Chapter 14

THE DARK EVENING HAD become shrouded in a thick, foggy mist. Broadway was empty of motor vehicles, its sidewalks empty of people.

I climbed the parking garage ramp to the second level where I’d parked the Cabriolet. The concrete garage was brightly lit with sodium lamplight. It was also damp, cold, lonely. I walked with my knapsack hanging off my right shoulder, Franny’s ‘See’ painting tucked under my left arm.

My footsteps echoed inside the cavernous garage.

I was all alone.

I didn’t like being that alone; the vulnerability that went with it. My body was a live wire, my senses picking up every nuance of sound, movement and smell. It wasn’t as though I were being watched. It was more like being totally naked and exposed.

The Cabriolet could not have been more than seventy or eighty feet away from me. But it might as well have been a mile. That car was my safety zone—four walls and a retractable roof.

I walked, boot heels click-clacking along the concrete floor.

Then I saw a shadow.

Just up ahead of me, the shadow projected itself onto the concrete floor, as though coming from a man concealing himself behind a concrete column.

I stopped.

I opened my mouth to speak. But no words would come.

The shadow moved.

It moved backwards, forwards, the person behind the column shifting position.

That’s when I found my voice.

“Who is it?”

It came out as a shout. So loud and adrenalin charged, I startled myself.

“Who’s there?” I shouted again, voice echoing inside the concrete garage.

I felt the blood leave my head, sink down my neck, pour down the insides of my body. I felt the blood spill out the bottoms of my feet. Fear blinded me like a black hood pulled over my head. I stumbled, my balance shifting from one side to the other. I’m not sure how long I stood there exposed, eyes closed, body swaying, breathing hard and fast.

I closed my eyes.

But when I opened them, the shadow was gone.

I could only guess that whoever had been behind the column was gone now. That is, if there had been someone there in the first place.

Had I imagined the shadow?

Was my imagination running away with itself?

God, get me out of here.

I made a mad dash for the car, at the same time pulling the keys from my knapsack. I dropped Franny’s painting as I thumbed the unlock button on the key-face. The car came to life, door-locks unlocking, headlights flashing.

Bending at the knees, I picked the painting back up, ran for the Cabriolet. I threw open the driver’s side door, tossed in the bag, tossed in the painting. Jumping in behind the wheel, I fumbled with the ignition key until I managed to slip it into the lock. Pumping the gas I turned the engine over until it started with a resounding roar. To the immediate right of me was the concrete column that had hid the figure of a person. A person who’d been watching me. A man. Or so I imagined.

I pulled out of the spot, the tires squealing against the smooth concrete floor. I made for the area designated EXIT. For a quick moment I thought about looking into the rearview.

But I resisted the urge.

Better not to see what was behind me; what might have been stalking me.