a ticket to an event I thought you might enjoy. Should you attend, which I hope you will, you will have the chance of finding out who I am. For now, let it suffice to say that I am a great admirer, and that you will hear from me again before the night on the ticket.
P.S. the ticket is taped to the back.
P.P.S. Thank you for coming. This was more exciting than dropping the ticket outside your door. And a trifle more romantic, wouldn't you say?
Looking down at her hands and feeling the throb from her grazed stomach, she couldn't say that it had been romantic at all. If it was Finn behind all this, she was going to kill him for leading her on such a pointless chase. It was utterly frustrating. And yet, she realised as she flipped to the back of the playbill, somehow she'd already made up her mind about the mysterious event that she had a ticket for. The ticket informed her in tiny black words that it was to be used in a little over a month, at a prestigious sounding club that Rachel had never heard of. At least, she presumed it was prestigious, from the fact that she needed a ticket to attend.
However, the ticket gave no indication of what kind of event it would admit her to, whether a dance, or a poetry reading, or a dinner. In fact, other than the date, the ticket gave little information at all. One side were printed the details, the date and the time, and the event name "Imaginative Nights", which wasn't a very imaginative name in Rachel's opinion. The other side recited conditions of entry. Tucking the playbill under her arm, she picked up her lantern. It was time to go; she'd followed the lights and gotten what she'd come for, as disappointing as it was curious. It consumed her thoughts as she made her way back to the burning lights of the city.
She was lost so deep in thought that she didn't see the raised eyebrows at her lantern with its still lit candle, or the leaves in her hair from her fall. Her mind was trying to match the gesture of the ticket and the lanterns to someone – anyone - that she might have known, but kept coming up short. The fact of the matter was that anyone who wanted to invite her somewhere would have simply asked her directly, not led her into the heart of Central Park's northern woods at night just to infuriate her with anonymous invitations.
Puzzling over the identity of the sender, the admirer, the creep - Rachel still wasn't sure what the think of them as - she missed her stop. Realising too late that she'd gone too far, she changed her plans. This subway line would take her near Kurt's apartment. Having not seen him in a little while, she resolved to go there. Kurt always loved surprise visits. Rachel hoped he was home.
When she knocked on the door ten minutes later, she was greeted by a squeal of surprise, quickly followed by a frown of confusion.
"Rachel, please tell me you haven't been walking around the streets of New York looking like this," Kurt reprimanded, waving a hand at her being. She frowned at him.
"Looking like what?" she asked, pushing past him to the full length mirror in the hall. A gasp escaped her lips as she realised what he meant. She couldn't believe she'd made such a fool of herself. She reddened, praying that no one had recognised her in such a state. Shoving the lantern and playbill into Kurt's hands, she began frantically rubbing at the dirt streaking her face.
"Oh, hey there Rachel," a voice said from the other end of the corridor. "You're looking a little dishevelled. Is everything ok?"
"Blaine, can you get the moist cloths please, and a hair brush. Oh, and the disinfectant!" Kurt said before Rachel could reply. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Blaine disappear. Kurt took her hand, stopping her furious rubbing. He led her into the living room where she plonked herself down on the sofa without a glimmer of grace. She gazed around. Where her apartment was rustic, Kurt's was a blend of the modern and the vintage. Kurt and Blaine's she mentally corrected herself. The two of them had tried going their separate ways after high school, only to find that they were unsatisfied with life without the other. Looking at the life the two had built, Rachel couldn't help but think that David was right; soul mates could be without each other, but life wasn't as great. Thinking back on Kurt during their first year of college was proof of that. She was glad for both their sakes that they had come to their senses.
A moment later, Blaine returned with the items Kurt requested. Kurt stopped pulling the leaves from Rachel's hair and with a moist cloth, began gently wiping the dirt from her face and neck. Rachel herself took one, and dampening it further with the disinfectant, applied it to the grazes on her hands. The smell of the antibacterial liquid filled the room, tickling Rachel's nostrils and inviting her to sneeze.
