She tugged at the heavy padlock nesting against the tattered but sturdy-looking wooden door.
He tugged at her arm, silencing her scream with his trademark deathly glare.
“I thought you were them!” She choked out. “What were you trying to do? Kill me?”
His thin lips curved into an almost smile. “It would take more than surprise to kill you.” His hand still on her arm, he all but dragged her along the dark and dank alley.
“W-wait!” She sputtered, digging the heels of her red sneakers on the uneven cement ground. All she succeeded in doing was to lag a step or two behind him. “Where are you taking me? I have an errand to run. A very important errand.”
He paid no attention to what she said. In silence, he continued to walk, half-dragging her with his quick, wide steps. She smacked him near his shoulder blade. The pain he felt was excruciating. He bit back a moan and ground his teeth instead.
He stopped so suddenly that she nearly went flying over his head. “I just found a clue.”
She tried to regain her balance. My goodness. This man would be the death of her if she continued hanging around him. In spite of herself, she couldn’t help asking, “Clue to…?”
His eyes, the weird mix of gold and brown and red, fastened intently on her. “Clue to who betrayed me and had me cast out.”
She was flabbergasted. “You’re an escaped convict, aren’t you?” She was disappointed at herself for being a sucker yet again. He had looked so lost and forlorn and helpless back at McFadden’s. He was another living proof to her stupid naivety that people were inherently good. Now it was official: Her internal radar for spotting good guys was totally screwed.
“No, I’m not a criminal,” He said irritably.
“Then where were you cast out?” She said, the question a bitter taste in her mouth.
He didn’t say anything. He looked at a loss for words. And then, with a quiet sigh, he looked up at the vast night sky, the full moon — white and glowing brightly (a little too brightly) — pinned there serenely, the stars studded and strewn everywhere, the feathery clouds crowding the moon, and dark background cloaked with things only he seemed to know.
* This is not part of any writing prompt or previous short prose of mine. This was a spur-of-the-moment writing. I’m pointing my finger at Subway’s BLT, which is good. Very, very good.