Karen had been walking for some time, not really caring where she went but walking all the same. The cool, winter breeze tossed her light saddle brown hair around but she didn't care. At the moment there was only one thing on her mind, one thing that truly mattered. Him.
She had felt his presence just a few hours ago. She could not see him, but something inside of her said he was there. She now put her pale hands inside the warm pockets of her fur jacket. A peculiar feeling rushed down her spine. The feeling told her he was near. Sitting at the bench to her left. He had a large duffel bag stuffed with weapons. Karen could not see this but she could feel it.
The feeling was familiar because she had felt it before for the past few months. The people who hated her sent a person after her every week. And every week, Karen would escape. All she knew was that the people were heavily paid to hurt her. But this week Karen was worried. There had already been three men yesterday, and all of them had been carrying guns. Guns did not typically worry Karen, but it was the type of guns that did. For the past few months the people would have knock out guns and sometimes no gun at all. But today she sensed an actual gun with actual bullets; bullets that could mortally wound or kill. Like the men from the day before, this man was paid to kill. Paid to kill her.
Karen realized that she had been so consumed in her thoughts that she hadn't kept track of the buses. Her bus was to come at 12:49 pm. Karen pulled out her phone from her pockets. It was 1:20 pm. Her blood went cold. Karen looked up and turned to look at the killer. He was holding a newspaper but wasn't actually reading it. The man was sitting at a strange angle as if he were trying to make room for someone. Instead of facing forward, the man was facing the left. A wisp of dark hair had been concealing his eyes but a sudden gust of wind now blew it to the side. His soft gray eyes met her brown ones and widened. She tried to smile and casually turn away but her neck was suddenly stiff. Karen and the man stared at each other. Recognition was on both faces. The man had to kill her.
A bus slowly came to a stop and Karen was snapped into action. She quickly got in line for the bus, as did the killer. A mere six people were between them. But would six people be enough? Karen ran inside and immediately went to a crowded section of the stuffy bus. She held on as the bus jolted forward. Karen began to take in her fellow passengers, to see if anyone else looked suspicious. You never know, more than one killer could have been sent after her.
An old woman with a grandchild. A flirty rich boy. A kind man and his petite wife. A portly bus driver. No, the hitman was working alone. The killer.
He stood beside her, holding the bag close. At the next stop, Karen got off quickly, as did the man.
She ran into a public restroom and into a stall. Heart pounding, she closed the door and locked it. Surely, he wouldn't follow her in. Surely, he wouldn't.
There was the sound of silent footsteps outside. In actuality, they weren't very silent since Karen could hear them, but they were muted, as if the person behind the footsteps was attempting to remain quiet.
Karen dropped to the floor, and peered beneath the stall door. He walked to a stall on the right, and pushed it open suddenly. Blood pounding in her ears, she crawled on her stomach, and into another stall. The stall she had previously been in burst open. Karen gasped, tears running down her terrified face. She desperately cried out for help, and instantly, an eerie silence filled the restroom. She could not pinpoint the man's movements, for she could not hear (or sense) a thing.
CRASH!
The stall door was kicked to the ground, and the man grabbed her, his mouth moving. But the young woman could not hear anything as her ears went numb. She shoved the killer away and ran out of the restroom. He followed after her.
The woman ran unto a bridge, searching for a police car, or at least some form of authority. Strangely, there was none.
"No."
She muttered unconsciously in shock. There was always a cop on the bridge, or at least a parking officer.
Suddenly, Karen felt two robust arms wrap around her. It was him. She screamed, throwing her head back and smashing it into his. Then, the panicked woman felt his arms fall limply. She ran to the support beams of the bridges, and began to climb frantically. With horror, she realized that he was climbing after her. How much money was offered for her death?
Her ears were still numb, and she could not hear anything, but she could feel him breathing behind her. Reaching the top after an agonizing fifteen minutes, she straightened, grimly realizing she had reached a dead end. Karen was trapped. The man stood up and said something she could not hear.
"Please! Stay away from me!!"
Karen sobbed, stepping back. He reached an arm out towards her. She teetered on the edge of the structure, her heart pounding as she looked down at the traffic. People were now looking at them and pointing.
"Help!"
She screamed down. Several people had stopped their vehicles, and others began to call the authorities. Just as Karen was about to sigh with relief, the man lunged and grabbed her, hugging her close. Horrified, she wondered if he was going to jump into the ocean, but she doubted it. Hit-men did not risk their own lives. But then why was this man risking his up here with her? He was not planning to shoot her, that was for sure because he had left his bag of weapons at the foot of the bridge. Then why...?
She felt a warm breath in her ear as he whispered something, but she still could not hear. Terrified, she shoved him away, and kicked him between the legs. He stood uneasily, his face contorted in pain.
Suddenly, Karen lost her footing, and felt the wind rush as she fell down a few feet screaming. She would have smashed into a car if she had not grabbed a steel bar attached to the support beams. People were shouting as Karen screamed for help. She looked up and spotted the dark head of the man. His face was terrified, and his dove gray eyes met her own brown ones. He reached an arm down to her, but out of fear, she did not take it. Just as she was thinking about what beautiful eyes he had for a hit-man, the bar she was holding onto gave, and she felt the air rush up as she fell, her body numb.
Was that a look of concern on his face, she thought as she hit the bridge. Her prediction had been wrong. She had not hit a car, she had fallen directly unto the bridge.
Was that a look of concern on his face?
The very next day, a particularly strange story headlined the newspapaers. A young woman who had just returned from a coma about a week earlier had been diagnosed with dementia, and had lost much of her memory. She had entered the coma months earlier when a serial killer had fatally wounded her. Her boyfriend, who was also a renowned police officer, had been attempting to find her after she had wandered into the streets. Apparently, she could not recognize him, and had actually called him a murdererIn the end, her beloved boyfirend followed her up the support beams of the Golden Gate Bridge. Witnesses reported to have seen the woman fall off the support beam, resisting any help from her boyfriend. Ambulances could not arrive in time to save the dying woman, who (it was later discovered) had also been diagnosed with lung cancer. That very night, the young policeman committed suicide and was found dead in his apartment with a picture and was found dead in his apartment with a picture of his beloved in his left hand, and a case with a priceless engagement ring in his right.