She met him on a Thursday. Caution knew it was Thursday because Thursday was the day that she and Marylin skipped out on their bodyguards. The entire week before hand would be spent making elaborate plans and anticipating the enjoyment they were sure to get out of the whole enterprise.

It had started when the girls were about fifteen, with simple things like going into a restaurant bathroom, climbing through the window and sticking the guards with the bill. Soon after came wigs, hiding under tables and tear-away clothes for quick costume changes.

In an ally, on a Thursday, but Caution needed no weekly tradition to remember which ally. It was the only ally that Caution ever spent any time in: the L-shaped ally that ran beside and behind McPherson's. McPherson's was the kind of wholesome place where the bartenders didn't care who your parents were or what your name was. The only names that had any effect on them (or their opinion of serving alcohol to minors) were those of the dead presidents populating your wallet.

That particular Thursday had taken more than a week to plan, in part because they required help from other people and in part because the bodyguards had recently figured out that these things only happened on Thursdays and had beefed up security to compensate. Neither girl was sure who had come up with the bulk of the plan, and it didn't matter; it was brilliant and would accomplish everything that a Thursday Escape should: it was unnecessarily complex, it would drive the guards insane, and it would help Caution get her parents back for naming her Caution.

But the plan was no longer Caution's chief concern. It had worked, worked beautifully, and talk of it would keep her and Marylin occupied for the better part of ever, but right then, in the ally beside McPherson's, Caution's mind was buzzing with all the unseemly possibilities that could meet a young woman waiting alone in a dark place.

Caution and Marylin always used the ally entrance, and one of them always waited for the other to find them a table, and make sure the place was free of paparazzi. That night was Caution's turn to wait. She shivered and crossed her arms, and pretended not to notice the sudden lack of sound in the ally. She occupied herself by staring at a broken beer bottle,and when she looked up again, he was there.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Caution asked as abruptly as the man had appeared. Then she looked him over. “What's with the costume? You look like Batboy on steroids.”

Caution was not far off. The man at the end of the ally looked like a bad copy of something out of a silent horror film. He had a hooked nose, a bald head, pointed ears, thin, too-long fingers with longish black nails and pale, slightly green skin.

And he was just standing there. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he didn't even seem to breathe. He just stood there, staring.

Caution surveyed the ally in her mind. The only ways out were through the door into McPherson's—and she'd have to knock—and past him. She put on her best snob face, and a voice to match. “Can I help you?”

The man said nothing. He continued to stare, but not in the way that people usually stared at Caution. Caution's parents had been described as Hollywood's favourite on-again-off-again couple. They were insanely famous and Caution was therefore likewise. Being stared at came with the territory. But this was different somehow.

“Look, Creep—” Caution paused momentarily. “Do you mind if I call you Creep?” He didn't react and the smirk on her face quickly dissipated. She had thought it was funny. She made one last stab at the joke. “Mr. Creep, if you prefer.”

She was about to say something terribly witty and scathing, but the door opened up beside her, and she involuntarily turned when she heard the noise.

“All's clear, boss,” Marylin said in a mock whisper.

Caution looked back down the ally, and found out what she already knew to be true: the man had gone.

“Are you coming in or what?” Marylin asked. “Hey, what's with you? C'mon.”

Caution looked back down the ally, then went inside.

Two drinks later, the night's discussions found their way back to the Escape plan, and how unbelievably smoothly it had gone. It was a calculated risk to bring in outsiders, but it had definitely paid off. They had gone to Posh, a club after its own name, with all eight of their bodyguards. Six of the eight were Caution's and two belonged to Marylin, but neither girl was one hundred percent certain which guards went with which girl. At some point they noticed that Marylin's guards wore navy blue and Caution's wore black, but that wasn't much help in a dimly-lit club.

The girls had been seated in the VIP section of Posh, which—due to a well-paid plumber—did not at present have a separate bathroom. The main lady's bathroom had a window which opened into a far cleaner, friendlier ally than the one at McPherson's. The guards, as the girls had hoped, knew that the bathroom had a window that could be unlocked from the inside, and within twenty minutes of them leaving their table, all eight were gathered in the ally, waiting for the girls to make their escape. The twenty minutes had been well used, and with the aid of a bag of laundry left by a well-plied bartender, the girls left the bathroom, looking very much like a pair of male staff members. They walked into the kitchen, which opened into a different ally, opened the service entrance, and let in a tabloid photographer who was waiting for them. They then went into the men's room, and reemerged, looking like themselves. The photographer did not waste his chance to get a scandalizing photo on the girls leaving the men's bathroom, but the guests of Posh had not been so reserved. An entire crowd's worth of camera phones appeared, and the clicking began.

It was not until they started dancing, however, that the photographer had pulled out his camera. They had promised him a show, and they delivered, dancing to the end of the song, then wrapping their arms around each other, Marylin dipping Caution and bestowing her with a true, Hollywood-style kiss. The commotion the kiss had caused was enough to call all eight guards back into the club, and as they fought their way through the line and past the bouncers, Caution and Marylin escaped through the bathroom window.

“Definitely one for the history books,” Caution reflected over what was either her fifth or seventh drink.

“Yeah. It was so worth it. Your parents are going to kill you, though.”

“No, they'll be too distracted; I think they're getting divorced again this week.”

