Genevieve walked down the cobblestone road and clutched her leather bag to herself. She had donned a plain bonnet and a long coat deliberately to avoid drawing attention to the fact that she was a woman travelling alone. She wasn't sure if the bonnet was a good idea.

It was dark.

The town was damp, black and cold and Genevieve kept her eyes mainly on the road. She had heard of stabbings, rapings, killings and other ungodly acts in the town when she went to the markets on Saturday. Occasionally she would spy a flicker of movement off to the sides. She registered what it was that stirred the night without giving any sign of doing so. Her footsteps and her breath sounded like sonorous horns in the night to her. However, if she listened closely, the other sounds that dominated the night were much more frightening. A creak here, something crashing there, a cough or quickened footsteps… Genevieve wished with all her heart to be at home, in front of her warm stove and reading a book. Dear Lord, stay with me and give me strength and courage, she prayed silently.

Getting through the decent suburbs was fairly easy. Anyone who had any stature in life would not be out of doors at this late hour. They had street lamps and the buildings looked less threatening.

It wasn't until she had to pass through the outer suburbs that her problems really started. There were stray dogs, uneven roads, no lighting, and shadowy corners. This was where all the bad things about the town were. In resolve, she quickened her pace and lengthened her prayers and continued on into the darkness. There was no way that she wasn't going to get this medicine to her mother before morning.

After another hour of blessed loneliness, a man stopped her. "Well," he said in a cold voice, "Look whose wondering the streets all alone." Genevieve ignored the man, standing in her way in his dirty pants and shoes. That's all she wanted to see of him as she made to go around him but another man blocked her way. Turning, she saw there were two more of them behind her.

"Please, my mother is ill and I must be home to take care of her," she said, clutching her leather bag closer to her. But her words fell onto deaf ears and she was grabbed from behind. Crying out and screaming, someone shoved a hand over her mouth that smelled like dirt and stale beer. Things happened fast, they picked her up, struggling and wriggling, and carried her into the tiny sidestreet. She dropped her bag in favour of putting up a fight. But flail, kick, bite and scratch as she might, the four grown men were too strong for her lithe feeble arms. They gagged her with a piece of material and tore off coat.

The dress she wore was her Sunday best, a pretty long blue skirt, pattered with red roses on the top with long sleeves to hide her chest and arms. It was patchy and worn in places and was easy to tear by the men. They laughed as she resisted and used a torn part of her skirt to tie her hands behind her back. She wasn't listening to what they were saying in between the crude animal noises they were making. Constantly, she could feel their hands on her body and she would kick with everything she had. One foot hit its mark and she heard a pained howl emit from one of them. He retaliated with a vicious backhand.

Tears sprang from her eyes.

A kerosene torch was lit and their faces were revealed to her. Dirty, grizzly, unkempt faces with hungry eyes with ugly mouths pulled into scowls. The man she kicked issued her another backhand and she kicked out again, only to receive a blow again. Breathing hard through the gag that tasted like oil and mud, she faced her attackers bravely.

The man standing behind her held her steady as another man yielded a knife. She stopped struggling as she caught in the sight of the horrible sharp blade and wondered if this would be her last memory.

He pressed the cold blade threateningly against her cheek and drew a little blood., "That's better lass. Don't struggle and we won't hurt you." At that moment, she decided that even though her mother still needed her, and she was only young, she was not afraid to die. The flat of the blade slid down her neck and across her chest and underneath the collar of her dress… She could be killed and she accepted that, but to be humiliated and to have her most sacred gift stolen from her from these apes was not in her plans. Wildly, she kicked out again but missed her mark and by pure luck corked the man's leg instead. He went down, swearing but there was other movement unsolicited by the crude men.

In the shadows, just behind them, something moved stealthily and killed each man one by one. In her struggle, Genevieve could not catch a proper sight of who it was or how. It all happened so quickly. A blade flew out of the darkness and struck her closest captor in his throat before he could properly hide behind her. He went down with a choked cry, grasping his throat and feeling the knife as blood gurgled out of his mouth.

Genevieve sat down and pulled her tied hands underneath her bum and around her legs. She untied the gag and spat out the taste of it. The torch had somehow managed to escape unscathed and the death it shed its light upon shocked Genevieve. She stood up and wondered at the men who were once her abductors strewn on the ground like discarded dolls.

They were now simply dead men.

A figure stepped into the light. He was tall but that was all Genevieve could give as a description of the man himself. He wore a white hood that shielded his face and leather boots that didn't make a sound. The angle of the light didn't reveal his face either. The pattern on his cloak was red and black but indescribable otherwise. It seemed to be a symbol of something. And leather, lots of leather criss-crossed his torso. He came closer, a knife in his hand, dripping blood.

She was not afraid. However, she did not presume that the mystery man was there to rescue her either. Perhaps he would kill her too.

He cut off the bondage that tied her hands and threw the cloth away. He then passed her cloak to her and her bonnet. She put them on in silence, watching him. He picked up her leather bag and passed it to her as well.

As if broken out of a trance, she frantically looked through the bag to find the medicine. She found it at the bottom, all over the bottom. The bottle had broken and she cut her finger on it as she withdrew it from the bag.

