[ WP ] In the dead of night a young girl meets an intimidating man with severe scarring . After the confrontation the man is the one who is afraid .

It was the kind of night that could n't decide if it wants to be cold. The only sounds were the trees rustling, and the clicking of high heels on a gravel road. The only light came orange and sickly from a street light. It was the kind of night that suited Katie perfectly. 
 
 She could see in her mind the route home, through suburban backroads and forgotten laneways. This street until the park, then left and then right onto Pine St. Repeating it over and over in her mind made it feel somehow safer. 
 
 When she got to the park she paused, like a dog catching a scent. Her skin prickled. There was a knife in her bag, and like a magic trick it appeared in her hand, glinting dully in the dark. There was someone behind her. She could feel it. 
 
 Slowly she turned, and gripped the knife harder when she saw an enormous hulking figure outlined black-on-black against the night sky. He took a step toward her, revealing as he did an odd limp. A limp she knew. 
 
 A broad smile came over her face. She walked toward the figure, even more sure of his identity the closer she got. Yes, there were the scars. The dark eyes. Look at them, widening in surprise. It was certainly him. 
 
 `` Well hey there,'' she purred. `` What's a pretty thing like you doing out on a night like this?'' 
 
 The man did n't reply, but she did n't really expect him to. After all, his tongue was missing. She was personally acquainted with its whereabouts. 
 
 `` You should be more careful,'' she told him, playfully reproachful. She stepped closer to him, and touched the edge of the knife to his chest. It made a slow indented path down the front of his shirt. `` You never know what kind of trouble you'll run into. Again.'' 
 
 The man's breathing was clearly audible now, fast and rough. The kind that gave her a rush. He gripped something in his jacket pocket, and made a movement as though to draw it out. Before he could, the little knife was at his neck, resting in a niche of scarred tissue. 
 
 `` I would n't.'' 
 
 His pulse beat hard against the edge of the knife, a strangled sound pushing past it. 
 
 `` What was that?'' Katie crooned, a baby singsong voice. `` Are you a little sca-wed?'' She gave a small, delighted giggle. The knife traced a path up to the man's chin, over his cheek and into the corner of his mouth. She could almost feel again the splitting of his cheeks, taste again the thin rivulets of blood that had pooled at her feet. 
 
 But no, not here. Not yet. 
 
 She lifted the knife away and folded it back into her bag. With one last look, loaded with malicious promise, she turned and resumed her clicking path home. Behind her, she heard him pull back the hammer of a handgun. She could almost feel his hand shaking with how close he was to pulling the trigger. 
 
 But he would n't. She knew he would n't, because who would believe him? She must have been half his size. `` But, but, officer...'' she imagined him saying through his mangled mouth, and it made her laugh. Her high, clear giggle rang through the darkened park, and seemed to stay there even after she was long gone.
