The Newspaper Chase

I hate being out here alone, she thought to herself, stepping out of the Camry, this fog makes it seem like something out of a bad horror movie. And, indeed, though the tiny strip of apartments was less than the length of a football field, this cloud-like mist hung so dense in the air that standing at either end looking to the opposite one saw nothing but a field of white, as if staring at a photograph which had been drastically overexposed. The only things visible through the milky haze were halos of haunting light, dissipated through miniscule droplets of water, giving the entire area a glow of eerie yellow-orange.


“Dammit this is creepin’ me out. God only knows what might be hiding out in that – Aaah!” A dog had barked on a patio above as she passed near. Her heart nearly stopped as she sprang sideways, away from the source of the sudden blast. Her eyes darted back and forth, expecting to see some animal rush towards her with teeth bared, but saw nothing. The combination of the fog and the sheer darkness of such an early hour (it was barely 4:00 in the morning) made it all but impossible to see anything which didn’t have a light shining directly upon it.


Moving from unit to unit, the ache in her shoulders, brought on by the weight of the canvas bags crammed with advertisement-laden newspapers, was matched only by the ache in her mind, brought on by the weight of her own paranoia at what might be lurking in the murky shadows between the buildings. It wasn’t the career she would have chosen, throwing the daily rag, but she would be getting married next year and they would need the money. It didn’t pay much but they were determined to save up all they could while taking advantage of still living under their parents’ roofs. Besides, it was a great excuse to spend more time together, although this morning she would go it alone to let him rest up for a full day of classes.


The biting November chill was not the cause of the shivers now coursing their way from tip to tail of her spine and back again, not so much as the fear she felt, alone in the black sea between night and morning, the same fear she had born since she was small any time it was dark. Most children outgrew their nervousness of dark but it had stayed with her, clung to her mind as a tick clings to a dog. It had been reinforced by her love of movies and the thrill of watching a good scary flick with her beau.


One last paper, then she would move on to the next area and home from there. Turning back to where she had parked she saw that the snow white car had been swallowed up, engulfed by the ghostly haze. This did little to ease her nerves but served only to bolster the feeling that she was a solitary living soul wandering through a ghost town.


With the next set of apartments came a slight relief, Almost done. Just a few more and I can go home. But a feeling of apprehension also washed over her now, as it always did when she entered this area. It was larger than the first area, and darker, so there would be more places that someone could hide…Aah, no, no, get those thoughts out of your head. Just throw the papers, get in the car and leave. She steeled herself, loaded the bags and started towards the first delivery.


The first few deliveries always passed quickly, too quickly, until she reached number 250.


Apartment 250 was in an alcove, set opposite the back patio of another apartment around the corner. She hated going into that alcove. There was a couple living in the apartment with the patio and they would be sitting, unfailingly, every morning, apparently drunk out of their minds. She could hear them there this morning again. They talked so loudly she knew they would be there the instant she stepped out of the car.


Normally they talked and drank, she threw the paper and left. They didn’t talk to her and she tried her best not to make eye contact.


It was Saturday today, and the papers were…large. She was having a hard time throwing them to the upstairs apartments. They kept hitting the railings and bouncing off; she couldn’t throw them high enough. It happened whenever the papers were especially thick, she always worried about someone hearing the racket and thinking that she was breaking in or something. Not only was she concerned of what people would think she was doing but also it would be just plain embarrassing if someone overheard the disturbance and saw her struggling to do her job.


Approaching 250 she hated the idea that there were two, very inebriated people sitting just behind her, out of her sight but, unfortunately, still within earshot. She hoped and prayed that she would get lucky, that the paper would somehow find its way onto the second floor porch the first time she threw it.


No such luck. She tossed as hard as she could. It almost seemed that it would make it, that it had enough speed, and then…thunk! The paper crashed into the railing which released a resounding hum. Shit! She had been hoping to get out and back to the car before the intoxicated neighbors realized she was there. She quickly picked it up and backed up a few feet to try again. Thunk! This time the paper rebounded from the railing and fell to the ground spilling its innards. Dammit, this is a waste of time! She bent down to begin picking up the advertisements and heard a voice ring out from the patio behind her.

“What are you doing over there?” At least that’s what she thought it said. The words were slurred together so badly it was hard to tell.

Taking a guess she responded, “I’m throwing the newspaper.”

“Oh”, came the reply, again badly slurred.


All the advertisements having been stuffed back into the roll of newspaper, she tossed it once more toward the balcony. Finally! It had sailed easily over the metal rail and landed with a dull thud on the porch mat. Why couldn’t you have done that the first time?


She turned and began to make her way out of the alcove past the neighboring patio. “Hey! Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here?” A second voice, a man’s this time, shouted as she passed. She made no answer but hastened her step as she entered back into the street between the buildings. She thought of her fiancé, at home, asleep. I better im him and let him know what’s going on. He’d want to know about some drunk nut yelling at her. She pulled her phone, a sidekick with instant message capabilities, out of her pocket and flipped it open. Shit!…dead.


Halfway back to the car an odd sound caused her to stop in her tracks. A soft thud, almost as if someone had jumped onto the grass. She listened, carefully, to see if the sound repeated itself. It didn’t but another sound made her immediately resume her quickmarch to the waiting car. Footsteps. Unsteady, staggered…drunk? Exactly what she had been afraid of, he was coming.


