Tuck could still feel the sting of Marla’s words like a fresh slap on the cheek. The cool October night air helped the warmth in his face dissipate as he hurried nowhere in particular along Omar Avenue.

He’d grabbed his hoodie and his pack of smokes and headed out the door about 30 seconds after Marla had said it. At first he’d been stunned. Even Marla had seemed stunned.

Now, walking north toward nowhere in the fading twilight, Tuck found himself doing some soul-searching that was long overdue. He smoked a cigarette like a man condemned, thinking about the last three years with Marla. How they’d met through mutual friends, hit it off almost immediately, moved in together after a month and a half. It was a whirlwind, Tuck’s first real romance.

Tuck found himself standing on a corner, staring into space. A car horn honked in the distance. Tuck snapped out of it momentarily. He looked back the way he had come. He’d walked surprisingly far, nearly 15 blocks. Had he even looked before crossing at any of those intersections? He looked down at his fingers. Was this the same cigarette? He didn’t remember lighting another.

Tuck looked both directions up the block. Not much traffic. Across the intersection on the other side of Omar, a figure stood, waiting to cross to Tuck’s side.

Tuck contemplated turning around, going back, getting his stuff, calling his brother and asking if he could crash there. Or maybe going back, dropping to his knees, begging Marla to take it back.

His head swam with indecision.

The white walk sign illuminated. Tuck continued down Omar. His head was clearing a bit, his analytical brain slowly taking back the reins from his fight or flight lizard brain.

Across the street, he noticed the figure waiting to cross had changed their mind and was continuing to walk along Omar Avenue as well, still on the east side. Whoever it was wore dark, bulky clothing. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman. The street lights didn’t seem to offer much light on the other side of the street.

The problems with Marla had started a few months earlier, and Tuck knew that it was largely his fault. He’d lost his job at a local construction company after another stupid argument he’d had with the foreman, who was the son of the owner and a top-notch douchebag. Tuck had said as much to his face, and he proceeded to cut Tuck his last paycheck and told him not to come back.

Tuck looked over again at his walking partner and noticed that they seemed to be pacing him. He also started to realize that he was getting to a part of Omar he didn’t usually walk down at night. He saw the glow of a stop light at an intersection ahead, as well as a bright sign for a package store. It was time to go home, one way or another. But Tuck decided a small bottle of courage was in order.

Tuck stopped mid block. He looked back and across the street for his walking companion, but didn’t see them at first. Then he spotted the figure. Whoever it was was had stopped directly across the street from Tuck, standing perfectly still.

Tuck suddenly felt very alone. He looked up and down Omar, which was otherwise abandoned. The figure just stood still and seemed to stare at Tuck. A shiver of alarm went down his spine.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Tuck shouted at the figure, trying to sound tough through his growing unease.

The figure didn’t move.

Tuck shifted back and forth on his feet for another few seconds. Was he about to get mugged? The figure remained still, somehow in full shadow despite their proximity to a streetlight.

Tuck decided to keep moving. Get to the liquor store. It was less than three blocks away. There would be people there. Safety. Tuck dug his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, turned, and started walking at a slightly faster clip. The figure, seemingly anticipating the move, kept right up.

Tuck felt very much like returning home, begging Marla to take back what she’d said. Tuck felt like making promises. He’d let his life fall apart a little, started smoking again, drinking more. He hadn’t heard back from the couple construction companies that he’d dropped off applications at. He’d convinced himself that his former foreman had somehow blacklisted him, which had only sent Tuck into a deeper hole of depression. Tuck knew he wasn’t coping well. It kind of ran in the family.

But looking over now — as he hurried toward the salvation of the liquor store lights while a strange, darkly-dressed asshole kept apace with him — Tuck determined that he wanted to pull himself out of that hole.

The last half block, Tuck broke into a slightly panicked sprint, refusing to look toward his unknown pursuer. He crossed the intersection just as the Don’t Walk sign stopped blinking, and a car that was ready to go nearly clipped Tuck as the light turned green.

