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 The Pursuit

Debra was running as fast as she could. The businesses of Main Street flew past her at an alarming rate. No matter how fast she ran, it just wasn't fast enough. She was afraid to turn down any of the side roads. It would make her harder to find, but it would slow her down. Speed was her only hope. Speed, and distance. She risked a glance over her shoulder and immediately regretted it: he was close. He was going to catch her. She knew it. He was going to catch her, and he was going to kill her.

As she ran, she tried not to think of the events that led up to her current situation, but it was hard to avoid. It had started the night before, in a bar.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he'd asked her. She was always being asked questions like that. There was no denying she was a beautiful woman: Five foot six, curly brown hair, slender and attractive. Men were always falling all over her. She had been told she had amazing cheek bones, but she wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Suffice it to say, Debra hadn't paid for a drink in a long time.

When he approached her, she was sitting on one of the stools at the bar. At his question, she looked to her right to find out who was going to be footing her bill the night, and there he was. Six foot three, lean but powerful build, with piercing green eyes and wavy black hair. He was wearing a tie. A businessman, she thought. It seemed slightly out of place, at a bar like that. And there was something very strange about his eyes. They were more than piercing, almost demanding. This man is also used to getting what he wants, Debra thought. It intrigued her. If she'd only known...

"I don't see why not," she replied. He motioned to the bartender. When the man behind the bar arrived, her mysterious admirer motioned to her to order. "Vodka, on the rocks."

"None of that fruity shit you girls like so much?" he had asked, with slight smile. Only, it didn't come off as a joke. His voice sounded strained, almost forced.

"Not all of us girls like that fruity shit," she had responded coolly.

Despite the fact that he had rubbed her the wrong way, they shared a few drinks and went home together less than an hour later. They went to her place. He left before she even woke up. No note or anything. Fine with me, she thought. Sometimes it was easier that way. Less messy. And besides, he had only gotten stranger as the night went on. There was something frighteningly desperate about him. It was almost as if their meeting hadn't been as random as it seemed.

Later that day, she ran into him again. Or rather, he ran into her. She was leaving her office building for the night. As she reached the front door, he flew directly into her. He was sweaty, out of breath, and in a huge hurry.

She looked to him, and was about to say hello, when she realized she had no idea what his name was. It just hadn't come up the night before. She smiled and stepped aside. Instead of seeing him rush past, she felt something press into her side. A gun, she thought.

"Not a word. You're coming with me." If his voice had sounded strained the night before, it was nothing compared to that afternoon.