When I was sixteen I had a crush on the star quarterback of my high school football team. His name was Peter Simmons and he was stunning; I mean indescribably beautiful. The guy should have been on display at the Vizcaya Museum & Gardens, with a little sign posted next to him that read Adonis.
Before then, I didn't even know what a football was, but the sight of him stepping off the field – tall, sweaty and looking damn sexy with those streaks of black under his eyes – turned me into an avid fan. So there I was, cheering for him at every single game even though I didn't know a touchdown from a first down….or whatever. Hell, I once lost $5, betting on whether or not our team would make the game winning field goal, and then I lost another $5 on the instant replay. Pretty sad, but we love sick girls will take an interest in just about anything if it brings us closer to the object of our affection.
Come to find out that Peter had a tea cup poodle named Tasselhoff VanRipkin, though Pete always called him Taz because it sounded macho. He would carry that dog around with him everywhere he went; kept it in a bright blue canvas bag, and let me tell you, that dog was anything but macho. Neither was Pete. I later discovered that my high school crush was as gay as the day is long.
On the bright side, once I came to terms with the fact that he and I were not going to get married, live in a mansion and have half a dozen babies, he and I, and even little Tasselhoff – God rest his fluffy soul – became the best of friends.
What's my point?
My point is that nothing in my life, not a single, God damn thing, goes according to plan.
Take the oil lamp for instance. When I threw that thing I expected an explosion. It's oil, it's flammable and I threw a big container of it. Kaboom, right?
Wrong; it was a great shot, there was no denying that, but when the lamp shattered, there was no flare-up. The oil ignited and a fire started; I even got some on that hideous thing and it did catch fire. Unfortunately, so did the bed, the door and pretty much the entire cabin; it all went up like a book of matches.
"Get out, get out," Jackson kept yelling as he grabbed hold of my arm.
I couldn't help but wonder if I had done the right thing. It was gone, but we couldn't stay here. Did that qualify as a victory or a defeat? I don't know…story of my life, I guess.
I couldn't think. I was being dragged toward the window, coming to an abrupt stop when my hip collided with the dresser; bone meeting wood, never a good thing. I wanted to smack Jackson, or at the very least, give him a thank you for the giant bruise that was no doubt forming at this very moment.
But as I kept on moving and I heard the sound of glass crunching beneath my feet, I felt compelled to look down.
I saw a picture; a picture that should have meant nothing to me, but given the circumstances, I thought it was highly significant. There were three men, two I recognized as the ill fated hunters, whose bodies would be left to burn, but the third troubled me. His presence alone was disconcerting because it got my mind going in a hundred different directions – who was he, where was he – but there was something else, something I couldn't quite place.
He was the same height as the others, rugged, with unruly hair and a thick beard. Maybe it was the Grizzly Adams thing he had going on that made him seem familiar, but before I had time to think about it, I was shoved through an open window. After the cold air hit me like a punch in the face, the only thought that lingered was the whereabouts of this mystery man and for his sake, I hope he didn't accompany his friends on their hunting trip; at least, not this time.
I landed in the snow, which was already starting to accumulate, and when I looked around, all I could see was black and white. The sun had set and according to my panic stricken mind, it should have been dark, but the snow seemed to have its own peculiar luminescence, not to mention a playful spirit; light flakes would dance through the air one minute, and then turn to sleet, driven by the heavy winds, pelting me and making me feel as if my skin were about to freeze and split open the next. And throughout its relentless attack, it spoke to me with a voice all its own; a distinctive hiss, a constant reminder, in case I had somehow managed to forget, that I was doomed.
I was also painfully aware that Jackson's leather jacket, which had been fine when the sun was out, just wasn't cutting it anymore. I closed my eyes and wished that I was back home, viewing the harsh winter weather the way God had intended; via photographs while lounging on the beach drinking a Seabreeze.
"Lindsay!" I called, unable to see more than five feet in front of me and suddenly terrified because she had been out here all this time on her own.
I didn't get an answer.
"Jackson!" I yelled next, because he should have been right behind me.
I took a few steps forward and then stopped, realizing that if it weren't for the burning building, I would have not point of reference.
And I had yet to hear a reply from anyone.
Please, please somebody answer.
I hated this feeling…needing comfort and reassurance; not being dead inside. I spent so much time simplifying my life, pushing people away, because I was afraid of what might happen if I allowed them in. If you let yourself have friends, if you have hopes and dreams, they can be taken away. But if you hang onto nothing, if you don't have high expectations, you can't be disappointed. There's a relative safety in that.
That's what I always told myself; that I could handle it all on my own. But it seems that no matter what I do and how hard I try, I always end up needing people and I didn't want to be out here alone. I wouldn't make it through the night by myself and despite my morose attitude, I didn't want to die.
