A/N: Short chapter, I know, but it kind of has to be. More to come soon!
She found shelter behind a puzzle bark tree, the random ridges and lumps digging into her back. She held her breath and froze. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the light from the cabin. She turned her head slightly, strands of her hair snagging and tugging against the irregular roughness of the bark. Light suddenly streamed from the front door of the cabin. He knew she was gone. He was looking for her.
In that split second, while his eyes were still blind, adjusting to the pitch-black outdoors, she ran. Her bare feet were almost silent on the thick bed of decaying pine needles. She bolted behind another tree, pulling her shoulders and elbows in until she was thin as possible, invisible from behind the tree. With shallow, near-silent breaths, she peeked around the trunk. The cabin was completely dark. He was outside. He was coming for her.
The closest cabin was black and empty. She needed light. People. Help.
Looking both directions, she realized she was in trouble. The only lights she could see were across the fairway. It was dark beneath the trees, but the expanse of grass was lit by the silvery glow of a slivered moon and a million stars. If she tried to cross, he would see her.
She listened for sounds of pursuit - the snap of a dry twig, the shuffle of shoes through the undergrowth, the scurry of rodents fleeing before a predator. Nothing.
Her heart fluttered. . . What was that? Off the the left. . .
A man's shadow . . . or a low-hanging pine branch? It moved and her heart almost stopped. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the rustling hum of the forest around her.
Far off to the right, a popping, whooshing, watery sound made her jump. Sprinklers on the golf course. The second she identified the sound, she bolted. She flew across the grass, slippery-soft and cool beneath her scratched feet. Panic gave her speed. She fled like a bunny across the open space, scampering, feet barely touching the ground. The hawk was circling, searching, always searching, ready to swoop in and tear her tender belly open with its wicked beak.
She angled for the dark space between two cabins. 50 yards either direction. If he saw her cross the fairway, he would follow, but he would still have to choose. Splitting the odds. Fifty-fifty. She might survive the night. Fifty-fifty. Fifty-fifty. . .
Beneath the trees again, she melted into the black. From under the muffled hang of pine branches, creeping between the scratchy tangles of huckleberry bushes, she looked back. Nothing. The sprinklers burst to life directly behind her, a noisy shower soaking the grassy stretch. He would have to wait it out or go around.
She made her choice. Follow your heart. Left.
The cabin looked similar to the one she had escaped from, but quite a bit smaller. Single story with a loft. Lights were on, bright lights, and music. She was 30 yards away. Then 20. Should she call out? Knock on the door and ask for help? Sneak in and stow away until morning? She hovered outside the glow of safety, undecided. She only had minutes.
Somewhere behind her, the sprinklers shut off with a gurgle. Her ears tried to adjust to the new quiet, but her senses were jumbled. Maybe he was still at the cabin. . . but that was doubtful. Perhaps he was still searching the woods or the vacant cabins on his side of the fairway.
Crack!
She squealed when the branch popped less than five feet behind her. Desperately, she lunged for the light, but his hand closed over her upper arm. Her neck snapped forward and back, whiplashed by the sudden change of direction.
"Time to come home, little one," he spoke casually, the evil lurking oily and black beneath a false layer of civility. He turned her to face him. His features floated above her, ghost-white. Ghoulishly handsome. Almost demonic.
"No, no, no. Please, no. . ." she sobbed. She had failed. Again. And she knew he would not be lenient with her punishment.
His right hand snapped forward and she heard rather than felt his palm connect with her face. Ice bloomed across her cheek, but was quickly chased away by fire. She cried out and tried to pull away.
"Now," he hissed, pulling her closer. His clothes were soaked, dripping icy water down her front. She shivered from more than the cold. In that moment, she believed that he was going to kill her. He would squeeze the life from her, then bury her body in the forest beneath several feet of spongy, scratchy pine needles. She could already smell the rot and mold, the acrid stench of decaying pine needles, filling her sinuses and crawling down her throat.
Stunned, she allowed him to drag her along for several paces. But she didn't want to die. Not like this. She needed help.
She filled her lungs and screamed, the shrill, ringing cry of an animal in mortal danger. She defied him. She defied death.
A large callused hand closed over her nose and mouth. His other arm squeezed her chest, crushing the air from her lungs.
One scream. Just one. Did they hear?
The music stopped. An outdoor light came on. "Hello? Is anyone out there?" a man's voice called out.
She opened her mouth and bit into his fingers, catching her own tongue by accident, tasting blood, sweat and helpless terror. He let out a grunt of pain and tightened his grip, pulling her body against his torso. His chest was as hard as knotted pine.
Two figures stepped out onto the porch, heads swiveling, searching for the source of the sound. She pleaded with her eyes and mewling whimpers. A beam from a flashlight swung around the small clearing. The light was weak. Ineffective. She heard questions from the cabin interior. . . muttering. . . . a few more half-hearted inquiries. . . but the woods kept their secrets.
Minutes later the door closed. The light turned off. Silence returned.
Her hope drained and took her fight with it.
He dragged her on a path perpendicular to their original one. Her vision turned red as her body burned through the last of its oxygen. Her muscles weakened. He heaved her limp body up over his shoulders and walked, silent as a shadow, carrying her back into the nightmare.
For real
For show
As monsters
Lurk sideways
Angels fear not
Above or below
-Rebadams7
A/N: Thanks, Rebadams7. This little poem gave me chills. SO perfect for the tone of this chapter!