"So what happened?" Kurt began. Rachel grimaced. She hadn't planned on talking about her adventure so soon after it happened.
"I fell at Central Park. I was walking near the Loch."
"Uh huh," said Kurt, unconvinced. "And you just happened to think the perfect time to take a hike was after sunset?"
"I was…well…no. I, I got a package last night with a map," she began, and soon enough, had explained the whole story to the two men. She could see them exchange a glance when she finished her tale.
"You followed a map from a crazy person?" Blaine asked, incredulous. She glanced at him where he leant against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.
"Well, I don't know who they are, so I can't say they're crazy."
"You're the crazy one, actually going. But was it worth it?" Kurt asked, wiping away the last of the dirt. She shrugged and showed him the playbill with the ticket in the back.
"Are you going?" Kurt frowned, taking the playbill from her hands and examining the ticket.
"Rach, I don't think that's a good idea. This guy's playing you," Blaine advised. Rachel frowned at him, thinking.
"Maybe you're right, but I don't think they mean to hurt me. I mean, they could have killed me tonight, and nobody would've known, but they didn't."
"You almost killed yourself!" Kurt muttered, turning to pick the last few leaves from her hair, before running the hair brush through her locks.
"I don't think they were counting on that," Rachel returned quietly, "they could have easily hurt me if they wanted to. Besides, why go through all that trouble?"
"It would have been easier to hide your body there. The animals would have got to it. And no witnesses either," Blaine shrugged, while Kurt glared at him. "What? She asked."
"Look, Rachel, I think it's a bad idea too," he said, turning his eyes from Blaine to face her. "You don't know anything about this person. They could be absolutely anyone. I don't feel safe about you going to this thing. We don't even know what it is!"
"Have you ever been drawn to do something, against all your logic?" Rachel asked in a quiet voice, looking from one man to the other. "Have you ever been compelled to do something that feels so right, even though all your brain cells are telling you it's wrong? That's what it's like. I feel like I have to go."
"Of course you do, you're curious. But that doesn't mean you should do it," Blaine said. Rachel shook her head in sad frustration. They didn't understand her. She didn't understand herself, at that moment. Her gut feeling defied all logic, but when she thought about not going, her stomach clenched, and she felt sick; it was like her body was terrified of her not going. She couldn't help but feel that missing this event, whatever it was, would be a huge mistake. Something important was going to happen, something significant to her. She had to be there. She sighed. There was no way she was going to be able to explain that to these two; they looked at her as though she were crazy - and maybe she was. She wasn't so sure anymore about her sanity. She handed the disinfected cloth back to Kurt and got up.
"Thanks for everything. I think I'll go. It's late and I should get some sleep."
"Rachel…" Kurt started, but trailed off.
"No, no, thank you, I appreciate your help Kurt. But I think I should get home. Goodnight Blaine," she said to the young man, who nodded at her in return, smiling his goodnight. Kurt walked Rachel to the door.
"Please don't go to this thing, Rachel. You might be putting yourself in danger. We don't know a thing about whoever sent you this."
"Kurt, please. I'm a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions. Besides, this isn't for another month yet. I have some time to make up my mind."
"Let me drive you home," Kurt offered, opening the door for her. Rachel shook her head.
"No, it's ok, I'll get a cab. It would be out of your way to take me home. I'm close by anyway."
Kurt looked at her a long minute before sighing. "Fine."
"I'll be ok, relax Kurt," she said, pulling him into a one armed hug. He squeezed her tight for a moment before letting go.
"Night, Rachel."
"Goodnight, Kurt."
When she got home, there was a note on her threshold, having been shoved under her door. It was in Finn's handwriting.
You up for something tomorrow? Call me.
Sighing, she folded the note up and threw it on the table, where it landed on top of the New York map. Exhausted and sore, she climbed into bed, not bothering to take her clothes off.