(By Angela Hunt and Bill Meyers) One night I stayed late at work. I don’t remember why, but I remember it was dark when I left. I walked briskly because the wind was a little cold. I passed the last corner where the crime-scene tape ended. I only had one more block to go before I reached the lot where we were allowed to park. A few cars passed on Broadway, but almost everyone was already home. I remained vigilant, just as my parents always taught me. I knew a single female, no matter where she was, could be a target. But I wasn’t scared.
Until suddenly, about 20 yards up ahead of me, a man stood, blocking my path. I didn’t know how he got there. A brick building stood where he could have come out of a doorway, but there was no door. There was not any kind of alleyway or place where he could have hidden. Fear chilled my body. His eyes gleamed with menace even though he was smiling at me. He wore a heavy, brown leather duster, and he flashed it open, as though he was showing me he had no weapons. He started to walk toward me. No one else was around. No car driving by. No people walking to their cars. Even the street lights around us seemed to dim, and I suddenly realized how black the night was. CONTINUE
