Finally freeing herself from the crowd, Claire stopped to catch her breath and took a moment to regain a sense of her surroundings. There were fewer people here which should have made it easier to spot her target, but it was as though he had vanished into thin air. Believing that might have happened, Claire tried to squash the feelings of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her.

What if he was gone for good?

What if she never got that box back?

That's when she spotted him.

About two blocks ahead of her she could make out the briskly walking figure of the man she had set out to find.

Claire's feet moved of their own accord, carrying her forward against the cold bite of the wind and the snow.

They went on this way for several minutes, one pursuing, the other unknowingly escaping. He seemed to be growing closer, however, and Claire wondered if he was slowing down. As if she had been shouting her thoughts to the night, the man turned sharply and disappeared from view.

Fearing she was going to lose him yet again, Claire broke out into a run.

As she neared the spot where the man had vanished, she wasn't sure which was louder: the sound of her feet against the pavement, or the violent hammering of her heart in her chest.

Turning the corner she let out a startled cry when she ran into something - or rather someone. Stumbling backwards, her heel caught against an uneven piece of concrete and she found herself falling, arms pin wheeling through the air before two strong hands emerged from the shadows. They curled around her forearms, steadying her and keeping her upright. The quick action prevented an incident that would have undoubtedly left her wet, aching and embarrassed.

Not that she wasn't embarrassed anyway.

When Claire had left the theatre, it had been with the intent to retrieve what the man now staring down at her had stolen. Perhaps even give him a piece of her mind while she was at it. When her eyes met his, all her earlier spit and fire fizzled out almost instantly. The intense steel like gaze he turned on her was not restricted to the color of his eyes, but the temperament as well.

Needless to say, he did not look pleased.

This annoyed her. What did he have to be upset about? It wasn't his theatre that had gotten ransacked. It wasn't his workroom that looked like a war zone, or his box that had gotten stolen. If anyone should be mad, it was her.

"Is there something else you needed?"

The impatient indifference of his tone caused Claire to bristle. The man's arrogance was unparalleled. It took her a moment, but Claire finally found the words that had been lost when she'd run into him.

"Yes," she said at last, extending a hand towards him. "That box, it's mine. I'd appreciate it if you gave it back."

For a long while he simply stared at her blankly and Claire found herself wondering if he had understood her. He had been speaking English hadn't he?

"Go home," he said at last. "If you know what is good for you, you'll go home."

Was he threatening her? His tone hadn't sounded threatening. Tired maybe, but not threatening. Before she could think of a proper reply, he spoke again.

"Now, are you quite finished wasting my time? If so, I will be on my way," he concluded before turning to leave. His abrupt departure made it clear that he was not interested in whatever answer she might come up with for he was clearly finished with her.

Maybe she should just go home as he has recommended. What if it was for the best?

What about the box?

Claire scowled and stalked after him. If he wasn't going to give her what she wanted, she would follow him around until he did. When she was a child her grandmother always told her that persistence was the key to success. If she wanted something, she had to work hard and stay focused.

When applying that ideology to this situation, Claire concluded that eventually he would get tired of her following him and give in to her demands if only to be rid of her.

It might not have been the greatest of strategies, but it was the only one she had and she was determined to make the best of it.

For the second time that night, Claire found herself trailing after the strange man in the top hat. This time she stayed closer in her pursuit, though she did make sure to maintain what she felt was an adequate distance. Where earlier she had been hoping for the element of surprise, at this point it felt silly to make her shadowing of him a secret.

If he did notice her presence he gave no indication of it, not a glance, or even a change in his step. Claire wasn't sure if she should feel slighted by his obvious show of disinterested, or grateful that he hadn't tried to confront her again.

After following him for several blocks with no change in his course, Claire began to wonder if he had an actual destination. Was he simply leading her along until she finally gave up? It was a sound ploy. If it hadn't been for the strange events back at the theatre she likely would have given up by now.

While Claire liked to believe her current actions were driven by some noble desire to ensure her mother's memory was honored, she was also struck by a nagging curiosity. Now that the rush of the moment had passed, and she could think more clearly, she had questions.

Lots of questions.

What had that creature been? Why had he appeared when he had and seemed totally unconcerned when she indicated there was trouble inside the theatre? What exactly happened in that place? Why did he want her box?

Claire was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice right away that the stranger was gone. With tall buildings lining either side of the street, and the next crossroads nearly a block ahead, Claire couldn't believe he had disappeared so quickly.

An odd sense of unease welled up in her chest as she once again found herself racing towards the last known location of the man. In that moment she didn't care about the theatre, or the box, she only cared about validation that she hadn't been imagining things. She needed answers and he was the only one who could give them to her.

In her haste, Claire nearly missed the narrow alley that opened up between two of the tall, modern steel and glass buildings. As she backed tracked and took a moment to peer down the narrow pathway, she saw movement in the shadows.

