A Late Night Ride Turns Into a Desperate Escape...
Amaka typed away in a frenzy, fingers flying across the keyboard. She had no choice, if she didn't finish the proposal before morning, she might as well kiss her well-paying job goodbye. Her colleagues had left the office hours ago, leaving her alone in the dimly lit space. The silence was unnerving, broken only by the occasional rustle of papers or the hum of the air conditioning.
The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. It was late August, and the frequent rain and chilly nights made staying out late miserable. Amaka glanced at her watch, it was 9:30 PM. She still had a chance to catch the last metropolitan bus, but she had to move fast.
As soon as she saved her work, she shut down the computer and grabbed her bag. Rushing out, she murmured a quick goodnight to the two security guards at the exit before stepping into the cold night air.
By the time she reached the bus stop, the street was nearly deserted. A cold gust of wind made her shiver as she pulled her coat tighter. The distant chatter and laughter from a nearby roadside restaurant barely reached her ears. She checked her watch again—9:47 PM. The bus would arrive in three minutes.
A man stood a few feet away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wore a black hoodie, his face obscured by shadows. Amaka clutched her bag tighter, keeping her distance.
The bus arrived with a loud hiss, the doors swinging open. She handed the conductor her ticket and quickly found a seat near the back. The man in the hoodie followed, sitting two rows ahead of her. The driver, an older man with graying hair, glanced at her through the rearview mirror and nodded. She had taken this route many times before; she knew the roads by heart.
The bus rumbled forward, the flickering street lights casting fleeting glows over the worn-out seats. Amaka's eyelids drooped. Just as sleep threatened to take over, a voice—deep and eerily soft, broke the silence.
"Madam, you dropped this."
Her eyes snapped open. The man in the hoodie was standing next to her, holding out a small, leather-bound notebook. Her notebook. She hadn't even realized it had slipped from her bag. Cautiously, she took it, murmuring a quiet "thank you."
"No problem," he replied, a faint smile touching his lips before he returned to his seat.
Something about him made her uneasy. She flipped open the notebook. On the inside cover, beneath her neatly written name, was a message that hadn't been there before:
'Don't get off at your stop.'
Her fingers tightened around the notebook. She glanced up. The man hadn't turned, but she noticed the tension in his posture. Outside, the city blurred past empty commercial buidings, the roads stretching endlessly into the night.
Her stop was approaching. The familiar intersection, the street leading to her one-bedroom apartment. Her heart pounded as she considered what to do.
The conductor flicked on the signal and the bus slowed down.
Amaka hesitated.
Then she stood.
As soon as she moved, the man in the hoodie did too. Her pulse quickened. Was he following her?
The doors hissed open. She hesitated for a split second, then bolted outside. The cold air bit into her skin as she rushed toward the nearest lit street. Footsteps echoed behind her.
She stole a glance over her shoulder. The man in the hoodie was walking briskly but not running. Just following.
"Amaka."
Her name, spoken so casually yet with eerie weight, made her freeze. Her breath came in sharp gasps as she turned to face him. He stood a few feet away, hands raised in a placating gesture. "You need to listen," he said. "Someone else is following you."
Confusion twisted her stomach. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught movement. A shadow was moving unnaturally fast.
A sharp gust of wind swept through the street. In that instant, she knew.
The real danger wasn't the man in the hoodie.
It was something or someone else entirely. She watched as a shape detached itself from the shadows, stepping into the dim glow of the street light. It was a man, a very tall man. His long legs closed the distance too quickly. His face was hard and expressionless, his eyes empty.
The hooded man stepped in front of her. "Run," he murmured.
The stranger took another step forward. "She goes nowhere."
His voice was all shades of wrong. It sounded layered, as if multiple people were speaking at once. The sound made her stomach turn.
The hooded man didn't wait. He grabbed Amaka's wrist and pulled her backward just as the strange man lunged forward. They ran, Amaka struggling to keep up as panic fueled her legs.
They turned a corner and ducked into a narrow alley. The hooded man pressed her against the wall, peeking toward the street. "We have to keep moving," he whispered. "But first, take off your shoes. They're too loud."
Her hands trembled as she did as he said.
"Who… what is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The man exhaled sharply. "Not someone you want to meet twice."
A new sound echoed through the alley—slow, deliberate footsteps.
The chase wasn't over yet.