Tuck offered a half an apology wave and darted across the parking lot and into the automatic doors of the Corner Package, never happier to feel bathed in that fluorescent glow.

Tuck entered the store at a near full sprint and nearly crashed into a display of club soda. He screeched his sneakers to a halt and caught the full attention of the grizzled old man behind the counter and the two other customers in the store.

Tuck raised his hands in a show of surrender and said “sorry” loud enough for everyone to hear. The shopkeeper silently tried to figure out how much trouble Tuck was going to be.

The other customers went back to browsing for their own Saturday night fix and eventually the shopkeeper went back to whatever it was he was doing. Tuck tried to act casual, walked around looking at the shelves for a few minutes. The only windows were the front doors, and they were facing the wrong direction to offer a glimpse of his mysterious pursuer.

Tuck felt his shit begin to gather. Yes, he’d sort of lost his way after losing his job. It didn’t have to be that way, he knew. But sometimes just going through the motions of living felt hard. Accomplishing simple shit like chores felt like carrying the weight of the world.

Perhaps is was the small jolt of adrenaline, but Tuck was starting to actually feel a bit better. Somehow, the prospect of getting mugged or worse made his life seem more valuable, more worth living.

Tuck resolved to get his life together, kick the smokes, get a job and show Marla that she was wrong to say what she said. He was going to start over. Tomorrow.

He’d start over tomorrow. Tonight, he decided to get what he came to the liquor store for. He marched up to the counter, smile on his face, and asked the shopkeeper for a pint of the Cutty Sark, pulling out the wadded up bills he’d lifted from Marla’s purse on the way out the door. Tonight, Tuck just needed to relax.

Once paid up, the bottle of scotch safely paper bagged and in his hoodie pocket, Tuck exited out the front door, ready to confront the weird stalker.

Except there was no sign of them. Tuck walked to the corner of the parking lot, looking up and down the avenue. It was full night now and a light rain had started to fall. A car turned on its headlights as it passed Tuck. He still saw no sign of the dark figure. He smiled to himself and pulled out the scotch, broke the plastic cap seal with a snap, and took a long pull. He was ready to walk home now. Ready to fix his life.

He started back the way he came, on the west sidewalk of Omar. He waited at the crosswalk for the walk sign. The white “walk” symbol illuminated once again and Tuck crossed while rehearsing what he was going to say to Marla. Half a block down, Tuck saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, his shadow was back, now pacing him back down Omar the other direction.

Tuck, feeling a little more courageous, maybe from his resolve, maybe from the scotch, decided to confront the asshole.

“What’s your fucking problem, man?” Tuck shouted. He took a step off the curb. So did his counterpart. Feeling the fire in his chest, Tuck leapt toward the dark figure, ready to throw a punch.

He never saw the car. The front fender hit his legs with a sickening crack, his body laid across the hood forcefully and his hooded skull hit the windshield hard enough to leave a crackled spot in the glass. The car hit the brakes, but by that point, Tuck was airborne, flying over the roof of the car. Tuck always thought that these moments were supposed to make time slow down, that he’d see his life flash before his eyes. But it wasn’t like that at all. It was over in the blink of an eye. Just a second or two of pain and disorientation and then Tuck was lying on the wet pavement, looking at the sky. Something warm was coming out of his mouth and his ears and he couldn’t really feel his legs, although his body felt heavy.

The bottle of scotch crashed into the pavement next to his head, the aroma cutting threw all of the other sensory input he was registering.

Suddenly the dark figure entered his gradually narrowing field of vision. The figure pulled back the hood of his jacket. Tuck was confused at first, tried to blink. The face was his own face. Only pale and with crusts of dried blood across the face. The eyes were slightly glazed over and the angle of his head was peculiarly asymmetric. The face, a grizzly doppelgänger of the man who lay dying on Omar Avenue, flashed a yellow grin.

“She’s right, you know,” Tuck’s insistent follower growled. “You never think. You’re never careful. And you are gonna die a loser, just like your old man.”