NIGHT OF THE BLACKBIRD

The streets were deserted and cold. The chill bit into her. She cursed herself for running out at this hour of the night.

It was more than just the dark icy grip of the Boston winter night that held her, she realized. She had never felt this kind of unease before, never felt as if the chill were inside her, something that would never go away.

Moira moved against a building, instinctively afraid, seeking the protection of darkness.

She was almost upon the two figures before she realized they were there. And she couldn't help but hear the exchange of low murmurs--whispers, the words just barely audible in the stillness of the night.

Suddenly she found herself moving, catapulted forward. Her feet found no grip on the ice. She went sliding, desperately trying to catch her balance, terrified of the dark presence that suddenly menaced her from behind, darkness rising with a stealthy force. Something struck her hard. She found herself falling to the ground, the shadows rising all around her, the stars glimmering in a sky that had been nothing but cloud and darkness before.

© Heather Graham Pozzessere 2002