I'm sorry I'm uploading this AGAIN!!! I was looking over this chapter and decided it needed a little something to show you just how bad off Laney is right now. I added a paragraph and a little at the end, so make sure you read all of it. Thanks for bearing with me! This is the last time, I swear!!
My name is Laney Watson. I'm 18 years old and I am on the run from a twisted psychopath. I have been for the past one and a half miserable years. I don't know his name, why he picked me, or how he keeps finding me. I don't know his name; I call him Stalker, because that's what he does. I leave town without anyone knowing and don't decide where to go until I get to the train or bus station; I pay for the tickets with cash, and still he finds me.
I was happy once. I had a life, I had friends. I had a safe home with a family who loved me. Now, I don't have a life. I have no home, no family, no friends. No one loves me. I can't recall happiness. I'm scared, angry, helpless, lonely, sad, tired, and cold. So cold, all the time. I forgot what it feels like to be warm. I miss my family. What does a hug feel like? A kiss, a smile, a laugh? I can't remember.
Eighteen months is a long time to be completely alone and never stay in one place for more than a month. It used to be longer, between times that he found me. The last time, two days ago, I had been in LA for less than two weeks before he showed up again. How do you escape someone who can find you in one of the biggest cities in the country? The answer: you can't.
So as I stop in this small Washington town, again picked at random, abandoning my shamefully stolen car on the edge of town, I find myself with just three choices.
1. Stay here, wait for him to find me, and let him have me. One of two things will happen: he will do what he wants to me and maybe leave me alone, or he will kill me. Either way, he won't be a problem anymore.
2. Buy a gun from the black market and kill him. I would not have a problem killing him – he has made my life a living hell and I would love to see him dead – but I have doubts as to my accuracy with a weapon. I've seen him move, and he is very fast, and it is difficult to hit a moving target. Add to that the fact that I have terrible aim, and I don't have much confidence that I would be successful.
3. Attempt to kill him, and if that doesn't work, kill myself before he can touch me. It's hard to miss when the barrel of a gun is pressed against your target.
So really, I have two choices. Let him have me, or kill myself. I was brave at the beginning, but being stalked and terrorized for this long has a way of removing nearly every feeling but fear. I still have my anger, and a small amount of hope that I might someday get out of this mess. I do not want to die. I haven't yet reached the point of not caring whether he wins, but I'm tired of being afraid. And I can't live like this anymore.
This will be the end of me.
I might as well put this here: Overture, noun: an introductory part; prelude; prologue.