I started to dwell on the decision I had made; part of me wishing we could have stayed in that cabin, mutilated bodies and all, because it would have been warmer, though not necessarily safer. The other part wondered if the fire was a good thing. Even if the beast wasn't as flammable as that poorly built shack, maybe the fire itself would draw some attention?
But would it? There were no trees in the immediate area. The ground was damp and now covered with a layer of snow. There weren't exactly a lot of people around; would the fire just burn itself out and go unnoticed?
One inhuman cry and I was ready to move. I had no idea plan of action, I couldn't even see, but I knew one thing for certain, if that creature was heading left, I was going right. It was as simple as that. And I tried to convince myself that if I couldn't see it, it couldn't see me; that's the way it's supposed to work…right?
Again, not exactly, because I saw it come tearing around the corner of the cabin, a pillar of yellow and orange as it headed straight toward me. Acting on impulse, I did the stupid thing. I put my head down and ran for my life, having no idea where I was or where I was going.
I ran until the cold air made it nearly impossible to breathe. I ran until something stopped me. A log, a rock, I didn't know what it was; only that it tripped me up and caused me to land flat on my face. When I got up and turned around, there was nothing; no monster, no burning cabin, just a wall of white and me, Lisa Reisert, in the middle of frickin' nowhere.
Looking towards my feet, wondering what had brought me down; I was crushed to see Lindsay's back pack. "Oh God, please no," I whimpered as I picked it up and clutched it to my chest. Not them, not the last two good people on the face of the earth…
As quickly as it started, my rest ended. In the distance, but way too close for comfort, a yellow and orange flame emerged and even though I stood there, completely motionless, it came toward me. I could hear the cries, partially obscured by the howling wind, and swinging that backpack over my shoulders, because I would probably need the supplies it carried, I ignored my burning lungs and ran again.
Cold, tired and disheartened, I kept looking over my shoulder, and each time I looked, the flame was closer. It was only a matter of time, but I kept on going, and eventually, I didn't bother looking over my shoulder at all. Whatever was going to happen would happen; nothing I could do would change that.
Of course, I still screamed like a banshee when something grabbed me from behind. I felt hot breath on the back of my neck and then I went down, landing face first in the snow for a second time, only now, there was a crushing weight on top of me.
"Lisa…Leese," I heard Jackson yell as he rolled me onto my side. "What are you doing? You almost ran into the brook."
Sure enough, when I quieted down and cleared my head enough to actually listen, I could hear the running water. If he hadn't stopped me, I would have gone right in.
"You okay?" he asked, and all I could see were those eyes; the ones that could focus and guide him through near white-out conditions through sheer force of will. In his right hand, he carried one of those infamous table legs, the flame it issued casting him in a warm light that made him appear otherworldly.
And now I, the one who had been so desperate to be heard moments ago, couldn't answer. I just shook my head and covered my face, because it wasn't the cold weather and raging winds that were causing my eyes to water.
"I thought I was alone," I finally managed, remembering another time when I had been forced to lay on unforgiving ground and had felt a heavy weight pressing against me. I had done a lot of listening that day…while I waited for it to end.
I remembered the footsteps that approached leisurely, then halted. I remember how I turned my head and saw her. I didn't know her, had never seen her before but when our eyes met, I issued a silent plea for help. There was nothing more I could do.
Her jaw dropped and she ran; she just ran away. I thought she must be going for help; that she would run back to the store, call 9-1-1, or scream because I couldn't, not with a knife at my throat. That hope of rescue was the only thing that got me through it. I kept telling myself to be strong, just hold on; help would be here any minute.
But then it was over. He lifted himself off of me, acting as calm as could be, and even had the nerve to apologize.
"Sorry," he told me. "I'm not a bad guy, I just have these urges."
Well, thank you very much. That makes me feel much better.
He hopped into his van and took off. The woman who had seen us was of no concern to him because apparently, he knew more about human nature than I did. He knew she'd rather run away than get involved. He was right; help never came.
And there I was, laying on the hot asphalt trying to sort it all out, wondering why the parking lot that had been so busy just one hour ago, forcing me to park closer to Cuba than the entrance to the super market, was now deserted. Wondering why I had been targeted by an apologetic rapist and why no one had come to my aid.
It took time for me to notice my physical injury; the scar I'll wear for the rest of my life. When I did, I sat up and began to gather my belongings. After he had pulled the knife, I had dropped my purse, spilling the contents in a hundred different directions. I don't know why, but I became obsessed with collecting every last item, as if they represented the pieces of my life and if I could just put things back where they belonged…
The moment was surreal. All of this transpired in less than ten minutes. Ten minutes and I was turned into a husk; nothing but a shadow of my former self.
My groceries were still in my shopping cart, waiting for me beside my car, my ice cream melting in the summer sun, and I started thinking about how my parents would react, how hurt they would be if they knew what had happened.
