core. It was hardly beyond Rachel’s skill set to sew a loose button, but unearthing ten spare minutes between her children and her job was like squeezing chocolate milk from a brick.
With a brutal winter having descended upon the city of Ashby, Illinois, vacant cabs were nonexistent, the public transportation system was overloaded, and the nearest UberX was twenty minutes away. The lack of transportation options reminded Rachel why many people referred to Ashby as “Budget Chicago.” Ashby was the kind of city you moved to when you were priced out of metropolitan areas, content to live with an abundance of strip malls and a lack of cultural options: one (run-down) cinema, a local theater company, and more burger joints per capita than anywhere else she’d been. But culture was not why they had moved to Ashby. Nor were they strapped financially. This unassuming small town had allowed Rachel and her children to restart their lives. And a fresh, clean start was all that mattered.
So Rachel found herself barreling down a snow-dusted sidewalk under a darkening sky, her purse swinging wildly as she slalomed between pedestrians, trying to avoid catching her heel in a pavement crack and taking down a slew of poor souls like puffy-coated bowling pins. And with just five blocks to go, Rachel was in the home stretch. She’d beg forgiveness from Iris and maybe, just maybe, get home in time to read her daughter a bedtime story.
She didn’t see the man step out in front of her until it was too late.
He was big and solid with a bald freckled head and red cheeks, and Rachel caromed off him like a tennis ball from a cement wall. She fell backward and landed sharply on her tailbone, a lightning bolt of pain shooting through her pelvis. She could feel slush seeping into her pants.
The man, all 250 pounds of him, reached down, pulled her up by the elbow, and whipped her into an alley. Rachel landed hard on her hands and knees and reached for her purse. The man grabbed Rachel’s wrist and held it briefly, as if to say Don’t do that, then threw her up against the brick wall. Her back, hands, and knees were covered in sludge and snow. The man pressed his body firmly against hers and placed his forearm into her neck. His breath smelled of onions and beer.
“I could crush your windpipe like a packet of ketchup,” the man whispered into her ear, his stubble searing her cheek. “You make a sound, and I’ll squeeze until it pops.”
He allowed just enough slack to permit her to breathe but maintained enough pressure on her throat to let her know it wouldn’t necessarily stay that way. With his free hand he slipped her pocketbook from her shoulder, pressed the brass clasp to unlock it, and took out her wallet. He then turned the purse upside down and shook it until all Rachel’s belongings fell onto the grimy street.
Out went her lipstick, tampons, mirror, hairbrush, a KIND bar, a pack of sugar-free gum, and her makeup kit. He dropped her purse into the muck, then unzipped the wallet. He smiled when he saw a thick wad of twenties nestled inside.
“That’s to pay my sitter,” Rachel said.
“Was to pay her,” the man said, stuffing the bills in the pocket of his dark-green bomber jacket.
“Please, don’t do this.”
“Consider yourself lucky if I only take the money,” he said, pressing his arm against her throat just a little harder. Rachel struggled beneath his bulk.
“Please,” she said, croaking out the word. “I just want to get home to my children. Just walk away now, and we can forget this ever happened.”
He stared at her. She saw the slightest twitch in his eyes, like he was considering her plea. Then he glanced down the alleyway. It was empty. And it was dark. She felt something rub up against her leg and instantly knew what was about to happen.
“It’d be a shame to end the night early,” he said, dragging her farther into the alley. “Scream, and I’ll open you up where you don’t already have any holes.”
She dug her feet into the ground and said, “Sir, I’m begging you, don’t do this. You’ll regret it.”
“I’ll regret it?” he said with a hearty laugh. “Beg all you want; it’ll be more fun if you do.”
“Please. Don’t make me do this.”
The man stopped. Looked back at her, amused. He still held her by the wrist.