Jackson walked out of the theater doors to a cool summer morning. It was his turn to go exchange the large denomination bills they received during the weekend rush for smaller ones for the register drawers. It was an errand he had done often in the past, but not one he particularly relished. Caring an envelope full of big bills always made him nervous, painfully aware of everyone around him, constantly determining their threat levels. Jackson was not a particularly paranoid person, but in small doses paranoia couldn't hurt.

“After all,” he muttered to himself, “some people really did have shadows after them.”

He jogged across the street, envelope in hand, to cut across the empty parking lot that separated the street his theater was on and the next one over where the bank was located. It was the easiest and quickest way to the bank, and the final cut-through was down a heavily-graffitied alleyway. It wasn't a heavily-trafficked route, but it received enough pedestrians to be safe. Jackson did remember the one time he made the exchange run when one of the many homeless beggars had sidled right up next to him to politely ask for some spare change. He apologized to the man, saying he had nothing on him, and made a joke of it later when he called up his co-workers telling them he'd been mugged.

Jackson didn't see any hobos waiting to jump him when he passed the alleyway threshold, so he didn't worry overmuch. The small pop he heard he attributed to an echo from the cars passing by ahead.

“Good morning,” came a cheery voice, directly behind him.

The extreme proximity made Jackson jump, and he whipped around to see who had snuck up on him. At first glance, it was a man who looked middle-aged, dark hair slowly fading to gray starting back from his face. He had deep wrinkles in his forehead, a nose that looked as if it had broken once before and had never properly healed. He stood an inch or so shorter than Jackson and wore clothes that looked far too warm for a North Carolina summer. The man was smiling, but his appearance had unsettled Jackson that he was not comforted.

“Good morning,” Jackson replied warily, walking backwards down the alley. ****' hobos figure out how to sneak up on you in new and exciting ways every damn day, he thought.

Telling some incomprehensible tale about past woes, the man quickly closed the short distance between himself and Jackson. With surprising speed, the man grabbed Jackson's arm and, now holding a gun in his right hand, slowly pointed it at his chest.

Jackson froze at the sight of the small caliber handgun aimed at his heart.

“W-w-what do you want?”

“Oh, just what you have in the envelope there.”

“This?” Jackson held up the white business envelope. “This...this is a letter to my parents. Why do you want it?”

The grip on his arm tightened for a moment and the man's smile transformed into a nasty grin. “Really, that so? Where's the address? The stamp?”

“Umm, listen. I didn't have any stamps and I need to add a slip in here from the post office. Figured I'd just address it there.” Jackson had no idea where the story was coming from, but he figured the guy wasn't buying it.

“Right, right. Nice try, junior. Actually, that's one of the better stories I've heard. Plausible, almost believable, just not enough heart in it.” He paused for what seemed like dramatic effect. Jackson tried to swallow past the lump of terror stuck in his throat. He could feel his heart racing but his breathing had only quickened a small amount. Before he could wonder how he was remaining so calm, the man continued.

“Now, I want the envelope. And the best part is, there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

“What? Are you going to shoot me in this alleyway? Are you **** insane?” Jackson prayed fervently that they were speaking loud enough for some echo to reach the pedestrians on the sidewalk at the end of the alley.

The man snorted in derision. His grin deepened as he spoke. “Not at all. You see, with my hand on your arm as it is, I can take us anywhere in the world. No one will ever see you. You'll wind up as a missing person and no one will ever find you. Now be a good lad and hand over the money.”

“Like I told you, it's a letter to my parents,” Jackson said again, but fear crept into his voice and made it quaver.

“Your funeral.”

The man closed his eyes. Jackson considered going for the gun but as he started to move, everything became a blur. He felt all connection to the world around him quickly vanish, any earthly hold on his body disappear. It was an amazing feeling tainted only by the vise grip on his forearm.

