‘Okay Pat, I’ll see you in a bit,’ I sign off to my friend over the phone. ‘See you there, Andy.’ It has been such a long time since I have had a night out with the guys. We’re either too busy, someone’s out of the country or relationships anchor us to the house. But tonight is the night, none of us have duties to fulfill aside from drinking and joking about life. My apartment isn’t too far from the bar we’re meeting in, the “Blue Petal”, so I decide to walk into the heart of the city - if I have to, I can call a taxi to take me home. It’s a nice night, the clouds have parted to allow the stars to blink down at me and the moon to shine on my shirt. I’m not dressed up particularly, just a white shirt and dark trousers, it’s warm enough for such attire. I pass down the street, keeping my head down, avoiding eye contact with strangers. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like unnecessary contact or interaction with others, you never know what others may do to you. The blue, luminous flower sign which marks the entrance to the bar illuminates my destination. I feel my phone buzz against my fingers. It’s probably just Pat saying that he’s going to be late. But when I look at my phone it’s not a text from Pat. There’s just a number I don’t recognise, and beneath it the message: “Sorry Andrew tell the guys I’ll be late”. I guess Pat changed his number and forgot to tell me. I’m about to slide my phone back into my pocket, when another text comes through. This one is from the same number, but far more ominous: “Beware the man with the blue pocket flower”. I stop in the middle of the street, staring at the text. Is he trying to play a joke on me? This isn’t the kind of thing he does though. Maybe he’s trying to branch out in his humour? If so, I’m not a fan. Was it sent on accident? Maybe he made one typo and set off a chain of mistakes leading to what I received? That’s got to be it. This is meant to be a fun night out with my friends, after a few drinks I’ll forget about the text entirely. Only now do I pick up on the fact my hands are shaking when I try to return my phone to my pocket, and walk into the bar, pretending I don’t feel the anxiety. The loud, patronising music blares all around me as I try to focus enough to find my friends - a task made even more difficult by the only light being blaring blue. I weave around the tables and even scan the dance floor for a moment, but I can’t find anyone I recognise. Nervously, I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn it on. My breath hitches, but my screen is blank and I simply read the time, I’m ten minutes late. Someone should have been here before me. I make a beeline for an open table I spotted earlier and take my place there, my eyes fixate on the entrance. Five minutes pass. No one arrives. Ten minutes pass. Still no one. After fifteen minutes with no one arriving I dive onto my phone to check through the group chat to make sure I’m at the right place. I am. Why has no one come? Maybe this is all an elaborate trick? What if they actually can’t stand me and this is their way of telling me? My heart thumps within my chest, so strong I think my ribs might break. My breathing quickly turns into an unbridled calamity and I feel the sweat on my hands and underarms. I drop my phone onto the table and my eyes frantically fly around the bar needing something to focus on, anything. And that’s when I spot it. Prowling towards me, captured perfectly by the siren blue light is a flower. Blue and tucked neatly into the front pocket of a man’s suit. I stop breathing. I feel a noose tighten around my neck. My eyes draw upwards to meet his face. His moustache permeating his face and looks as if it is trying to break free from his stout nose. I can’t make out the colour of his eyes. But they are dead set on me. But they can’t be. I’ve never seen this man in my life. There’s no reason for him to be marching towards me. But he is. I’m sure that if I ignore him he’ll reveal he’s heading somewhere else. But I can’t break eye contact, and can’t move. And even worse he’s still walking towards me. My hand starts shaking, I need to go. Beware the man with the blue pocket flower. The text is right. I’m in danger. Never trust anyone. I abruptly rip my eyes away from him and will my legs to unfreeze. My head races as I scurry towards the entrance. People are entering the building obnoxiously slow, but I can’t afford to stop. If I stop he catches me. And if he catches me I might as well be dead. My shoulders clatter against everyone I’m squeezing through. Knowing people, they probably