Tasha wasn’t there. That’s when I began to panic. What if something had happened to her? As the terror crept over me, I heard her; at least I thought I did. My friend sounded confused or drunk. I turned to see the alley; the entrance to it was at the back of the line. I poked my head around the corner and I saw him. For a second I froze because I recognized him. Yeah, he was a bit cleaner, less grungy looking, but it was really him. Number three in my sketches. He was there that night, when I was taken. I remembered him instantly, even though I only saw the side of his face. He had a scar right below his eye and his skin had that same odd tint of grey, the shade of the sick and dying.
Then I noticed he was hovering over something, no someone. I see her legs and then he shifted to the side and I see my friend, Latasha, lying on the ground. She looked scared, but mostly because she was too drunk to understand what was happening to her. He reached for her and I felt my blood boil.
“Hey!” I called out to him and he turned to me. “Get away from her.”
“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” He stepped towards me then stopped. “Oh, I remember you, the pretty one that got away.” He laughed.
“Leave her alone.”
“Or what? You haven’t told me. By the way, how the hell did you get away? What happened to Rodney?”
“Would you like to find out?” I ask, and I cannot understand why my question sounds more like a threat.
“Oh please baby, show me.” He grins and I see his teeth, they are yellow and decaying. His breath is strong enough to overtake the stench of mildew and garbage that lingers in the alley.
“I’ll show you.” The confidence in my strut as I walk over to him isn’t one that I recognize. It’s as if my body is acting separately from my mind.
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