Page 59 of Cruel Cravings

Approaching the trees, I glance back long enough to watch him reach the bottom stair. He stands there a second, his head tilting to the side as if savoring the hunt that’s about to begin.

Then he moves.

He explodes into a run, quickly gathering speed.

Fresh terror surges through me. I plunge into the woods, branches whipping at my face. The trees block my path forward, one after another as I zigzag between them, making my escape.

Even the slightest mistake could cost me my head start.

There’s no time to linger or hesitate. I can’t stop to figure out a game plan. I have to get as far away from Brontë as possible.

My lungs ache the farther I go. My legs churn as fast as they can carry me. The pistol’s loose in my clammy grip, the only lifeline I have left.

The rest of my things are at the cabin. Going back would mean facing the exact person I’m fleeing.

I lose track of time and place.

The wooded area blurs until everything looks the same. Trees and more trees. Thick brambles and berry bushes that spread out like an untamed wall. Squirrels and rabbits occasionally flitting past. Sunlight that pierces through the canopy of leaves and branches overhead.

I gasp for air as my lungs burn and my legs finally lose steam. I come to a stumbling halt, seeking balance from the tree closest on my left.

My body feels like it’s on fire. I’ve run so fast for so long that I’m drenched in sweat.

For a while, I lean against the trunk, wheezing and aching with a stitch in my side.

A stillness has fallen over the woods. I’m no longer running for my life; as far as I can tell, Brontë’s no longer on my tail.

Has he stopped chasing after me?

I gulp down more air and push off the frayed trunk, standing up straight. My eyes scan the area, taking inventory of every inch as far as I can see. He’s nowhere in sight. He’s vanished like he has so many times before.

I look down at the pistol I’ve held onto and remember how it’d jammed on the third shot I tried to take.

Clutching it tighter, I fumble with the chamber. My hands shake trying to clear the jam, the metal biting back. A sharp sting shoots through my fingers and I swear out loud.

“Damn it!” I hiss, blinking away frustrated tears.

I’m on edge, panicky and shaky as I grapple with the pistol some more and finally free the bullet lodged in the chamber.

The way things have been going, I’ll probably need this bullet.

I should’ve loaded up before I ever answered the door for the deputy. I should’ve grabbed one of the rifles with the full magazines.

Birds squawk from overhead, flying from one branch to another. I look up at them and then the sky. The sun hangs high, but soon it’ll start to sink. Twilight will arrive followed by night and all its shadows.

The perfect setting for a monster like Brontë.

“Shit,” I breathe. I lean back against the tree and close my eyes. “You have to focus. You have to figure out a plan.”

He might be out of sight, but I know him well enough to know he’s not gone. He’s lurking somewhere, biding his time, practicing patience.

The moment my defenses are lowered, he’ll pounce.

Every sound, however distant and faint, makes my stomach clench. I become convinced it’s Brontë playing mind games.Brontë wanting to confuse me or terrify me more than he already has.

“Focus,” I whisper. “Focus.”

Slipping the pistol into the waistband of my jeans, I stand up straight and devise a plan. I start back the way I came, intentionally making noise. Twigs snap under my boots and leaves rustle as I brush past them.

---