yell obscenities at me. But I can’t hear. I can only hear my breaths, as short and sharp as gunshots, and my heart thumping against my ribs. It’s nauseating. Even though I haven’t so much as ordered a drink I feel like I’ve downed a gallon of ethanol. I wobble to the side of the street and look out to the road, hoping that a taxi is near. But it’s just my luck that only regular cars populate the tarmac. I turn around to see if the man has followed me. Maybe he’s restricted to only the bar? Of course he isn’t. He trudges out, eyes flickering around before locking on me. His mouth opens but I don’t know what he says. It doesn’t matter what threats he makes. I need to get home. I turn from the road and begin to make my way back up the street which led me into the trap. I don’t want to run, what crazy person runs on a public street? But I force my legs to move at a pace I know isn’t sustainable. One, two. One, two. If I just keep counting I’ll be fine. One, two. One, two. Got to keep moving, can’t look back. One, two. One, two. Where is he? Am I getting further away? I have to know. Against my better judgement I turn around, and for a moment I think I’ve lost him. But then I see him, the flower still shining at me, like a tracking beacon. His arm is raised and there’s something in his hand. What is it? My head’s spinning. I think it’s a knife. Oh no. Please no. Not like this. I have to run. I have to go. I have to. I have... My head is as light as a feather. I feel like I’m falling, unable to find stability. My brain is a jumbled mess, I can’t make out any singular thought. Just “RUN”. I turn away from him. But all I see are blue flowers glaring at me. Everyone on the street has a blue flower in their front pocket, holding me in place. Any way I turn there it is, those luminous petals, like a poison seeping into my mind. There’s no escape from the danger. There’s no hope for a positive outcome. Everyone is after me. Everyone wants to hurt me. A hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder, at the moment of contact I jolt away and drop to the ground. My hands land on the wet pavement and it’s only now I notice the change in the weather. The flower looms over me, aiming at my head like a gun. I feel my jaw spasm as it tries to take in as much air as it can before I never breathe again. My eyes shut as I wait for the knife to strike me, and I feel. The water swimming beneath my hands. The rain trickling down my body and splashing between my fingers. The air, crisp and beautiful. I stop listening to myself and start listening to the city. The honking of car horns as they slide down the roads, footsteps of people enjoying their nights despite the weather, the patter of the rain, someone talking to me. Wait, someone’s trying to talk to me. I open my eyes and the first thing I realise is that I’m still alive, and then how drenched I am. But most surprising is the man with the blue pocket flower, his arm stretching out to me and offering to help me up. After a moment I realise he isn’t trying to do me harm, so I take it. ‘Here you go, you left this,’ he hands me the device he has in his other hand; my phone. ‘Oh, thank you,’ I take it, a look of bafflement still on my face. ‘You’re welcome, sorry if I freaked you out a little,’ I can’t find the words to respond. ‘We should head back inside, don’t want to catch a chill.’ ‘Uh huh, sure. Excuse me, but why were you walking to me in the bar?’ ‘I own the place. You were by yourself, just wanted to check that everything was okay.’ ‘Oh, well, thank you then.’ He flashes a smile and turns to walk back to his bar, ‘Are you coming?’ ‘I think I’m going to go home.’ ‘Have a nice night.’ But I don’t move immediately. I stand, soaking in the rain, trying to comprehend the events of tonight. Flowers no longer surround me when I look around, just grey buildings and a black road, which feels freeing. Why was I warned about the man with the blue pocket flower? I don’t bother going under a shelter before unlocking my phone. I swipe to my messages and read the two messages over. It hits me immediately. I don’t know who sent those messages but they made an error so obvious I can’t believe I was didn’t notice. Pat never calls me Andrew, in fact no one close to me calls me Andrew, always Andy. I smile, the relief of solving the mystery washing over me. But then the questions spiral and the smile fades fast. Why does this person have my name and number? How did they know I’m visiting the only place in the city where someone wears a blue pocket flower? Why didn’t my friends show up? Where are my friends?