My Best Friend Let Me Get Chased by a Man With a Knife So She Could Flirt With a Stranger

I was walking home alone after a late-night meeting when I heard a man wolf whistle behind me.

“Does a pretty thing like you like it from behind?” he shouted.

Luckily, I was on FaceTime with my best friend, Anelise, so at first I tried not to panic. I kept walking and told myself he was just another creep yelling into the dark, the kind you ignore and keep moving away from. But then I heard his footsteps quicken, and when I glanced back, I realized he wasn’t just talking. He was following me.

“Anelise, I’m going to run to the 24-hour pharmacy on Third Street,” I said, already speeding up.

That was when I heard it on her end of the call. A guy was talking to her.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never been to Mykonos?”

“Never,” Anelise said with a giggle. “But I’ve always wanted to go.”

The man behind me was maybe twenty feet away now. I could practically feel him closing the gap.

“Anelise,” I hissed, breaking into a run. “Call 911.”

“Hold on,” she said, like I was interrupting something important. Then she turned back to the guy and laughed. “Sorry, my friend’s being paranoid about some guy.”

I cut through an alley, which was a stupid move, but the pharmacy was right there across the street and I thought I could make it. The man followed me into the alley, his breathing heavier now, his voice uglier.

“Come back here. I just want to talk.”

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. The pharmacy lights were on, and for one second I felt relief hit me so hard it almost made me dizzy, but then I got to the door and realized it was locked. My stomach dropped so fast it felt like I was falling.

“Anelise, the pharmacy is closed,” I said. “I need you to call someone now.”

On the other end, she was still talking to the guy.

“Wow, you go to Greece every summer? That must be incredible.”

I tried calling 911 myself while running, but my fingers were shaking too hard to hit anything right. Eventually the call went through, and then I heard the recorded voice.

“Your wait time is approximately 12 minutes.”

Twelve minutes.

I might not have had twelve seconds.

“Anelise?” I screamed into the phone. “He has a knife.”

There was a pause, and then the guy on her end spoke up.

“Shouldn’t you help your friend? Sounds like she’s in trouble.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so right,” Anelise said, suddenly all animated and breathy. “I’m so sorry. That’s so thoughtful of you to notice. Let me just—”

I heard fumbling, and then finally:

“Hello, 911. My friend is being chased by a man with a knife on Third Street near the CVS.”

The man was only ten feet away now. I grabbed the only thing I could find, a garbage can lid lying near the wall, and when he lunged at me, I swung with everything I had. The metal caught him in the jaw and sent him stumbling backward. My arms rattled from the impact, but I didn’t stop. I turned and ran.

My legs were burning, and my lungs felt like they were tearing open, but I kept going toward the street, toward anywhere there might be lights or cars or a person who could see me.

“They’re sending someone,” Anelise said brightly, as if she were confirming a food delivery.

Then, to the guy beside her, she added, “You were so sweet to remind me. I get distracted sometimes.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw the man had gotten up. He was limping now, but he was still coming after me.

“Where are they?” I gasped.

“She wants to know how long,” Anelise repeated, like she was taking someone’s coffee order. “Uh-huh. They said about eight minutes. There’s a big fire downtown.”

Eight minutes.

Then the man grabbed my hair from behind and yanked me backward so hard my neck snapped with pain. My phone flew out of my hand and skittered across the pavement. I could still hear Anelise’s voice coming through the speaker.

“So anyway, Mykonos, would you take someone with you?”

I bit the man’s hand hard enough to taste blood. He cursed and let go. I dropped to my knees, scraping them on the concrete, and dove for my phone. On the screen I could see Anelise sitting at some bar, leaning toward this guy with a coy smile, twirling her hair around her finger like she was in a rom-com instead of on the phone while I fought for my life.

“Tell them I’m on the corner of Third and Bryant!” I screamed.

The man grabbed my ankle.

“Did you hear that?” the guy at the bar asked.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Anelise said, waving one hand dismissively. “She gets anxious. So, tell me more about your yacht.”

I managed to kick free and scramble into a 24-hour laundromat. The woman inside looked up just as I slammed into the door and locked it behind me. The man was right there, throwing himself against the glass.

“Please,” I begged her. “Call someone. Anyone.”

She immediately fumbled for her phone and started speaking rapid Spanish to someone, her face tight with alarm. Outside, the man stopped trying to force the front door and started circling the building, looking for another way in.

“They’re two minutes away,” Anelise said suddenly. “The police, I mean. Oh wow, is that a Rolex?”

“It’s a Patek Philippe, actually,” the guy said.