Two blocks from her apartment, Dianthea collapsed onto the sidewalk knees first, then the palms of her hands, and then the rest of her.

She turned her head to the left and saw she was on the exact same block of cement on which she had stood when the kidnappers grabbed her from the alleyway between buildings, but that wasn't why she had fallen.

She fell because she was exhausted and she was going to move immediately and never live atop any of the forty-three hills in San Francisco again.

And once she got down there on the ground, she realized it was stupid to go home anyway, so now she would never get up.

The smart thing to do would have been to steal someone's phone, order an Uber, and drop the destination pin as far from here as it would go, with the direction chosen at random, even if that included into the sea. At home, they would find her, and they would bring her back. She might as well already be sleeping with the fishes.

​Car after car rolled up past her, clutches clenching at the top of the hill a block back, headlights beaming one after the other over the cement and away. One pulled up and blocked the driveway where Dianthea had been kidnapped in a perfect parallel parking job; the headlights switched off; the engine died. Dianthea shot up and took off at a run without looking back, before she knew she wanted to or even could soar into the night and race the last tenth of a mile home, feet in not-great shoes stomping down and careening up again, almost out of control, slamming against the ground again, and again, and again, in seconds putting that driveway and the driver of the car that had stopped far behind her.

A voice called after her, "Stop, it's me. It's only me. Hey!" She didn't know who 'me' was, and she didn't stop until she got to the gate of her place. The locked gate. The painted steel locked outer gate beyond which was a heavy wooden locked door, the keys for which she no longer possessed. Her pockets were empty. No wallet, no phone, no keys. No cigarettes. No keys.

All the run was out of her. She just put her back to the strong locked gate, sinking into a crouch. Her face was soaked in seconds, sweat and tears sheening her cheeks.

A figure came up the street, marching, not slowly but not running, not giving chase. He was still talking. "Calm down, it's only me." Blood pumped in her ears. Her rarely used leg muscles were warm and like jelly, she was starved but she felt like she was going to throw up, she didn't know where to run except away and just breathing hurt her lungs, nose, pharynx, trachea, diaphragm. She'd been punched in the ribs, one or two might be broken, but that was the least of her worries. The figure was tall, strong, well-fed, fit like an underwear model.

The figure was Leander. Hands in the air to show he meant no harm, he strode out of the shadows, not chasing, but not slow either.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice connecting with her schemata of what his voice should sound like, and the tears stopped and she stood up.

"Hey, it's okay, you're safe now," Leander said. He was taking off his police jacket and putting it around her.

Her lip trembled, and she said, "No, I'm not safe. They're going to kill me." She took his hand without explaining and started to stumble back to his car, leading the way but too exhausted to move, and when he resisted, she had no strength to pull him.

"Hold on a sec," he said, and he pulled her to him and into a hug. More like a death grip. She couldn't struggle, couldn't waste energy she would need in order to not be carried like a rag doll to the car, but she wanted out.

"Fuck off," she said, and he released her and moved back half a footstep, but he took her face in his hands and said, "It's okay, you're going to be okay. I'll take you somewhere safe." But he still didn't move.

"Let's go, please, now," Dianthea said. Why wasn't he moving? There was no time to explain, and maybe she didn't want to tell him, and he should just listen to her and move. Instead, he stood there staring at her like she was a ghost, holding her face in his big dumb strong ape hands. She raised her right hand in front of his face and snapped her fingers. "Snap out of it," she said. "We need to go now. Somewhere far away, where they can't find me."

He shook his head and still didn't move toward the car, even though she was leaning and pulling in that direction; he held her arms and stayed put while she tried to grab him by his and pull.

"Don't worry, you're not in any danger. I promise. We'll go to my place, you'll be safe there."

"No," she said. "They'll find me there. Not there. Far away." She pulled, and finally, he gave, falling into step with her as she pulled him along. Half a block later, she collapsed, and Leander had to put an arm around her and support most of her weight to the car.

When they got to it, he started to open the car door, but stopped, looked into her eyes, and said, "How did you escape?"

She tore her gaze away, tried to pull her arms away unsuccessfully. His grip on her wrists tightened, and he demanded again, "Tell me, how did you escape?"

Dianthea shook her head and said, "I don't know, leave me alone." He pressed his forehead against her skull and repeated himself. "Stop it," she said, "I don't know, okay? I don't remember, I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to, it just happened."

"What just happened, what did you do?" said Leander. His grip moved up to her forearms and pressed, her arms bruised under his fingers, his face was right in her face. Like he knew, but he wanted her to admit it. She kept repeating, "I don't know, I don't know," and he kept squeezing until she was afraid something might break.

Suddenly he pushed her backward and yelled, "Tell me!"

Dianthea stumbled backward and barely remained standing — then Leander flew backward and his back slammed against the police car.

Grating her jaw, fists clenched, she moved back towards them, closing the distance again, and she whispered at him, "Magic."

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