Page 41 of Hired Help

I thought he was close. With just the two of us standing there, I thought he might finally open up to me. Then he rejected me again, fleeing the conversation.

Now I might never get the chance. In taking my revenge, I might have ensured I never get the answers I so desperately want.

Even worse, tonight I saw something in him, a cave man lurking. Amid his hurt and his fury, I saw signs of a man I want to know better. It’s deranged. I’m disgusting. My throat is so sore I can barely swallow but I still have the urge to infuriate him. To do something to see that spark again.

A car passes, a light spray spinning from its wheels; no match for the gentle rain that’s falling steadily.

Then pinpricks poke my shoulders. The sensation of being watched.

I turn, scanning the darkness for signs of life. Another vehicle sweeps by on the road, the headlights picking out the hunched figure of a man hulking down in the shadows between streetlamps.

With my senses on high alert, every noise causes a cascade of alarmed signals inside me. I try not to turn, not to strain my eyes searching for the figure again in the darkness. I try to keep my eyes fixed ahead, my ears remaining cocked for sound.

He could just be squatting there, having a rest.

He could be pondering his life choices while feeling on the ground for something he dropped.

My mind insists he’s a rapist. Perhaps a murderer, too.

Why else would he be lurking in the darkness by the side of the road? Unless he’s also a figment of my imagination. Something my mind pieced together in the blinding glow of the headlights.

I turn despite myself, peering back along the far side of the street.

There’s the faint glow of a cigarette tip. The figment of my imagination is smoking.

My steps have sped up but the glow easily keeps pace with me. I walk by a side street, wondering if I’d be safer to duck along there, but my feet keep going forward, carrying me past. Another nervous glance over my shoulder reveals the glow is still present. Still tracking me.

“Is somebody there?”

My voice sounds stronger than I feel. The glowing cigarette tip is nearly level now. Is angling towards me, the full shape of the enormous man emerging from the shadows, growing larger and larger, looking big enough to crush me with one hand.

The panic breaks free, spinning me on my heel to run back the way I’ve come. My feet hit against the berm, then the concrete footpath as I forgo comfort for speed, for the ability to see ahead of me in the low gloom of the night.

I lose sound. All I can hear is my rasping breath and the thump in my ears as my pulse rate increases with every heartbeat.

He could still be heading along the road, amused by my flight. He might be chasing me, gaining ground with every step.

His hand could be about to lurch from the darkness and fix on my shoulder, long fingers circling my neck.

A fresh burst of speed propels me forward. I scan the upcoming street, praying for a vehicle to appear. They won’t see me waving in the darkness, but I can jump into the road, flag them down. Hope their reflexes are good enough that they stop rather than running straight into me.

I risk a peek over my shoulder but see nothing. Would a cigarette last this long? Did he throw it away the moment he gave chase?

My thighs complain as loudly as my feet. Despite the circuits I run most days at school, that’s a controlled surface, a controlled sprint. This is a free-for-all. I’m not pacing myself. I’m pressing against my upper limits and striving to go beyond them.

With each breath, it’s like the oxygen evaporates before it reaches my lungs.

A pulse beats behind my eyes, bright flashes on my cornea. I stub my toe on a dip in the concrete, pain making me run-hop for a few steps before I can override the agony to keep going.

Finally, I round the corner, glancing over my shoulder, seeing nothing and no one behind me.

When I turn my gaze ahead of me again, there’s a group of three men standing, blocking my path, so close I don’t have time to stop and barrel straight into them.

“Need some help there?” the closest man says, gripping hold of my wrist to stop my forward momentum.

“There’s a man,” I blurt, turning to look behind me again. But there’s no one there.

I’ve run away from nothing and sprinted straight into trouble.

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