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Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to take rides from strangers?!” The man looked around but there were no witnesses. Blood covered the girl’s face, and she flopped back into the seat with a low moan. The old Buick roared to life with a flick of the ignition, and then sprayed gravel in all directions as the man pointed it down the street and towards the town commons.
     
    The town commons in Winchester is a sort of free public park and walking area. Part of it borders the Tare River, and a high pathway allows visitors to look across the flowing water. At this time of night, however, there were no visitors. The night time here was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds were crickets and the distant rippling water from the river far below. The entire area was empty, and only a few lights remained on, to discourage the homeless from setting up shelters there.
     
    In the little parking area nearby, the Buick came to rest. The engine shut off and the man extinguished the head lights. He looked through the windows and his breath slowly caused them to fog up. After his quick inspection, the man could see no one in the proximity. He reached into the passenger side floor board and retrieved the girl’s small black purse. Rifling through it, he grabbed her wallet and identification. The girl was starting to wake up, and making noises. The man opened his hand and smacked her roughly across the face while telling her, “Wake up, slut. Time to go.”
     
    The girl opened her eyes a bit. She looked around confusedly. She was still barely with it and very drunk, but she asked, “Hmmm? Who are you? Is this your car?”
     
    The man jumped out of his car and dashed around to the other side, opening the door to help the girl out. “It’s ok. We had an accident. Everyone’s alright, but I need to take you over here. C’mon, come with me.”
     
    The girl was still drunk and confused and not so sure, but she grabbed her head and felt the tenderness there. “Ow! Crashed your car? Oh, blood!” she said, and saw the blood covering her hand and nearly fainted, but the man was not going to allow that to happen.
     
    “Come on, get out of the car. Now. We have to go over here.” He said, growing impatient.
     
    He held out his hand again and she took it. She was very wobbly and once again he escorted her like a gentleman over to the edge of the pathway overlooking the river. Her wits were coming back to her, and she snapped her hand out of his. The girl looked down at his hands and noticed the man was wearing green latex gloves.
     
    She yanked her hand out of his and asked, “What the… Where are we going? Who are you again? God my head hurts…”
     
    The girl stopped walking and faced the man, bracing herself against the brick railing. This would be as far as he could get her, he decided. His face twisted from a robotic smile into a sadistic grin and he said quietly to her in a low voice, “I have something for you, Emma Lane Fisher, of thirty-four fifty-three Masen Drive, Durham City.” The girl was shocked that this man knew where her family lived and who she was. “Tonight you are going to help me get another step closer to winning the game.” The girl took an awkward step backwards, banging her back into the guard rail.
     
    She held out her hands in a motion for him to stay back and stammered, “What? I’m not helping you with anything! Get away from me!” The man advanced another step towards her, and reaching behind his back, produced his butcher knife.
     
    One look at the knife, and the girl spun around and began trying to run. She discovered that running in high heels, drunk, with a head injury, and while a man with a big knife is chasing you is really, really difficult. She made it about five steps before her heel turned on her and she crashed to the ground. Her knees were now scraped and bleeding. The grass was slick and cold, already starting to soak through her clothes. She tried to scramble farther from