ADVENTURE Sliding,
it slowly careened toward me—a black sedan, spinning its tires and pushing its
weight through the heavy snow. Getting its grip, the car moved forward. The
driver spotted me, his eyes locking onto my face, my long blue coat. The car
stopped, and the window rolled down. “Get in,” the driver shouted, his voice pushing
against the roar of the wind, scattering. I froze as he stared at me, shoving
open the heavy door. “Want a ride?” In the whipping snow, I could barely see
his face. He was thirtyish, with longish brown hair, a black faux-fur collar
framing his square jawline. Who was this man? Why was he driving down this
alley of barricaded doors and broken windows? There were no signs of life, no
cars on the streets. Could I trust this stranger? I froze in a flashback of
that other frigid winter night, several years earlier, just a few miles from
this spot. The incident was still raw, terrifying. I had left work at 7 pm,
walking through a dimly lit hospital parking lot to my car. I was eighteen
years old. In the nine-degree temperature, icy winds pierced through me as I
started to unlock the car door. Suddenly, a man lunged from the shadows and
grabbed me from behind in a chokehold.
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