Confident it was him, Claire hurried into the darkness without a second thought.

A part of her was concerned that if she didn't move quickly she would lose him, and the other part was worried that if she gave herself too much time to think she wouldn't have the courage to follow through with this craziness. Who in their right mind followed a stranger fifteen blocks, in the middle of the night in New York City?

No one.

Claire didn't let that notion slow her down. In the end it wouldn't have to. After just a few yards it was evident, even in the darkness, that the alley came to a dead end. Claire stopped several feet shy of the stone wall and frowned.

She was alone.

But how?

Had she just imagined seeing movement down here? Perhaps in her desperation her eyes had played tricks on her. There was no way he had snuck past her. The alley was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side without touching each other, or the walls on either side.

As she stared at the emptiness ahead of her, Claire felt disappointed by this unexpected turn of events. What was she going to do now? She was definitely not going back to the theatre, not tonight, probably not tomorrow either. The thought that more of those creatures might be waiting was enough to make her feel anxious again.

With a defeated sigh, and no small amount of disappointment, Claire turned to go. A startled gasp escaped her as she stopped just short of running into the lurking figure of her odd savior. He was staring down at her with a coolness in his eyes that sent chills through her.

"I thought I told you to go home," he stated dryly.

For a moment Claire struggled with how to respond. His earlier impatience had been replaced with a poorly hidden smile. It wasn't the sort of smile that indicated happiness or joy. On later reflection, Claire would conclude that it had been a knowing smile. The sort of smile that suggested his amusement lay not in her persistence, for that had undoubtedly annoyed him, but in something he knew and Claire did not.

"I told you that I wasn't leaving until you gave me my box back," Claire replied while also motioning towards the box he held under his arm. She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn't help herself. The man was downright frustrating. "I'm going to follow you wherever you go until you do. So save us both the trouble and just give it back."

Claire made a grab for the box only to have him turn smoothly and pull the box of reach. In the same movement he had stepped closer and now practically stood on top of her. His smile never wavered as he regarded her further. The expression was unsettling, but not as much as the silence that lingered. It was in that moment that Claire wondered if she had gone and followed some sort of Jack the Ripper copycat.

Would this be how she died?

Alone in an alley on Christmas Eve?

"Suit yourself," he said at last, his words accompanied by a shrug. He stepped past her and strolled nonchalantly towards the wall. Claire let out the breath she had been holding and clenched her fists into tight balls. Anger replaced the fear and she turned sharply on her heel.

"Now you listen here," she snapped. "I'm done playing games. Either you give me the box or I am going to call the police."

To add more weight to her threat, Claire reached into her pocket to pull out her phone only to remember she had left it behind.

"If you insist on being here, could you at least try to be quiet?" He asked without looking back at her. She opened her mouth to reply and he held up a lone finger to silence her.

"Wait," he said and then pulled something out of his pocket. It was a pocket watch, the face gleaming in what little light was able to filter down into the alley from above. He examined it for a moment and then snapped it closed before returning it to his pocket.

Claire was about to speak again when she heard the high pitched whistle of a train cut through the silence. It was faint, as though coming from a long distance away, and at first Claire thought she was hearing things. There were no trains in this area, and there were none close enough to hear with such clarity, even on a quiet even such as this.

Frowning, Claire started to turn to see if he heard the sound. As she did, she caught a glimmer of light out of the corner of her eye. Looking back, Claire stared long and hard at the wall. Was she seeing things now too? Her eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness and she could make out the lines of mortar separating each brick.

Without warning, the mortar itself began to form tiny cracks, allowing flickering glimmers of silver light to spill through. As the cracks grew larger and the light brighter, the undeniable sound of the train whistle grew louder, and closer.

Beside her, the stranger simply watched impassively, as though such a sight was commonplace.

Maybe he wasn't seeing it.

Maybe it was just a figment of her imagination.

Maybe he was just a figment of her imagination.

Claire reached out to touch the wall which was now flaking away and dissolving into nothing right before her eyes.

"I wouldn't," the man said calmly. Claire's hand stopped inches away from the light which, oddly enough, did not illuminate her hand, or the alley. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why, but instead of questioning him, Claire let her hand fall to rest at her side and simply stared in wide-eyed awe at the scene unfolding before her.

As the light rippled and shimmered, Claire could make out the loud rattling clank of metal against metal and feel the vibrations through the soles of her sneakers.

There was no way this was a dream. She was not that creative. Her dreams consisted of dancing cats or going on vacations and realizing after you've arrived that you don't have any of your luggage.

Whatever this was, Claire knew without a doubt that she was awake.

As the brick wall faded entirely, Claire could not believe what she was seeing.

It was a train.

A train! In the middle of New York.

A train that had no right being there.