I decided I needed a change, so I packed my bags, threw them in a U-Haul and made my way to the city. It's busier and louder and more expensive than anywhere I've ever been. I'm sharing a 1br with a non-existent roommate who sleeps on the couch when he's not trying to pry his way into my bedroom. Thanks, Craigslist. No, really. Thanks.
My job is unchallenging, at best. But it pays the rent and keeps me fed and I try not to think about how late I have to stay and how many hours I'll waste waiting for, and then, riding the train. On occasion, I'll take a cab from the station to my building, but I usually walk. My mom thinks it's unsafe, but isn't everything?
"Hi Mom. How's work? Oh, everything's okay here, but I might have had some sort of stress-induced hallucination and I was almost raped less than three blocks from home."
I was walking home and I didn't see anyone else on the street. I haven't lived here long, but I know that's not normal.
I hear someone fall in step behind me. I didn't want to turn around because you're not supposed to stare at people here, ya know?
I start walking faster. And whoever's behind me does too. Exact same footsteps.
Without turning to look, I start running. I'm at least another ten minutes from home and I'm wearing dress shoes, so I can't run and he's getting closer, I can hear him...
I remember screaming. I'm sprinting, losing energy and yelling my head off.
He put his hand over my mouth. He told me to calm down. That it would be better that way. His breath smelled like Binaca.
I tried kicking or clawing at him, but I'm short and he could've broken me in half.
I shut my eyes and prayed. I prayed to anything I remotely believed in.
He pushed me to the ground. At least, I thought he did. I didn't realize until afterward that he had tried to hang on, but then dropped me.
I've tried to replay it in my mind, but it's all so dark and quick. I heard him gasp before letting me go. I didn't look up until I heard a sort of wailing, followed by a loud cry. It sounded like he was begging, and it was coming from the rooftop nearly fifty feet away.
I watched him fall two stories to land against a fire escape. After that, I saw whoever had dropped him dart out of sight.
Him. The man I'm looking for now. Fast. Faster than anyone I've ever seen; up and then gone. Over the rooftop. He looked back, once.
That's when the police came. They wanted to know how I stopped a man twice my size from attacking me and got him onto a fire escape.
They weren't accusing me, they said. Had I seen anything?
No. I told them everything I could remember.
Nothing unusual?
Other than maybe seeing someone drop someone else from a rooftop, only after flying up there while holding the weight of said other person? No. I've had a pretty run-of-the-mill evening.
I hear the younger cop ask his partner something; sounded like "The Bat?"
"Bat?" I repeated.
His expression didn't change when he said that he didn't know what I was talking about.
They had me fill out a form. The guy was sent up for something else and I never had to testify.
The Bat.
I didn't want to talk about it. My coworkers would well-meaningly quarantine me like a leper. My family would insist I move. My roommate would ask what I was wearing.
I learned something about the city: people talk to each other. Back home, people talked to neighbors and family. Here everyone is like neighbors and family and neither.
A kid on my block, fourteen, fifteen, asked me if I'd seen him. He put his index fingers beside his head like devil horns.
"Him."
The old woman on the stool at the bodega, the one who's there 24/7 and speaks no English and never gave me a second look, now smiles and touches my hand.
People say hello.
No one says it, but everyone knows.
And maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm crazy and none of this happened. But last week, I found this picture under my door. A big, blown up photo, grainy and overexposed. You can just make out the… Man in it.
Him.
On the back someone wrote, in block letters like a comic strip, three words:
HE IS REAL
Now I can't sleep. I still think I may be going crazy. But if I am, I know I'm not alone.
I used to feel afraid living here, but I'm not anymore. I'm still anxious, but it's different now.
I know there's a city inside the one I can see. His city. I know I'm not the only one who's seen him. Someone took that photo. Maybe someone else put it under my door. Was it you? Tell me your story. Tell me because I need to know.