“Really? Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that. So soon after they got married again, too. Do you suppose there's a limit to the number of times you can marry the same person?”

“If there is, they'll be the ones to push it. Besides, they can do whatever they want. If it's illegal, their lawyers will find a way around it. But anyway, I wasn't serious. They're actually kind of getting along.”

“Well that's good to hear.”

“It's annoying as hell. At least when they're fighting, they like me. When they actually like each other, it's like I don't even exist. At least your parents had the decency to stay divorced.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish they'd remarry or something... My mom is always bringing home these guys that are like a year older than me... actually so is my dad, come to think of it.”

“You're dad's bringing home guys?”

Marylin punched her friend affectionately in the arm. “No!” She sobered a bit and added, “Do you think they've sent out the search parties yet?”

“I think if our guards have any brains whatsoever, they won't have told them yet. Besides, isn't Brad having that thing at his house tonight? Oh, I didn't tell you about my new friend.”

“New friend?” Marylin made suggestive motions with her eyebrows. “Go on, tell.”

“Oh, eww, not that kind of friend.” Caution proceeded to relate the story of her meeting with Mr. Creep.

Marylin looked suddenly serious. “You have to call the police. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Um, yeah, I think so,” Caution laughed.

“I mean without the costume.” Marylin sucked on the lime from her Rum and Coke thoughtfully. “You said he didn't look surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So he was probably waiting for you. Which means he knows we come here... and he didn't tell a bunch of friends and he didn't try to take your picture, which means he's probably another stalker.”

Caution pointed roughly at her shot glass, and waited for the bartender to fill it with whatever brown liquid he had in his hand. “No. I mean, I can't deal with that right now. Besides, what kind of stalker dresses up like a reject from a horror film? He probably didn't look surprised to see me because he didn't recognize me. He was probably just some drunken weirdo on his way home from a costume party.”

“In July?”

“Hey, you never know.”

“Well, just do me a favor, okay? When we leave, let's call the limo for a ride.”

Caution downed her shot and shook her head. “No way. No one knows we come here and with the possible exception of Nosferatu, no one who has seen us here cares. Right now, they probably think we look vaguely familiar... but if a limo shows up out front, they're going to figure it out.”

“Fine. Then call your guards—or I'll call mine—and we'll have them pick us up in a rental.”

“Alright. I guess we should get going pretty soon anyway; I don't want my parents thinking anything's up until they see that picture.” Caution dug her phone out of her purse, and pressed 1 with the speed dial button. “Hey, it's me... Yes, I'm fine, and so is Marylin. Got a question for you: have you talked to my parents?... Me either. Can you come and get us at a bar called The Purple Onion? You know it? Perfect... Oh, do us a favour and pick up a rental. The limo's a little too ostentatious for this part of town... Yeah, see you soon.” Caution folded her phone closed and returned it to her purse.

“The Purple Onion?”

“It's a strip joint down town.”

“And we're going there because...?”

“Because, for one, I want to mess with their heads, and two, I don't want them picking us up here, because I don't want them knowing where here is.”

Marylin sighed, motioned for the bartender, and paid the bill along with an indecently large tip. “So the plan is to walk downtown alone and stand in front of a strip club? Wonderful. How did you even find out about this place?”

“My dad met his second wife there.”

“No way.”

“It's true. That whole Victoria Secret thing—that happened after they were together.”

“Weird... Hey, don't try to change the subject. You're going to get us killed. We can't just go walking around the city, hanging out at strip clubs.”

Caution jumped down from her stool. “Coming?”

“Fine. But if that creepy guy from the ally shows up again, it's your fault.”

...

The creepy guy from the ally did show up again, but not that night. It was nearly two weeks, in fact, before he appeared at the bottom of the stairs that led down from Caution's bedroom balcony. It had rained all night, and there was a thick layer of mist rolling around the grounds. Caution looked out her window and decided immediately to go for a walk. She didn't bother getting dressed; she put on socks and a pair of comfortable but ugly sneakers, and headed down the metal stairs. They were wet with condensation, and twice Caution slipped and nearly fell.

Caution was already at the bottom of the flight when she spotted him. She thought about running back up it, but her bedroom door was locked, and if he chased, she didn't want to be up there fumbling with the key. She turned to face him, tried to look nonchalant, and deeply regretted not having called the police when Marylin first suggested it.

“Is there something you needed?” Caution asked, in the same tone as one might address a mosquito before squashing it.

The man stood there and said nothing. In the mist, it almost seemed like his costume wasn't a costume, like it was... him.

“Look, Mr. Creep, we've been through this already, and frankly, I'm bored. I've got a portable panic button, so my guards are already on the way. You'll want to be gone when they get here.”

Caution did have a portable panic button. The only problem was that it was sitting inside her locked bedroom, because wearing it made her feel like she needed it. Right then she did need it.

“You're trespassing, you know,” she said. “That's against the law no matter whose yard you're in.” Caution waited for any kind of reaction from the man, then finally screamed for Bob, and hoped that Bob wasn't one of Marylin's.

The sliding patio doors opened, revealing, not Bob, but Margarita, Caution's maid. “Is everything alright, Miss Caution?”

Caution turned to the door. “Call the police; this man's—” Caution stared into the mist. “—gone.”