The Escape

“Bec … Hey Bec … you still awake?”

Rebecca’s eyes cracked open. With an awkward jerk, she sat up abruptly on the couch, sending the book that had been lying on her chest hurtling toward the floor. Its pages fluttered for a second before landing on Chapter 13. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Her eyes quickly took in the bookshelved walls around her, the green velvet sofa beneath her, the tribal woven rug on the floor. Of course, she thought. I came over to Max’s house for the night. A wave of realisation and dread rushed through her, hitting her like a punch in the gut. Just then she also realised her friend was still talking to her.

“… going to be ok here? I’m heading over to my girlfriend’s place for the night. I didn’t want to wake you, but I thought I’d see if you need anything before I go…” 

Max’s voice trailed off, leaving her with the implied question. 

“Hm? Oh, right, thanks, Max. I’m sure I’ll be fine. You don’t mind if I use your shower, do you? Before I head out to work at The Dive later?”

She reached down to rummage a hand through her rucksack lying next to the couch, checking to make sure she had a change of clothes with her. Not that it mattered much. The Dive, where she worked weekend nights as a bartender, was aptly named, its clientele being known for their “come as you are” mentality rather than their haute couture. 

“Yeah, sure. No problem. The towels are in the closet over there, and shampoo and everything’s in the bathroom. Feel free to make yourself at home.” She noticed him studying her face intently, as if searching for clues about her current emotional state.

“You know, a couple of friends are coming over tomorrow. You wanna hang out with us? It might do you some good to get your mind off things,” Max said in a voice that seemed forcefully casual. 

“Thanks,” she said, likewise trying to force a smile, which she suspected only made it look like she desperately needed to use the restroom. “I’ll think about it.” 

With that, Max took his cue, calling out a good night as he walked out of the study where Rebecca had dozed off not moments ago. Now, sitting alone in her high school friend’s slightly cluttered apartment, she found it impossible to go back to sleep. Not with the memory of immediate past events playing through her mind. She clenched her fists and pressed her eyelids tightly together, as if she were Dorothy and could wish herself back to the safety of home, away from her personal nightmare Oz. No luck. She sighed. The harsh reality of the present felt oppressive, like a thick winter blanket threatening to smother her. She needed escape. 

She glanced down at the book she had been reading, now open to Chapter 13. She hadn’t made it that far before falling asleep. It was an intriguing bedside thriller with a fast-paced, if somewhat predictable, story – about a man who discovers his parents are secret agents with assassins after them, which are now in turn after him, by proxy. The characters hadn’t blowing her away so far, but the interesting twists and turns gave the plot a soap-opera feeling that had kept her from thinking too much about her current situation. She picked up the book and placed it on her lap, telling herself she’ll only read a couple more pages and then force herself to deal with reality again. There’s so much to do, she thought. Go to work. Find a new place to live. File a restraining order against her ex-boyfriend, J.T. She glanced at the clock on the wall, one of those retro-looking cat clocks with a swinging tail for the pendulum. Work didn’t start for another two hours. Another 30 minutes of reading time and then I’ll get on it, she promised herself. As she looked at the pages of the open book, her eyes scanned the words inadvertently, even though she was normally loathe to spoil the plot by looking ahead. All of a sudden, a passage caught her eye. The main character, Brad, had just been jolted rudely awake by a loud noise coming from inside the house. He sits up straight on the green sofa and looks around at his surroundings, confused. In the dim lamplight, he can just make out the large woven rug with a tribal design on the floor, and two walls covered with shelves lined with books. Wow, Rebecca thought, looking around. What a strange coincidence. Unable to help herself, she continued reading, curious what he would do next. Brad soon realises an assassin has snuck into the house, bumping into a cabinet and subsequently sending an antique metal bowl crashing to the floor. Brad realises he is being hunted. He quickly flicks off the light and darts into the dark corner behind the open door.

All of a sudden, a loud metallic crash made Rebecca jump. Someone’s inside the apartment, she thought. Instinctively, she jumped to her feet, clutching the book to her chest like a shield.  

“Max? Is that you?” 

