Detroit, Michigan. September 25 2008

I work at the FreshCo on Mercer, a job I’ve held for a little over a year now. I'm a cashier there. It's an honest living, and the people are decent. I don't usually work the late shift; my schedule is a strict 9-to-5. But last Thursday, I was filling in for my friend Kisha. She wanted to go to a movie with her cousin who was visiting from LA, and I'd already seen the new Fast & Furious. So, I traded with her. I really didn’t want to, as these shifts are long, but I figured I owed her one.

It was Thursday evening, and we closed at 10 p.m. It had been a slow night, and the usual rush of last-minute shoppers never came. My mind was already on getting home, taking a hot shower, and catching up on my shows. James, the manager, locked the doors with a loud metallic click, and I cashed out my till. It was seven cents over, a small victory that made me smile. After that, I went through my closing duties, sweeping and wiping down my counter until it shined. I walked to the back of the store to the break room and had a quick talk with Corey, one of the stock boys. You know, they fill the shelves.

We didn’t talk about anything important, just work stuff. Corey was complaining about the new shipment of frozen vegetables. I got my things out of my locker: my purse, my house keys, and my cell. I said goodnight to James and Corey, grabbed my denim jacket, and went out the back door of the shop.

See, I don't have a car, so I was walking home. I don't live far from work, just around the corner on Elsmere Ave. I grew up here, so I ain't afraid of folks around here. But everyone knows you don't go into Gignac Park at night, especially being a girl on my own. It's a well-known hangout for troublemakers, and I didn't want to risk it. I decided to take the long way home, which would add about ten minutes to my walk but felt like the safer option.

So I walked up Mercer Street, the familiar streetlights casting long shadows, and took a right onto Hanna Street. I planned on taking a shortcut by the doctor's office. It's mostly deserted there at night, a quick cut-through that would still get me home faster than walking all the way down Howard. I told myself it would be fine, just a little alley. What could go wrong?

When I turned right into the alley, I saw some guys hanging around. At the time, I didn't think much of it. I see people hanging out in alleys all the time. So I just kept walking. There were three of them, and they seemed to be in their early 20s. I looked at one of them and smiled. He was about my height, 5’5”, I suppose. He was real dark-skinned, and at first, I thought he was kinda handsome. He had a sweet smile and a row of perfect, white teeth.

It was dark, and there wasn't much light, so I couldn't tell what color his clothes were. But it looked like a black or dark blue jacket with a t-shirt underneath. He had on really nice kicks—all white and new-looking, almost glowing in the dim light. His hair was clean-cut with a zig-zag pattern shaved into the side of his head. He looked like a young man with a future.

It's hard to say now, but at the time, I was distracted by looking at him. That's why I didn't notice the other guys so well. I think one had on a white t-shirt and a blue jacket. He was kinda tall, I remember. Maybe 5’8” or so, and he had long dark dreadlocks that fell to his shoulders. The third man wore a black hoodie and black pants and had really crooked teeth. He was shorter than me, maybe 5’4”, with short, curly hair.

I passed them now, so they were behind me. I heard footsteps behind me, a little faster than my own. They started to follow me. My heart began to beat a little faster. I got to the corner of the doctor's office, and one of them, I think it was the tall one with the dreadlocks, hit me on the back of my head with a stick or something. The pain exploded in my skull, and I staggered forward.

I turned around to yell at him, and all three of them jumped at me. That's when I saw that the third guy had a gun in his hands. He was pointing it at me, saying, "Shut up." I must have been screaming at them, my voice a high, terrified shriek. The pretty boy and the tall boy were pulling me towards the back of the Drug Mart, by the Hoffman Post Office. There was a car parked there in the shadows, its engine idling softly.

I got really scared and started kicking and screaming. I was afraid they were gonna put me in that car and kill me. My mind raced, picturing headlines in the local paper. I fought with every ounce of strength I had, flailing my arms and legs. I didn't get a good look at the car before they knocked me out, but I did see it was a kind of four-door sedan. It looked gray and had shiny silver rims that flashed in the dim light. I was fighting so much, but there were three of them and one of me. I bit the pretty boy on his hand, digging my teeth in as hard as I could. I tasted something metallic and warm—I think I drew blood, but it might have been my own. That's when the third guy hit me in the face with the gun.

I don't remember anything else after that. I woke up on a gurney, a fluorescent light blinding my eyes. A police officer was standing over me, asking me questions. My head ached, my face was swollen and bruised, and my jaw hurt so badly I could barely talk. I was in a hospital. They told me I had been found in the alley, unconscious. They found my purse on the ground, but my cell phone was gone. The bruises on my jaw and the bite marks on my knuckles were all the proof I needed. They believed me.

I filed a police report, but they said there was little they could do without more information. They told me I was lucky. I know I am, but a part of me is still back there, in that alley, fighting for my life.

Sincerely,

Shaniqua J. Walker