Left To Die

At this point, everything seemed quieter. Living in a city like Paris—a beautiful, messy, loud city—one could forget what quiet was. Even at night, the sound of passing cars and the noise from the apartments or bars would taint the air. The park, though, while not entirely removed, was still spacious enough and serene enough that Enes thought he could pick up the quiet buzz of the safety lights.

Then he heard footsteps.

A chill crept up his spine, prodding at him like fingers of ice. He turned sharply and spotted someone coming rapidly toward him.

For a moment, he felt a flood of fear. He tried to break into a sprint, but found his twisted ankle wouldn’t hold his weight. He stumbled and quickly righted himself, turning once more to face the oncoming person.

As the stranger in the dark drew nearer, Enes’s breathing eased.

It was the magician from the bar.

The young man muttered beneath his breath, allowing a sardonic smile to twist his lips. He felt silly all of a sudden, reacting as he had. The tourist with the thick accent had been annoying, but clearly nonthreatening.

Enes shoved his hands in his pockets, refusing to return the small wave flashed in his direction from the magician.

“Excuse me,” said the tourist, his accent grating.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” Enes snapped. Some of his friends liked to slow their speech when speaking to tourists. It allowed the foreigners to understand better. But he had no such aversions to rapid cadence. Tourists, as far as he could tell, were a bane on the city. They robbed Paris of much of its identity.

The magician continued to approach, smiling genially. He had a wool cap pulled tight over his head with stray strands of reddish hair poking out from beneath the hem.

“You forgot something,” said the magician.

Enes frowned. Instinctively, he checked his pants pocket, but his wallet was still there. He glanced back at the tourist and shook his head.

“Come with me,” said the stranger. “I left it back over on the trail by accident.”

Enes scowled now. He didn’t like this tourist, and he didn’t like that he’d been startled at night in the middle of the park. He glanced around and thought he spotted a couple teenagers on a bench in the distance. But they weren’t looking his way.

“Go away,” he said.

“Come, you forgot something. Your wallet. It’s just back that way.”

Enes checked his pocket again, this time pulling his wallet out enough so he could glance at it. He opened it slightly and spotted all his cards and the ten-euro note he’d expected.

He shook his head. “Not mine,” he said. “Go away.”

The magician had stopped, both his hands out of sight behind his back, a quizzical expression on his face. “You really are twenty-three? What’s it like?”

This took Enes off guard. Now, part of the earlier fear had returned, once more circling his system. Perhaps he’d been too quick to dismiss the threat presented by this tourist. He began to turn to walk away, limping along quickly, heading toward the opposite end of the park.

He continued to glance back, refusing to leave the strange, creepy man out of sight.

“It must be nice,” the magician said, following in his footsteps, moving quickly, but confidently. Like a predator stalking its prey. “Youth is wasted on the young. I’m only a bit older than you. Look at me; can you guess how old I am?”

Enes shook his head wildly, and began glancing around for a tree branch or some rock he could use as a weapon.

“I’m only forty,” said the magician. “But I don’t look much older than thirty-two, do I? That’s what my friends say. I’ve had a lot of work done.” He laughed in a would-be disarming manner.

The young man felt anything but put at ease. He felt a hand suddenly reach out and grab his wrist, gripping him tight and sending his heart catapulting into his throat.

Enes caught a wicked gleam in the magician’s eye, followed by the flash of something metallic as the tourist’s other hand came darting forward.

A needle. Enes shouted and swung a wild punch, which missed the magician, but did enough to knock off his aim. The twenty-three-year-old turned and tried to sprint away, but again his ankle failed him.

Now, the tourist snarled and lunged after him.

Enes kicked, bit, and scratched, trying to go for the magician’s eyes. But the tourist held on tight; there was a pause, a quick grunt, and Enes felt a sudden sharp jab of pain in his waist. He glanced down, realizing suddenly that he somehow found himself on the ground in the dirt with the magician above him.

A horrible, pale little syringe was stabbed into his hip. The plunger had been pressed.

Enes stared, stunned. Then he tried to rise. A second passed… two… His arms felt funny.

The magician emitted a cooing sound and reached down to caress the young man’s hair in tender, affectionate strokes.

Another chill crept across the college student’s skin. But, just as quickly, the sensation up and down his spine faded. He tried to regain his feet, but found they wouldn’t move either.