She loved the city at times like this, when its ceaseless noise was for once hushed, muted by the new snow as it covered all the grit and dirt beneath a cold, clean, new blanket. The colored lights and exuberant noise from a couple of the late-night bistros along the way poured out into the street, giving the scene a festive, holiday feel. But the street was empty, and she was alone. That was especially true when she turned a corner and entered a block of empty office buildings.

Catherine Goldman never saw the taxicab pull out from the curb a block and a half behind her. Its headlights were off and the street was poorly lit. Besides, she was lost in her thoughts of the evening and didn’t hear the vehicle accelerate as it speeded toward where she walked.

Fifty feet behind her, the cab abruptly swerved to its right, hopped the curb, and rocketed down the narrow sidewalk, gaining speed.

Catherine sensed more than heard the racing auto. By the time she looked over her shoulder, the raging monster was nearly on top of her. Instinctively, she leaped to her right as quickly as she could, diving into an empty, recessed doorway. The cab’s operator seemed to anticipate the move and careened in the direction she jumped.

When she hit the cement, she rolled in a heap, trying to get as close to the glass door as she could jam herself, all the while expecting to feel the impact of the vehicle’s bumper striking her full force, shoving her against the building, crushing her.

The frenzied cab roared past her, pinned to the building’s facade, its sheet metal and side mirror sending a shower of sparks and bits of glass raining down amid the snowflakes as it scraped along the brick wall. Whatever madman was behind the wheel of the thing, he was doing everything possible to get into the nook of the doorway and find her.

The car never stopped, though, as it scrubbed noisily down the brick side of the building. It clipped a row of garbage cans and sent a large blue mailbox spinning out into the street, spewing letters, before it disappeared around the next corner. It trailed blue exhaust smoke and more sparks from the rear bumper that now dragged on the pavement.

Several people who had just stepped from a bar up the street ran in Catherine’s direction, attracted by all the noise and smoke and sparks. Two of the men reached to help her up from the doorway, asking if she was okay.

“I’m…uh…fine,” she stammered, and tried to make a weak joke about New York cabdrivers.

With their help, she rose, her knees shaking uncontrollably. Once she was in control of her breathing, of her quaking legs, she assured them that she was all right. Still, they insisted on calling the police and stayed with her until they arrived.