Dean's Escape

Dean’s Escape
Sara Strauss

         Pitch-black darkness. There was absolutely nothing in sight. It was so dark that there was no difference between his eyes being open and his eyes being closed.
         Dean knew he was in a chilly, narrow hallway, but knowing that fact didn’t lessen the fear and anticipation he was feeling. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was the only thing he could hear in the silence.
         As young twenty-five year old walked slowly, and with great care, he had his right hand up against the cold, dank wall to help guide him. His left hand was extended out in front of him, moving around, awkwardly, should anything suddenly appear.
         Dean stopped to try and calm himself, taking slow breaths. But they came out uneven and forced. He wanted the pounding in his ears to leave. He wanted the franticness to leave. And he wanted his hands to stop shaking violently. Why couldn’t he just be calm? Why couldn’t his nerves relax? He knew who was out there, and it would be all the better if he could steady himself. If they were to find him, he would be dead. He needed to be on the alert. He needed to change his manner immediately.
         Taking all the courage he had left, Dean stood up straighter, knowing full well that one of his enemies could be right behind him. He took a couple of breaths, relieved they sounded more even, instead of like gasps for air. He ran his still shaking fingers through his dark, messy hair. In his head, Dean told himself to be calm, which helped, but not much.
         Despite the fact his heart was still pounding and his hands were still shaking, he continued down the hallway once more. It felt as if he had been walking for close to an hour, but the reality was he had been walking for about twenty minutes.
         Dean’s right hand, which had been running along the wall, unexpectedly grasped nothing, but air. Fear struck him suddenly. The wall had been his guide, but it had abandoned him, like everything else in his life. He felt so lost, but after reaching into the darkness with both hands, which were now sweaty, the fingertips of his right hand touched a corner of the wall. Dean grabbed onto the wall as if his life depended on it, realizing that the hallway was turning to the right. He stood there for a moment to regain himself as best he could.
         When Dean felt slightly better, he turned to look down the hall, thinking there would be only darkness, but there was a hint of light. There was a faint outline of a door. Did it open to the outside, into the streets of New York City? Would he finally he free? Or was it a trap? Would he find himself in a room of men only wanting to end his life?
         Dean felt an overall anticipation, not knowing whether the hall would lead to a good or bad outcome. But he didn’t want to think that his enemies would be there. He wanted to be free, so he began to walk faster down the hall. He didn’t run out of fear that his footsteps might be heard.
         The minutes dragged on as Dean began to hurry down the long hallway. The space around him was getting brighter and brighter, and his eyes were starting to adjust. He could now see the narrowness of the clammy stonewalls closing in on him. Since he no longer needed his hand against the wall, he walked without restriction.
         A minute later, Dean was holding the metal latch of the door, and with as much strength as he could muster he pulled the latch up. The door swung open from the force he had exerted. 
         Bright light spilled into the hall. Not used to the brilliance, Dean turned away, shielding his eyes with his left forearm. Slowly, he brought his arm down while his eyes adjusted. He heard cars going by and the commotion made by numerous amounts of people. His lips stretched into a smile as he stood in the doorway.
         The pounding of his heart wasn’t completely gone, but his hands had stopped shaking and he wasn’t sweating any longer. A relief he had never felt before washed over him.
         In front of him were a couple of cement steps, which, he could see, would bring him to a street. He didn’t know which in the maze that was New York, but he didn’t care. As long as he was gone from the building behind him, he would be more than happy to continue forward.
         Dean stepped into the light, about to go up the first step. Suddenly, loud, echoing footsteps sounded behind him. He turned around, his smile gone, his heart pounding. He saw two large men coming after him, but before Dean could think to run, he was already doing it.
         He almost tripped on the steps in his haste to get away, but managed to keep his balance. He turned to the right and ran as fast as he possibly could, bumping into people accidentally, and not bothering to excuse his actions. People turned, curious, to see him run for his life.
         When Dean dared to, he looked over his shoulder. A tall, bald black guy and a shorter white guy were gaining on him, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. His lungs were burning in his chest and his legs were aching in protest, wanting him to stop. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go back. Not now. Not after getting so far.
         So, Dean continued to run, though his body opposed it, and eventually he found his escape. The whole time, he had been looking at the buildings, hoping to find a safe haven to go into, but for the first time, he looked at the street.
         Why hadn’t he thought of taking a taxi before? The thought of not having money didn’t occur to him, he just needed to leave immediately. Dean whistled piercingly, slowly only slightly, and one yellow car pulled over. After heaving himself upon the car, he managed to open the door and haul himself into it. He closed the door noisily.
         “Where to?” the driver asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror.
         “It doesn’t matter! GO!” Dean practically yelled, impatient and fearful.
         The car sped away just in time. The muscular black man had almost grabbed the handle of the door. But because he hadn’t managed to, he gave Dean a malevolent glare, meaning he would find Dean if it were the last thing he did.
         When the car was a safe distance away, Dean exhaled audibly, leaning against the back of the worn-out seat. The pounding in his ears was slowing as he watched the buildings pass by quickly in a blur. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
         For the time being, Dean was free.