He can hear the chuckling behind him and it chills him more than the brisk January air could. He risks a glance backward only to see the man is still standing behind him. He hadn’t moved.

The streets are still empty. Only the sound of his own breathing and slushy footsteps can be heard. It wouldn’t be that unusual except he is in New York and its the middle of the afternoon. A subway terminal promises sanctuary so he quickly descends the slippery steps.

Again, no one is around. No subway cars zooming through, no vagrants asking for change or playing an odd instrument. Eerily empty. He turns to see the man behind him.

Once more the stalker is face-to-face with him. This time, however, he grips him by the throat. His strength is unreal as he lifts him one-handed from the ground. The menacing glare turns to one of sheer thrill as he notices him beginning to struggle for air.

“This is my world.” He snaps his neck deftly. A woman’s scream echoes blaringly as his lifeless body hits the crowded ground.