No answer from the hallway. Just a soft creak-creak-creak of footsteps on the old wooden floorboards. She strained her ears to listen. Her rational mind told her she was being silly, that it must be Max coming back in. Probably forgot something. She took a deep breath to reassure herself. Still… intuitively, and at the last possible moment, she grabbed an iron bookend shaped like an owl and ducked behind the slightly open door. 

Just then, a large figure appeared in the doorway, the dim light from the hallway casting its long shadow into the study. From her vantage point behind the door, Rebecca could make out something long and thin in its hand. Slowly, the figure crept further into the room, glancing around the furniture, searching … 

Gasping inwardly, Rebecca recognised the silhouette of her ex. He was looking for her! She watched in silence as he stepped further into the room, his head turned toward the curtains near the window. Now was her chance. Holding her breath, she slid out of the corner and around the open door. Her eyes never left the figure in the room as she backed up into the door frame. Suddenly, the figure paused, as if sensing her. Her ex turned, and she saw the rage flashing in his eyes. Without thinking, she threw the bookend in her hand with all her might. With an angry shout, the shadow lifted its arms reactively to block its face. Like a bolting deer, Rebecca turned and ran for the door in the hallway, yanking it open, fleeing down the stairs and out into the night. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs after her, a gravelly voice yelling at her to stop as she sprinted, blindly, down the sidewalk, then across the street, and finally into the nearby park. After what seemed like a safe distance, she jumped into the bushes and held her breath. She could hear him follow her to the path before coming to a halt, listening. Finally, he took off in the other direction, down the path and away from her hiding place in the brush. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Rebecca stepped out, brushing some leaves off of her jeans as she swivelled her head like a terrified squirrel. 

Man, you really know how to pick ‘em, Rebecca, she scolded herself before heading off to work, the book still clutched in one hand. 

It wasn’t far to walk from Max’s place to the bar. Still, she couldn’t help but jump at every slamming car door, honking horn, and angry shout she heard along the way. Which is a semi-regular occurrence in mid-town New York. Her heart still pounded from the unexpected chase, and her mind was still grappling from the mysterious coincidence – that the events in the book seemed to parallel what had just happened. Almost like the passage had been a warning, a secret message meant just for her, guiding her on what to do during the attack. 

When she got to The Dive, she went in through the back door, stopping to clock in in the kitchen hallway before swinging open the double doors to the bar. Her eyes scanned the room for her any signs of her ex before she she slid behind the counter. Luckily, the place was still fairly empty. Only a couple of the regulars nursing their beers over a game of darts. 

“Hey Bec!” Her coworker Natasha called out to her from across the bar, looking up from the table she was wiping down to give a short wave.

“You’re here early! In that case, I’m gonna go ahead and clock out, if you don’t mind? Got a couple errands to run before I get home,” Natasha said as she approached. During the day, The Dive functioned as a family-friendly diner as well as an oasis for the day drinkers. Natasha had been there since 11 that morning, serving the lunch crowd. 

“You ok, Bec? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she asked in concern, getting close enough to scrutinise Rebecca’s face. 

“It’s nothing. Just a run-in with the ex,” Rebecca replied with a wave of her hand. She took a couple deep breaths to calm her nerves. 

Natasha nodded, knowingly, without pressing for details. She was good like that. She’d had her share of run-ins in her brief 24 years of existence and required no further explanation. On some nights, the two college students didn’t exchange a single spoken word with each other, communicating instead through meaningful glances and subtle gestures from across the bar. Natasha pulled her friend closer to her in a hug. 

“I’m here if you need anything,” she added before clocking out, making an air kiss. “Just a phone call away, babe!”

After cleaning the glasses and making sure the counter was stocked, the bar was still fairly quiet, so Rebecca decided to use the downtime to get in a couple more pages. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the book had been oddly in sync with the evening’s events. She surreptitiously pulled the book onto the counter, flipping through the pages to find the last passage she’d read. Somewhere around Chapter 13, she remembered. There it is. Brad had managed to flee from the attacker, escaping unseen through a basement window. Now he’s on the lookout for a safehouse so he could regroup. From an untraceable phone booth, he makes a call to a friend and arranges to meet up at a seedy local dive bar to get the keys. A few passages of witty banter with the bartender and a couple whiskey shots later, and Brad is still sitting at the counter, waiting for his safehouse connection to appear. A muffled cry from behind the bar makes him jerk upright, poised and alert. Warily, he walks toward the counter to check it out. 

