Jenna Elaine walked home as usual from work that night. The sky was clear, navy blue scattered with burning stars and illuminated by the epic glow of a white moon. Silence while the sound of her heels clacked rapidly against the old, cobblestone street as she crossed to proceed as usual down Anglo Street. The street lights flickered a rustic yellow and mused voices rang from the distant pubs and restaurants. As usual, it was too late for more than five or six people to accompany Jenna on her trek home. However, even she had to admit that this particular night, common as it was, seemed challenging to her comfortable faith in safety.

Clack clack went her red wedges down an empty street; she noticed that the sole street light was completely blown out. Why had it not been replaced? Did anyone notice it too? Then, for no particular reason, she paused. Unconsciously holding her breath, she turned her head slowly, nervously, to the left, sweat and curled red hair falling from her scrunched brow. Nothing. Just a few crumpled up burger wrappers and half-empty soda bottles, as usual. Jenna found herself wondering why, whoever’s trash that was, they were not able to fit it into the trashcan it lay just at the foot of; she had noticed walking past it that there was quite a bit of space left in the can. So engulfed in this conundrum was she that the sight of some swift movement escaped her observation. But the sound hadn’t.
Jenna whipped her head around faster, so much faster, than before, seeing nothing. However, she did notice that her heart was racing. This was unusual; the only time Jenna’s heart ever beat at an abnormal rate was when she went to the gym, Mondays and Thursdays 8am to 11am, Saturdays 6pm to 9pm, as usual.

Seeing nothing, but feeling as though she ought to get home quickly, she lifted one foot slowly, finally releasing her long-held breath. The clack of her heel against cobblestone reassured her safety. But then, just as she, relaxed, lifted her second foot, Jenna felt a large, fleshy weight shoved against her body, tackling her gracelessly to the cold ground. Too in shock to scream, she could respond in no other way than simply tensing up and widening her eyes in surreal fear. There was a man pressed against her, kneeling forcefully on her left thigh and lower stomach, using one hand to pin her stiff arms above her head. She heard him whisper words to her – vulgar, endearing, cruel, dangerous, careful. The man ripped a roll of tape from his coat pocket – Jenna noted the dark tan trench coat as if it were a sandbar under a setting sun – and restrained her arms together at the wrist. He then prepared another strand of tape, she presumed for her mouth, but he hesitated. Apparently her silence had not escaped his notice, making her ponder if he had done this before. Did he expect screaming? A struggle? Jenna noticed that he seemed reluctant to tie even her wrists, for all the while she remained froze and at his will. When did this man purchase this roll of tape? How often had he used it? Was it low? Did he have a different trench coat for each victim, like she had different blazers for each month? How old was this man? What did he do for a living? Did he go to the gym? She reasoned that he had to do some form of intense exercise; he was too bulky for this not to be true, or at least plausible. Perhaps he was registered with the same gym as she.
She noticed his face, looking mature but still young. Perhaps this boy was new at this game. But then what struggles could he have undergone to fill his shadowed eyes with so much glistening pain? While Jenna had been wondering all this, he had decided to put the tape over her mouth, pulled down her maroon pencil skirt, and was now fumbling with his own belt. His hands were so shaky; Jenna almost thought she caught his lip quivering.

This whole endeavor seemed to drag on in her mind, and she wondered when he would finish doing what he had intended on doing. At this point she had relaxed and could now move, if she so chose. But her arms were still bound and her mouth was still covered. She wiggled to move off of a rock, but this sudden movement had jerked the boy back into reality just as he yanked his pants and boxers down. He was grown accustomed to her lack of resistance, and fear burned his ears red at her slight movement. Then, just as he was about to consummate his consolidated deed at last, the two caught each other’s eyes. He froze. Her eyes seemed to swim with surprise, but overall sank with indifference. She knew what was coming, and so awaited it in what could be the most comforting manner she could imagine.

His eyes, however, grew wet with immaturity. He too knew what was coming, but could not accept it. In fact, Jenna swore she saw determinacy to not allow it in his eyes. Her chest rose and fell normally, but his seemed to pause for a few seconds at a time, only to fall and rise abnormally fast. Why was he so nervous? What good would it do him to hold in his breath for so long only to release it in an unsatisfactory manner? As Jenna marveled at his foolishness, her brow tensed up, and he fell backwards.
The boy fell from her lap into the cold ground and gasped in a way that made Jenna think that he was about to cry. He jumped, hiked his pants back into position, hardly bothering to fit his belt back into place. Surely his pants would droop or fall on the way home. He turned to run, but stopped, and silently turned to look at her. Jenna wished in her mind that he would either leave or get it over with. But when he walked back to her and bent down, he used the knife he pulled from his pocket to cut the tape which clasped her arms together. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead stood and ran away.

Jenna lay still for a moment to adjust to her newfound ability to move. Slowly, so as not to alter her blood flow dramatically, she sat up and shifted her arms down to readjust her skirt and panties. Carefully, she rose, balancing herself on unstable heels. She tore the tape off of her mouth, bent down to pick up the disregarded tape that had been on her arms, and pocketed it to be thrown away once she got home. After running her fingers through her messy hair and dusting off her purse, she turned on her heel and proceeded on her way home, as usual.