Bailey’s feet hit the pavement. With each passing second, distance between her and the car grew. It was January, and she had been out on her nightly run when someone followed her in a black Buick. Alarmed, Bailey glanced over her shoulder as she ran.
The cold air smacked Bailey’s face, rushed through her nostrils, and wrapped its arms of wrath around her lungs, sucked life from them, and made it hard for Bailey to breathe. She finally rounded the corner of row homes where she resided. She ran up the steps, flung open the front door, and breathed in.