Glory Days

Chapter Three

By the time Dahlia had slouched home after a hard day at American Express and microwaved dinner (much to Fred’s disgust), it was already past nine. What I wouldn’t give to quit my job, she thought as she fluffed her hair in the small hall mirror and wrapped a scarf tightly around her neck. It was only October, but the nights were already getting colder and she couldn’t afford to lose her voice with the amount of gigs they had coming up. Fred would kill her if she couldn’t do the backing vocals. The woman herself walked out of her bedroom further up the corridor and paused, empty glass in hand, as she saw Dahlia’s attire.

    “Where are you off to?”

    “Just going out for a walk, to get some air, you know…” She trailed off with a cheerful smile that she really wasn’t feeling. Fred shrugged.

    “If you’re going out to party why don’t you just say so? I don’t care. I’m not your mum.” She walked off to the kitchen leaving Dahlia feeling miffed.

    Dahlia grabbed her keys from the table and ran her hand along the waistband of her skinny jeans, feeling the hilt of the knife she’d concealed there. It was one of those cheap souvenir hunting knives you could buy abroad anywhere. It had been sat in the drawer of her bedside table for ages, but now she had it with her for… support.  

    The night air bit into Dahlia’s cheeks, turning them into glowing apples. She was walking through the silent part of the city approaching the exact place she’d been two nights previously. She was being drawn to it like a spot you shouldn’t squeeze but you know you’re going to anyway – just to get the satisfaction. 

    As she walked down the long alley, she turned her head to look at the winged cat which had created the strange illusion behind the masked man last time. Tonight it looked sad and faded whereas before she could have sworn it had shone in the street light. It had probably been the adrenaline of the situation - kind of like seeing the world with new eyes. A shiver ran down her spine and some unknown force made her look to her left at the person who was jogging towards her.

    Dahlia’s muscles twitched and she ran in the opposite direction as instinctive self-preservation took over from logic. Perhaps he was just a man out for some evening exercise, but perhaps he wasn’t. This time she’d worn sensible shoes, but the runner was still gaining on her. Surely he must know he was making her uncomfortable? She turned back and saw his pale face, twisted with intent. He wasn’t a late-night jogger.

    It was time for some action. Dahlia stopped running and pulled the knife clumsily from her waistband. Her fingers found their grip and she raised it in order to show him what he was dealing with. The runner reached into his belt and pulled out his own knife which was double the size of the one she held and her heart sank. She should have known better. What the heck had she been going to do with her knife anyway? Wave it in his face?

    “Give me all your money, your phone and your jewellery.” Dahlia almost breathed a sigh of relief. He was just a thief. In the next second she reconsidered. This was still so wrong. Why couldn’t she take a walk and be safe? She had the right!

    After emptying her pockets and gesturing that she had no money, she started removing her earrings, cursing herself for not wearing a cheaper pair. Then again, it hadn’t occurred to her she was going to be mugged. She wondered if she was being very naïve or if there was just a lot wrong with the world. She handed the earrings to the mugger.

    “Thanks,” he muttered, as if he couldn’t stop this basic formality escaping his lips. Then he started walking towards her.

    “What are you doing?” Dahlia asked, the fear starting all over again. The mugger smiled and she saw how crazy his face was and how his eyes were like two dead fish floating on twin oily pools.