This Is How I Disappear

“Where are we going?” I whisper after walking in silence through back streets for five minutes.

“What part of shut up don’t you understand?” he grumbles.

I twiddle my thumbs anxiously. “I just want to know where we’re going.”

“My apartment,” he growls.

“How far is it?” I wonder, glancing around nervously, like I’ll get arrested any second.

He swivels around and I almost run into him, but stop just short. Mere inches away from this gorgeous murderer. How can my breath catch in excitement when I witnessed him kill three people not ten minutes ago?

“Let me make this very clear to you,” he intones, leaning down slightly so that is red hair brushes my face. “I know how to make people disappear. So if you don’t want that to happen to you, I suggest you do whatever I say.”

It’s not that I’m not intimidated, but I think his closeness isn’t having quite the intended effect on me. I nod mutely. He smells like cigarettes, and I breathe it in greedily. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice my distraction, and again we start to walk.

The silence that ensues feels tense and awkward, and I’m dying to break it. But I’m afraid to speak for fear that he’ll change his mind about hiding me. If I can even trust him. But what have I got to loose?

It seems like forever until we get to a ratty building and red-head stops. “Go around the back and wait,” he orders.

I give him a dubious look. “Why?”

He glares at me. “Because I said so.”

I cross my arms like I’m tough. “Why, so you can sneak off and leave me to the police?”

He grins at me, but I’ve started to notice his smiles aren’t happy. “And if you don’t do as I say, I’ll kill you. So, go.”

“Suicidal, remember,” I say, but my pulse picks up.

In a flash, he has a knife to my throat, and I don’t know where it came from, but I can feel it resting against my skin. It’s a serrated blade, my brain notes helpfully.

His chest is against my back and his mouth is by my ear, which is probably half the reason my heart is racing. I recoil into him, as much as to get away from the knife as to press against him. He chuckles, hot breath tickling my ear. “Not quite,” he says. “Now do as I say, or I slit your throat.”

“Okay,” I agree in a tense whisper. His abs are really defined, my brain adds. I shiver at the feeling of his body against mine.

He laughs softly again and lets me go.

I look at him and see that all he holds in his hand is a key. I frown. “You don’t have a knife.”

He points to the alley by the building. “To the back.”

I glumly obey, sure I’ll just be abandoned there. My tongue plays with my lip ring as I go and don’t look back. The alley is deserted, and I notice a large cardboard box that would be good for sleeping in if red-head doesn’t come back. Of course he won’t come back, my brain chides me. He’s got better things to do than babysit.

Like what? I reply, just so I can talk.

Like murdering people and framing others for the crime, my brain suggests.

I’m sure he had good reason, I protest. They were chasing him after all.

Yes, my brain agrees dryly, I’m sure he’s just a misunderstood guy that you’re not making excuses for just because he’s attractive.

You have the right to remain silent, I tell my stupid brain.

Funny, my brain retorts. You will too, once the police get your prints off the murder weapon.

I sigh, and trudge to the street that goes behind the building. Well, it’s not really a street, but a narrow pathway. All the windows are barred and shuttered, even the higher up ones. I sit in a relatively clean spot and wait hopelessly.

He’s not coming, my brain says softly after I’ve been staring up at the building for a mind-numbing amount of time.

What am I supposed to do? I snap bitterly. Go home and wait to be arrested? Oh, and explain to my parents where I’ve been all night. Great idea.

Go to that box and sleep, my brain suggests gently. We’ll think of something in the morning.

I’ll wait here, I say stubbornly. If he’s not here by morning, I’ll sleep in the box.

We’re silent for another long period of time.

The police might believe you, my brain tries, if you describe him to a sketch artist.

Don’t be stupid, I reply, sighing. They have all the evidence they need.

Suddenly, I hear a tapping noise, and I frantically search for the source of it. Down there! my brain points out, and I see a half buried window at ground level. All I can see through the dirty glass is red hair. I grin as I start to dig the dirt from the pane.