I was walking down Jefferson St when it happened. I knew something would go wrong the moment I decided to even walk at night. Not to mention it was my first time going outside on my own and not escorted in a car by one of my cousins. Of course something bad would happen to me the day I decided to prove to my parents that I could take care of myself.

This problem would first come in the form of a presence. It was that 2 am feeling you got when you slept that made you sit up faster than you thought you could being half asleep. It started with the interruption of my normal thoughts; the route to take home, what I would have for dinner, what else I could say to my parents to convince them to let me be independent. And then I felt it all of a sudden. Just that certain feeling of not being alone. Moments later that feeling would be accompanied by the faint sound of footsteps, quickening as every second passed.

My face began to burn with frustration. Who was this person? Why did they have to be so close to me? Why can't they just leave me alone? I tried to calm myself down because I recognized these questions that used to fill my mind when I was a kid. Such stupid questions but I could never recognize their insignificance until much later when I could think clearly again. But at the moment, they struck a cord of anxiety that blinded me from seeing the real question: Why hasn't this person stopped following me?

I tried thinking of other things. I thought over my reasoning for taking this street. It was a quiet street. So far I had only passed three people, not including the one following close behind. It was dark but lightly aglow with the help of dim streetlights and houses nearby. If it was any brighter then that would mean there would be buildings. If there were buildings then there would be people. And if there were people, more than three, then the feelings of anxiety would start all over again.

My attempt at distracting myself failed. It all led to my fears and anxiety, which reminded me of my follower. Knowing that he was still there made me more anxious than a group of people would. At least they would be talking amongst each other and not focusing on me.

Finally, at the peak of my fear, he decided to make his move. Huge, beefy hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me back with more force than I could have ever expected. I let a scream out, such an involuntary thing I did. I never knew I'd be the type to do that. When I had pictured something like this happening once I thought I would switch into fight mode and kick and punch until they had to let me go. When I tried kicking and punching now my arms and legs felt like Jell-O and my head began to spin. It was like a dream that represented how you felt like you had a lack of control: Running down streets and then crashing into poles, punching someone using all your strength, only to find that you missed or barely touched them. I always hated those dreams.

I continued to struggle until the man pulled me by the hair so that I was forced to look at his face, which wasn't a face but a mask. I knew just by looking at it that it would be the picture that would never leave my memory; an ivory face with maroon lines that drew from his eyes to his cheek bones around his nose and mouth and ending at his chin would be all I saw for weeks, whether I was going to be discovered later by family and brought home or trapped wherever he planned to take me.

"Be quiet and stop moving or I'll knock you out," he said firmly.

Only whimpers came out now as he dragged me off the sidewalk and to wherever he was taking me. He said he'd knock me out, probably with one of those rag things like on TV or by pinching some spot on my shoulder, but I was sure if I didn't listen to him he would kill me. Even if I did cooperate, I could still end up dead.

Tears were pouring out of my eyes now. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. I just went out for a walk. This can't be happening. His head slightly turned down to look at me through those sharp eyes. Just noticing this one little movement from the guy that was kidnapping me was enough to make me break down. I wanted to cover my mouth to quiet the noise I knew I would make from crying, but he held my arms behind me the whole time.

He took me to a car parked across the street, dark enough to blend into the nighttime background. Based on where it was, I must have passed it a few feet before he grabbed me. He opened the door and pushed me in. I slid across the leather seats and stopped myself before I could crash into the door on the other side. I held my head up and saw two guys sitting in the front, both with their faces unhidden. I wanted to threaten to tell the police what they looked like but that could only happen if I was found or escaped. And besides that matter, I could barely breathe, much less talk.

The man pushed my legs out of the way and sat down. He reached over and pulled my arms behind me again, forcing me to sit back on him. When my arms were secure in one of his arms, he used the other to take off his mask. I guess these guys were pretty confident that they weren't going to let me escape. He probably only used it in case someone else saw him.

"Drive," he commanded.

I carefully tilted my head back to look up at him. The first thing I noticed was the scar on his right eyes. He noticed me looking at him and turned where I could see his entire face. That scar on his right eye actually crossed his entire face, from his right eye to the bottom left of his chin. It was made up of many red lines. It looked like fire. He didn't have any eyebrows. His eyes looked as if they were outlined with red eyeliner, making silver blues stand out even more than they could all on their own. The upper left side of his lip curved inward, almost like he was smiling. But there were huge bumps on it, so it was probably like that because of whatever caused all that there was to his face.

"S-so," I tried. "Does this mean...I-I'm going to die?"

"Why do you say that," he asked flatly.

"No one else has your face...They'd find you right away if I ever got a chance to give them your description. B-but I doubt you'll let me get away b-because of that."

"You're right. You'd be dead before you could do that."

I couldn't tell if he was threatening me or just stating the facts.