OLAMIDE

Man, I was crouched up in this nasty dumpster, smellin’ like straight rot and old food, heart beatin’ like it wanted out my chest. My breath came soft, quiet, little gasps I tried to swallow back. Outside, heavy boots splashed through puddles, steady like a drum.

“Lord, please,” I whispered to my mama’s God. “Please let him keep walkin’.”

Tears kept slippin’ down my cheeks, hot and wet, while my mind spun on what he’d do if he found me. This was not how I planned to go out. My life flashin’ before me like a bad TikTok. Headline already writin’ itself: LOCAL GIRL FOUND DEAD. I hated myself right then, but hate don’t save you.

If I’d just stayed home snuggled up with Zeus, watchin’ them corny Hallmark movies and eatin’ popcorn, I’d be chill right now. But nah, it was Saturday night, Valentine’s comin’ up, everybody boo’d up, and me feelin’ that single-girl depression early. So I dressed cute, went out with my girls, tried to forget. They wanted to party late, I dipped out early. Just a couple blocks to the subway, I told myself. Dangerous to walk at night, yeah, but I had my pepper spray in my purse. Thought I was safe. Joke’s on me though.

I closed my eyes, tryin’ not to see it again, but the picture stayed burnt in my mind. The man choking on his own blood, throat slit open. That man-wolf throwin’ the body down on the rails. Those blood-red eyes lockin’ on me when I screamed. I couldn’t even pull out the spray. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human. My purse hit the ground, and I just ran. But deep down I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Footsteps stopped. My heart did too. I dared peek out the crack. No sight of him. But I could hear his breath. Heavy, all around, like he was right up on me. My stomach twisted.

Then the smell hit; rich cologne, cuttin’ through all the dumpster funk, even over the crusty condoms. This wasn’t no random street dude. Low level thugs don’t waste money on cologne like that. Nah, he was somethin’ else. A pro. This wigga had underworld vibes all over him.

A lighter flicked. Cigarette smoke drifted in, the ember glowin’ faint through the cracks. He was smokin’ me out, takin’ his time.

A zipper sound snapped. For a second my stomach dropped, thinkin’ the worst. But then I forced myself to take a peep. I saw a wallet pop open. My wallet.

“Olamide Armstrong,” he read out loud, voice smooth, rich English accent, the kind that always messes up my name. Even my would-be killer. “…40 Maple Avenue. Mech.” He sounded cool, casual, like murder was just business.

It prolly was.

Letting go of the purse had been smart, but now he knew me, knew where I lived. I kept still, thinkin’ maybe he didn’t know I was right there. Thinkin’ where I could run, how I could stay alive.

“Cute,” he said. “You black though. That’s too bad.”

My lips pressed tight. Not only a killer but a racist one too. Maybe my skin had saved me from bein’ trafficked into some bimbo mess, but right now that didn’t matter. Death was death. My best shot was runnin’ and screamin’ loud as hell, but my body refused to move.

He sighed. “All right, come out. If you make me come get you, I’ll make sure you beg me to kill you.”

That broke me. My composure gone. “Please, just let me go,” I whispered, shiverin’, prayin’ to any power that’d listen.

But his voice stayed cold. “Sorry, I can’t do that. You got too much information in that pretty head of yours.”

“I don’t know anything,” I begged. “I don’t know what you are, I don’t care. I won’t tell nobody. Please, just let me live. Whatever happened back there ain’t my business.” And I meant it. Guilt I could handle. Death, not so much. All I wanted was to be home in bed with Zeus.

“What I am?” he mused out loud, like it wasn’t even a question. Then silence again, him puffin’ that cigarette, maybe thinkin’ about it.

“Nah,” he finally said. “I think I’ll just kill you.”

His words dropped heavy. He’d threatened torture if I didn’t come out, but still my body froze. How you supposed to step out of a semi-safe spot when a monster waitin’ right outside?

The lid of the dumpster flew open. I screamed. For real. Louder than I ever screamed. Wantin’ a savior even though I knew nobody was comin’. I’d heard screams before and stayed quiet to protect myself. Maybe this was karma.

He aimed a gun at my head. “Shut up. You wanna be responsible for somebody else dyin’ too? I can shoot witnesses all night.”

“Oh God,” I whimpered. “Where the ancestors at? Grandma swore they’d always watch over us. Where they at now?”

No one was reachin’ me before that trigger pulled. My only option was appeal to his humanity. “Please don’t hurt me,” I said. “I swear I don’t care what happened back there. I just wanna go home.”

“Just shut it. You gonna die and nothin’ changin’ that. Pray somebody finds your body quick so you at least get a decent funeral.” He stepped sideways, lining up his shot. Moonlight hit my face. But instead of shootin’, he just stared.

No. He froze. Like somethin’ locked him up. Part of me thought to run, but what if that’s what he wanted? What if it was the chase he liked? And my legs felt like jelly anyway.

His phone rang. He cursed, pulled it from his back pocket, hit a button.

“I told you never look through my eyes,” he said into the phone, gun still too close to my head. Another pause. Then he cut the call.

I braced for death. But instead he said, “If you wanna live, get out there right now.”

My brain screamed no, but my body climbed. Hands slippin’ on trash bags, knees shakin’ as I hoisted myself out. It wasn’t like I had better options.

He sighed again, then smiled. “You may as well be the luckiest victim to cross my path.”

Before I could even let out a breath of relief, he struck the side of my neck like we was in some damn action flick. My vision tunneled, the world shrank to a single flash of light, then everything went black.