By the time I picked up my wallet, I knew what I was going to do.
I took the cash out, held it in the air and when the next strong breeze came, I let it go. When I called my father from the emergency room an hour later, I told him I'd been robbed at knifepoint. Silly me, I had put up a fight and earned a slash across the chest for my efforts.
"But I got my credit cards back," I misleadingly boasted.
He was furious, "if someone pulls a knife and asks for your money; give it to them, Leese, don't resist."
"Sorry, Dad; it will never happen again."
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, and little did I know he would ask me that same question five times a day, everyday, for the rest of my natural life.
"Yes, I'll be fine," I told him, secretly worried that he would turn to me at any moment and say, 'something's not adding up, Leese."
Well, if he had any suspicions, he never voiced them, although he did insist on staying with me that night and in retrospect, that was probably a good thing.
It was a hard night. I woke up every hour feeling sick to my stomach and I spent the better part of what should have been restful hours, sobbing into my pillow, afraid that my father would hear.
But I needed him to be there that night. I didn't want to be alone.
I don't want to be alone…
"And obviously, you're not. Come on, Leese. Get up."
He pulled me to my feet, but didn't break my train of thought entirely. I wish he had. Right now I was stuck with the horrid realization that I spend the majority of my time both angry and frustrated beyond words, or feeling cheated in one way or another. What kind of a life was that?
The only thing that did catch my attention was his tone of voice. Sarcastic, which was not unusual for him, but a little too mocking; the voice he uses when he needs to hide because he's actually feeling human emotions.
Our eyes met and I saw...I don't know what I saw, concern, compassion? Before I could take a closer look, he turned away.
"Emmitt and Lindsay, have you seen them? Are they nearby?" I asked frantically, calling an abrupt end to my pity party and praying that we hadn't been separated so early in the game. She had made a comment earlier, something like, 'it was always here, it never left,' and I wanted to know what she meant by that. Actually, I wanted to pump that girl for information because she seemed to know a hell of a lot more about this thing than Jackson and I did.
"Up there," he said, and in the distance, farther away than I would have liked, I saw another orange light. "I told them we would catch up."
That last sentence floored me. Jackson Rippner had gone out, by himself, in search of me; madness. And I started to wonder what would have happened if he had been in the parking lot that day. If, while walking to his car, he had seen what was happening, would he have gotten involved?
I think the answer is yes. How's that for ironic?
"Jackson….thanks. Thanks for coming back."
And that was enough. Anything more would have left both of us feeling awkward.
He looked at me, using a devilish grin as his response. It shouldn't have made me feel uncomfortable, but it did. Not even I could ignore the power of that smirk, probably because it drew attention to those gorgeous lips of his. I know it sounds bizarre, but with those extraordinary baby blues, his long eyelashes, and flawless skin, I can't decide if I'm attracted to him, or jealous.
I could have stood out there, admiring him all night, and knowing him, he would have allowed it, but the sound of splashing water just beyond our field of vision wiped the smile from his face and set both of us in motion.
"Get down," he hissed, as if I actually needed him to tell me that hiding would be a good idea, and he dragged me behind a grouping of shrubs, plunging the torch into the snow and dousing the flames. "I don't think it saw us."
"What are we going to do?" I whispered while I watched that second light, Emmitt and Lindsay, fading away.
"Shh, don't make a sound."
We both kept our mouths shut. I hardly even breathed, not wanting to risk being heard.
I could hear it out there, trudging through the snow, little more than a yard away. Neither one of us dared look; we stayed there, huddled together, perfectly silent, waiting for it to move along.
It seemed like an eternity. For the longest time it just stood there, sniffing the air. I thought for sure that nose would lead it right to us and when I turned my head, I saw Jackson, his eyes wide like saucers and his hand resting on his leg, ready to pull that knife if it came to that.
Then I heard a snort come from directly above us. It was there, just beyond the bushes and for once, I was thankful for that bone chilling wind; the only thing that prevented this beast from pin pointing our exact location. I heard it growl, probably in frustration because it could smell us all around, knew we were close, but just couldn't seem to find us.
Please, God; don't let it look down.
Jackson finally turned to me, both of us suppressing a need to scream when it moved again, stepping to the side of the bushes and moving ahead.
Without prompting, I scurried to the other side of those shrubs, crouching out of sight incase that thing decided to look over its shoulder; Jackson did the same.
But it didn't look back. It kept walking ahead and my heart sank when I realized it was following the light of Emmitt's torch like a beacon.
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Author's Note: Finally… I have updated this story! I hope it was worth the wait.
Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thanks to everyone who took the time to read and/or review.
I know we're all concerned about Emmitt and Lindsay, but keep in mind these are tough, resourceful kids. Besides, Jackson and Lisa needed a little one-on-one time, don't you agree?