Where the Rain Keeps Falling

The rain came down in silence. Drops drenched the almost empty city streets, while the streetlamps spilled a yellow glow over the wet asphalt. In the corner of an alley, a young woman stood gripping a brown folder that was starting to get damp. Her breaths came short and uneven. She kept looking back over her shoulder, as though someone were trailing her. "If anything happens to me..." Her hands shook as she slid an envelope into a station locker. "...don't trust anyone." Click. The locker was shut. Seconds later, footsteps echoed close by. The woman ran. But before she could reach the end of the street, every light in the alley abruptly went dark. Someone said her name in a soft voice. "Alya..." Then everything went quiet. The next morning, the police found nothing but a broken black umbrella and bloodstains already being washed away by the rain. Alya had vanished. No witnesses. No culprit. Only a locker that had stayed unopened for three years.