Just then, a loud crash sounded from beyond the kitchen door, causing Rebecca to jerk her head up in surprise. Weird, she thought. She listened for a moment, then decided it was probably just the cook shutting down the kitchen. She turned back to her book. 

In the story, Brad reaches the counter just in time to see a figure duck behind through the kitchen doors and through the back. Lying on the floor behind the counter, he finds his friend, hands clutching the right side of his chest and his face twisted in pain. A pool of blood is starting to gather around him from the chest wound. “Help… me,” his friend gasps, stretching out a bloodied hand toward Brad. It’s then that Brad notices the smell – the pungent, unmistakable smell of gasoline, spreading in long rivulets from his friend toward the bar and trailing out through the kitchen doors. 

Rebecca looked up again with a strange, unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. The uncanny coincidence of the attack scene described in the book and her own attack in the apartment just hours ago lingers in her mind. She scanned the room. The bar was still nearly empty. Come to think of it, the cook should have left a couple hours ago, she remembered. Maybe I should just go have a look in the kitchen …  

She pushed through the double swinging doors to enter the kitchen. No one there. Taking a few steps inside, she called out for the cook and listened. A tiny whimper, as if from a frightened puppy, emitted from the furthest corner of the room. Rebecca turned the corner, cautiously, her eyes widening when she saw her friend Natasha lying on the floor, her forehead smeared with blood. Rebecca rushed to her side, kneeling down to check on the wound.

What the hell is happening? She screamed inside her head. First the attempted attack in the apartment, now this? 

She lifted her friend to one of the booths, made sure she is in a comfortable position and hurried back to the bar counter to call the police. As she reached the telephone, she saw the book. Its pages were lying open once again, almost like it was lying in wait. Unwillingly, as if her eyes were drawn by an unseen power, she took in the words on the page. 

The universe has many ways of sending instructions, she read. Throughout history, humans have been experiencing what they call “fantastical” or “supernatural” phenomena, occurrences that go beyond the limits of what we know of the physical world. Some have called it the Fates, directing the destinies of mankind since the beginning of time. Some know it as the Great Spirit, sometimes appearing in animal form as spirit guides. Others see it as the mysterious workings of the Lord. Yet whatever the name, these events have one aim: to counter the universal tendency of regression, of the progressive decline into decay. In order to restore balance, the powers of the universe occasionally send out emissaries to direct the flow of history and influence human decision. These emissaries can take many forms. Just as Joan d’Arc once heard voices telling her to lead her people to victory in battle, Noah experienced visions of a terrible flood, and Leonardo Da Vinci dreamed of a flying machine – the messages, when acted upon, have changed the course of human history. However, one must first be aware of the signs all around us, and unfortunately, many have become immune to the guiding lights of the universe, distracted as they are by the flashiness of modernity. It takes courage to act upon your intuition, to transcend the physical limitations of your five senses and trust in the supernatural shepherds of universal order. 

Suddenly, a realisation hit her. For too long, she had taken a backseat in her own life history – a passive observer, choosing to mentally escape from the unpleasantries around her instead of steering the course of events herself. For three and a half years she’d felt trapped in an emotionally-abusive-turned-physically-violent relationship, preferring to flee into the pages of unknown worlds rather than confront the uncertainties in her own. This was the universe, sending her a sign. It was time to take the wheel. 

She grabbed the phone. 

———————————————————-

“Bec … hey Becca … you awake?” 

Rebecca’s eyes cracked open. She looked around, dazed. She could see Max’s face hovering over her. Then she spots the green sofa, the walls of books, the tribal rug … had it all just been a crazy dream? As she sat up, a book dropped to the floor, landing with the cover face up. Shepherds of the Universe, it read. Strangely enough, she can’t remember having picked it out at the library. The words from the dream still echoed in her head: first be aware of the signs all around us … 



She stood up, her hands unconsciously brushing away a couple dried leaves that were clinging to her jeans. She froze. Leaves, she thought. And then, all of a sudden, she knew what she must do.