“Hey girl, I asked you a question.” She kept walking, almost to her car now. “Don’t you walk away from me!” He walked slowly, stumbling slightly. She definitely did not want to let this guy get too close to her. She could already smell him and was sure that if he touched her it would not be any more pleasant.


She had the key ready, poised in her hand before she even reached the door. As her fingers closed on the handle she simultaneously slid the key into the lock and turned. Sliding into the driver’s seat she swept the door closed and immediately locked it. She turned the key and…nothing. The engine sputtered for a few seconds but wouldn’t start. Oh shit! Not now! She turned it again and the engine roared to life. As the car moved away she could see the figure of the drunk in her mirror, still coming in the direction in which she had just taken off.


Shit! What am I gonna do now? I’ve still got papers to deliver but I can’t go back over therewith that maniac stomping around. She had pulled the Camry around to the other side of the complex. She had already thrown papers to these apartments but figured that she could wait here for awhile until the man had given up and gone home. He would certainly assume that she had exited through the gate and left and would soon get bored of walking around in the cold.


She waited ten minutes, taking the opportunity to warm herself courtesy of the car’s heater. She readied to return to the opposite end of the complex so that she could make short work of the last few papers and drive home where she would be safe and warm. She turned the key and slowly pulled the car around. Arriving at the place she had been parked before, she looked around carefully, making completely certain that no one was around and the drunk had, indeed, left. She did not want any surprises when she exited the car.


She stepped out, apprehensive but eager to be finished, taking three papers with her. She made her way around the front of the car and across the street to throw one to an upstairs apartment. Then back across again, into the small alcove near where she had parked, to throw the next two. As she came near to the car a horrible site met her eyes. He was there, between her and her only means of escape, coming towards her. He carried a long, shining blade in his right hand, a bottle in his left.


She stepped backward, slowly. She had no wish to startle him into rash action. It seemed, if it was even possible, which she doubted, that he was even further inebriated than he had been ten minutes ago. His stagger had certainly deteriorated so the she was amazed he did not fall upon his own knife. Though he was still a full ten feet away the air stung with a smell as if a full bottle of 80-proof alcohol had been dropped at her feet.


He was speaking now, but his words seemed unable to fully form. The alcohol had relaxed his lips so they provided insufficient pressure against one another to produce any sound that could be recognized as language. Somehow this made him more menacing. She dared not respond for fear that she may give an incorrect response, which he may interpret as mocking, which could drive him into a fit of rage. At the same time she worried that if she did not answer he would believe that she was ignoring him. She did not want to think of the possible outcome of either situation.


He started forward again. He was farther from the car now but yet still perfectly positioned to block her from reaching it. He kept coming, getting closer by the second. There was not much room to avoid him. He raised the bottle in an attempt to finish it off but achieved only wetting the front of his apparently already soaked t-shirt. He threw it down in frustration; it smashed, barely inches from her toes. She sprang backward to avoid shards of glass becoming lodged in her shoes. In an instant she found herself pressed against the side of a minivan. The alarm blared. She ran.


She didn’t know where she would go, she couldn’t get out of the complex without her car; she only hoped that he was not following her. Somehow she had to get back to her car, and pray that he had not broken into it. If she could get into the car she would be safe. She could drive home and call her manager; he could send someone to throw the last papers.


She stood by the fountain now, catching her breath but at the same time keeping watchful eye over any dark corner from which her pursuer could emerge. It was difficult to see everywhere; the area was large and completely open. The fog had lifted but not completely; she couldn’t trust her eyes to tell her if anything was stirring. She thanked God that she could hear, that it was her out here rather than her deaf fiancé.


Afraid that the drunk would still be waiting for her she retraced the path of papers she had already thrown to come up the street in a position to where she could see the car but could not be seen. He seemed to be gone. She couldn’t hold back as a sigh of relief escaped her.


She had no way of knowing what time it was. She was sure it must be fairly late. Before she had stepped out of her car for the last time the clock had read slightly past 6:00, and she had a feeling that quite some time had passed since then. She was exhausted. The sun had certainly risen by now but the lingering fog meant that the level of light had not raised much. She was sure her fiancé had woken up; he had fallen asleep very early, but was unable to contact him for help.


The car key found its way into her hand. She gripped it tightly, as if it were a sword with which she could defend herself. She listened carefully as she approached the driver’s side door. All at once she clasped it, just as something came down upon her shoulder.


She screamed and jerked her shoulder away from whatever it was that had managed to sneak up behind her. She turned to run but it followed. It was calling to her, speaking but the pounding of her feet on the damp asphalt made it unintelligible and she had no wish to slow down to listen.


She could hear footsteps behind her, slower than her own but steady. They were heavier, not like the unsure, imbalanced steps of the drunk. Still, she was not going to take the chance.


It was coming closer, catching up to her now. Throwing the papers had drained her of her strength. She could not keep running. Finally it caught her, grabbed her arm and pulled her in close. She fought, swung her arms wildly, not aiming but hitting whatever was within arm’s reach.


She couldn’t keep fighting much longer. She was becoming weak, fatigue and the stress of her terror making her faint. She looked up, wanting to see the face of the person who held fast to her wrists.


Never before had she held her fiancé in such a hug. She wept uncontrollably as he led her to the car and gently deposited her into the seat. He knelt next to her and stroked her hair as she strived to calm herself. She followed him home, half in a trance. He led her inside and tenderly lay her on the bed. She was asleep before he had even joined her.