Katherine was bleeding.
While playing videogames that evening after work, she had become engrossed in the disgustingly detailed graphics of one game. The next thing she knew, her head was aching with a large, dripping gash carved above one eyebrow. She had spotted a smear of blood on the sharp edge of glass table, and guessed that she had fallen forward and hit it. Former experience told her that she would need stitches. She put on her old, cracked leather jacket and held a wad of tissues to the wound on her head, and left the block of apartments. She walked a short distance, towards the nightclub, and opened the door of the first taxi she saw, telling the driver where she wanted to go. She examined her reflection in the window of the taxi. The neon lighting radiating from the nightclub made the bloodstains on her pale face look even more garish.
"I think I should get this looked at, I think it needs stitches." she added, and as the driver answered her with some meaningless piece of small-talk, an icy tendril of fear entered Katherine's heart.
it's not really him...you just get nervous around all men, especially alone at night... logical-and-cautious voice reassured her, and Katherine relaxed a little. She was, after all, still a bit dazed from her mishap with the table. The blood and the darkness of the night had kicked her already over-active imagination into overdrive, that was all.
The taxi drove on into the night, and as Katherine glanced out of the window, she noticed that they were going the wrong way.
"I'm sorry, but weren't we supposed to turn left back there?" she asked nervously, willing herself not to stutter. She wiped away fresh beads of blood with her fingers, staining the chipped black nail-polish. The driver turned around slowly to face her. Katherine screamed, as the face of her step-father leered back at her. She continued to scream as he drove faster and faster into nowhere. Her lungs felt to be on the verge of withering and collapsing. She tried to open the door but it was locked. She tried to wind down the window but it seemed to be stuck. She beat at it with her small fists, the crumpled and bloodied tissues falling to the floor. The driver turned back to her, and his face became the face of Aaron Wilson, the bully that she had accidently murdered.
With a screech of brakes, the taxi came to a halt. The door fell open and Katherine tumbled out. The driver of many faces drove off at top speed, into the darkness.