Without warning, Jackson felt gravity reassert control over his body. Unprepared, his legs buckled and he crashed to a polished stone floor. He felt the grip on his arm loosen and he wrenched his arm free, aiming a kick at the legs next to him. The man fell off-balance when Jackson pulled loose but managed to jump away before his kick could connect. Rolling to his feet, Jackson spun around to face his opponent, his knees bent in a wrestler's crouch and his hands held forward.

The man recovered himself and pulled the gun up before Jackson could move again.

“Nice moves kid. Take some karate lessons in the past?”

Jackson didn't respond. He focused intently on the man's eyes, remembering that at some point in his life someone had told him the eyes reveal all. The man glanced at the floor and noticed the envelope Jackson had dropped in his bid for freedom. He took a step toward it.

“Back up. Get back against the wall.”

When Jackson didn't move, the man took aim again. “I said move kid. Don't make me shoot you.”

Jackson still didn't move, the man snapped off a shot. He had shifted his aim at the last second and Jackson felt the wind of the passing bullet. He flinched backwards, feeling his muscles turn to jelly at the cold possibility of dying. Seeing his stunned expression, the man moved forward to collect his prize.

At that moment, it seemed everything slowed down. Jackson watched the man, and it appeared as if he were moving through water. His mind raced. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Oh God, I don't want to die. I have to get that gun away from him.

Instinct took control of petrified limbs, and when the man crouched down to pick up the envelope, Jackson moved with a speed he wasn't aware he possessed. He hopped to his right so the gun would have to travel across the man's body and then lunged forward in an imitation of a baseball player slide, aiming feet first. His right foot caught the man on the knee, knocking him backwards and Jackson used his momentum to plant his left foot and vault on top of him. He immediately grasped for the gun, gripping the man's wrist with all his strength. Having significant leverage over the older man, Jackson started slamming the man's right hand down on the smooth stones, forcing him to drop the gun.

Jackson felt the man lash out at him, and he felt a blow connect with his ribs. He had already begun rolling after the loose gun so the man didn't land a square blow, but the sheer force still knocked his breath away. Wheezing but still moving, Jackson scrambled over to the gun. Grabbing it with a shaking arm, he spun around again to aim. But when he looked, there was nothing but an empty wall to aim at. The man had disappeared.

He backed against a wall, holding the gun out in front of him. The adrenaline raging through his body was making it difficult to keep his aim steady, so he settled his arms on his knees and waited. Would the bastard come back to try and finish him off? But he heard no soft pops, no sound of any kind other than his harsh and ragged breathing.

When a few minutes had passed, though it felt like hours, Jackson began to calm himself. He took deep gulping breaths, trying to make up for what he lost. His heart rate and breathing returned slowly to normal.

Still frightened but calmer, Jackson examined his surroundings for the first time. The man had apparently, impossibly, transported them to a round stone room. There were no doors, but there was a single window set low in the wall about a quarter of the way around the room to the left of where Jackson sat. Slowly, his ears straining for any possible sound of the man returning, he moved over the look out of his prison.

Fear clutched at him again as he stood and looked out. He was far far away from his little college town in North Carolina. It was no longer summer, or if it was somewhere in the northern regions of wherever. Jackson looked out at a pristine forest where the trees had already begun to shed their leaves. From his vantage point, he could see for miles, but the view was the same as far as his eyes could manage. Only forest, green slowing fading to orange and red.

Looking down, fear turned to disbelief. He was in a single room with no door at the top of a tower.

“Where the **** am I? A fairy tale? They actually make tower rooms with no **** exits?!” he raged at the empty room. He had a handgun and his clothes, but if it was already becoming autumn here then his shorts and t-shirt would not provide much protection from a cold night. The man had disappeared and managed to nab the money envelope as well.

“All for nothing.” Shock crept up on him, and he collapsed once more to the floor. “All that, all that for nothing.” The phrase “all for nothing” went through his mind like a broken record and Jackson could only stare dumbly at the floor. Shock emptied his thoughts of everything but that one phrase. One thought managed to interrupt his desperate mantra, a fleeting thought of his warm bed in his family home, and Jackson began to feel a curious sensation of lightness overcome his body.