"Ow!"

Dismay filled her vision. Her ordeal was forgotten, she tossed the useless glass aside angrily.

The man drew a white cloth from a hidden pocket, removed a hand from a leather glove and held her chin as he gently wiped the blood from her cheek and then her finger.

"Go home," said the man, his voice deep and strangely comforting. He appeared focussed on her delicate fingers, holding them in his large hand.

"Thank you, but I cannot. I must go back and pick up medicine for my mother. What I had is now lost," she replied, holding back tears with her breath. What else was she to do?

"What money have you got?" asked the man after studying her. He finished wiping the blood from her finger and left the cloth in her hand, flecked with blood. It occurred to Genevieve that this was a shame. It was a beautifully embroidered handkerchief with a lovely letter F on it.

"None," she replied honestly and was sad that her hero had enquired into such personal matters.

"Then how would you buy more medicine with no money?

"I'm sure the chemist is a fair man and he will understand that I will pay him back as soon as I can."

"You trust people too much. He won't. And you'll be risking your honour and life again for no reason," the man replied. Genevieve avoided looking into the dark hood, feeling his eyes upon her. She spied the knife that had killed the man who held her from behind. As if reading her mind, her rescuer drew her attention back to him.

"Go home. Be careful. Take care of your mother. I will bring back the medicine to you before the dawn. Tell me what it is, where you got it from and where you live."

This kindness took Genevieve completely by surprise and she simply stared at the man before her. "But… why? Why help me more than you already have?"

"Which chemist and where do you live so that I can find you?" he repeated. She told what he needed to know, wondering at her luck, wondering if it was luck. She had to remind herself that if the gentleman didn't return, she would have to venture out again and find the medicine herself.

"But I have no money to pay you for the medicine or your trouble."

"We will settle that when I return," he passed the torch to her, "Go. Take care. You will see me again before the night is through." With one big hand, he gently turned her toward the road she had been taking before and she took a few hesitant steps.

Her mind reeled at the events of the last few minutes.

"But I don't know your…" she said turning to find herself alone with four dead bodies.

The hooded man had slipped away quieter than the wings of an owl.

She couldn't see far into the darkness beyond the light of the torch. The dead men's vacant eyes met hers and she felt a measure of sadness for them. The knife embedded in one of their necks stuck out. She pulled it from its nest in the dead man's throat, her curiosity piqued at the resistance it took to take it out. She wiped the blood on the lifeless shirt.

Genevieve did not know whether she could use it or not. Perhaps if she was brave enough to remove it, maybe she could find the courage to use it. She turned it over in her hands then tucked it into her leather bag.

With no other reason to stay where she was, and a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens, she set off down the road once again. It took her more than another few hours to walk all the way home. However, she did not meet any further trouble.

The episode replayed in her mind over and over again. The smell of the men, their hands on her body, the cold steel of the knife on her cheek, all these experiences were ones she would never forget.

And the mystery man, she would always remember him weather she saw him again or not. She had pocketed the handkerchief.

Her home was small with only 4 tiny rooms: the kitchen was the biggest, the sitting room had only two armchairs, the store room which served also as her sewing room and the bedroom, with only one bed crammed against the wall to allow space for a tallboy. As she opened the door, her mother called out weakly and she went through the kitchen into the small bedroom.

The candlelight flickered as she passed. Her mother, frail and small in the already small bed, lifted a hand to her daughter. She blinked, questioning with her eyes because it hurt to use her voice. Each time Genevieve saw her mother, it saddened her to remember her as this fragile shadow of the woman she had once been. Instead, Genevieve recalled her mother's earlier days before her sickness had stolen her lungs.

"I'm alright Mother," Genevieve cooed, smiling at her mother, "I couldn't get the medicine," her smile ran away quickly, "I'm sorry." Her mother shook her head slightly and gave Genevieve's arm a small squeeze. She tried her best to smile. Genevieve made her mother comfortable again after giving her a sip of water and read the bible to her until she fell asleep. It was her favourite book and it gave her hope.

On the days when she could speak, Genevieve's mother would say how she wished to be whisked away with the Lord into Heaven, to be released from this painful world and into the next wonderful one where there was no pain. Genevieve had read the entire bible to her mother at least 6 times and knew the stories well. She often prayed to God for the same thing, because it was her mother's wish and she hated seeing her mother in such pain.

"Why do you think he keeps me here?" her mother asked tearfully one day.

"Mother, if I knew, I would know a lot more than just that. I guess he still has use for you here," Genevieve had pondered her answer carefully before she replied and kissed her mother on the forehead, "And I will always take care of you while you are here."

Genevieve remained by her mother until she was in a deep sleep then stood and took the candle into the sitting room, where she read her favourite passage 'The Lord God is my strength; he will make my feet like the deer's feet, and He will make me walk on my high hills.' She flipped through the big old book to read random passages and tried to recall the stories behind them. Keeping her mind active prevented it from wondering to her rescuer and weather he would be back or not. She had thoughts to wait up all night for him but she soon fell asleep. The candle burned down a pool of wax and went out.