I'm being followed.
And not the normal 'followed', at that.
This appears to be the work of a serial 'follower'.
There was a bus shelter nearby, home to one busking man and his dog, so I took refuge in his company for a few minutes. When I stopped, the stalker halted politely some way back. Actually, even if I couldn't see them or hear them, their 'presence' was so blatantly obvious it made me sick to my back teeth. A kind of taunting, like having a massive sign saying 'Here I am!' painted in fat, invisible letters...
Unfortunately for me, Busker man could seemingly feel the presence too, and hopped on the nearest bus with his companion. Resigned to my situation, I fueled the pursuit once more.
Surprisingly enough, this is not the first time this has happened recently. Three days ago, when pulling the bins out from the garage, I felt as though I was being watched - cheesy as that sounds - and my dwindling sixth-sence tingled subtly. Something in the scene was out of place, but it was indistinguishable. Exactly what was happening right now.
I took off down the damp street, looking left and right desperatly for a means of escape. As it was, I was about ten minutes late for my deadline, and my mum would be furious, so I had to put on steam and get home before I was attacked/raped/mugged, or whatever this person was planning to do to me anyway.
I don't have many enemies. Not many that would hire a hitman to follow me home, anyway. I have no idea who would do this - or who could possibly be wasting their time stalking me on this freezing, gloomful night. I'd only gone out to see if the supermarket had any insoles for my shoes, and now this!
I have no idea who it is behind me, either - young, old, man, woman. Wait, no. I'm pretty sure it's a man.
Why do I think it's a man? Because I don't think it's a woman, that's why.
Sarcasm aside, whoever they are; they're doing a good job of it.
I turned a corner and crossed the road on a red light. My house was maybe another ten, or five minutes away. Now on the other side of the road, I skated past the local off-licence and round the edge of my school's gates. A gang of hooded older teens were smoking by the front door, but I ignored them.
My feet just reached the corner of the alleyway behind my street, when I thought I was safe. Finally, I-
"I know you know I'm here." The alleyway confirmed, coolly.
I spooked at the disembodied voice and shied right into a pile of rubbish bags. I could feel my pulse throbbing obtrusively in my ears.
"Oh my God! What the he-" I started, but was cut off again.
"Sorry about that." The alley continued. A second later, however, a slender human hand materialized out of the gloom by the lamp post and was offered towards me. I struggled and wriggled my way out of my seat, dashing defencively into the weak pool of light to the left.
The hand retracted itself cautiously, then balled into a fist.
"Again, I apologize. It was quite clear you knew I was following you, so it seemed the best thing to dispence with all this mystery. I think...." The voice continued, but now unsure of both my reaction and how to cope with the situation, "...that I should introduce myself."
I held back, and heard a quiet, but deep intake of breath, then watched as a boy quite older than myself stepped into the light we now shared, and straightened up.
"I'm Jethro Cain. Professional Assassin for a group named Momenta, Scorpio Division." He smiled gently.