That night began like dozens of others before it, because I had just finished a long shift in the emergency department of a regional medical center located on the outskirts of a large American city. My body ached from standing too long, my feet throbbed inside my shoes, and my mind felt foggy from hours of alarms, charting, and the quiet tension that never truly leaves an emergency room. All I wanted was to reach my car, drive home, and fall asleep without thinking about anything else.
The parking garage was mostly empty, lit by harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead. I walked toward my car while fumbling in my bag for my keys, already planning the route home in my head, when I suddenly felt an arm lock around my chest from behind.
A hand clamped over my mouth before I could make a sound.
The man dragged me backward, his grip firm and practiced, pulling me toward the stairwell at the far end of the level. Panic exploded in my chest, but my body froze instead of fighting the way I had always assumed it would. My thoughts scattered, my legs felt weak, and no scream made it past his palm.