Page 17 of Hide and Seek
Jacob Fisher is dead. The police report was real, and so was the autopsy report I found. I also know for sure that the man he was working for is dead since he was a high-profile figure andit was all over the news, but that damn email proved that this nightmare isn’t over.
Another prickle of unease dances up my spine, and I instinctively look around. Obviously my room is empty, but that feeling of being watched is getting stronger. Slowly, I stand and go to my window. I’m on the third floor, and my window faces the woods. There’s literally nothing around me except trees, rocks, and dirt, but I still can’t shake the sensation that someone is out there watching me.
I could close my curtains, but for some reason, I don’t want to. Closing them feels like I’m giving in to my fear, but there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want to give whoever might be out there the satisfaction of shutting them out if they are watching. It’s stupid and reckless, but how I react to this situation is one of the few things in my life I still have any control over.
Not giving in to my fear and choosing to not live like a hermit in the dark is the only form of rebellion I have right now, so I’m running with it. I’ll probably regret my choice later, but maybe I won’t.
A memory of that dark figure in the woods hits out of nowhere, and so does the little rush of excitement I felt not only in that moment but every time I think about it.
The fear and panic were real, and so was the intense sense of dread, but under it was something I’m not sure I want to even acknowledge, let alone unpack.
Running away from that figure, whether they were a real or perceived threat, was thrilling in a way I didn’t even know was possible, and the adrenaline and dopamine hit it gave me was a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I have no clue why.
I’m not the type who likes to be scared. I don’t like horror movies, I hate being jump-scared, and pranks are the bane of my existence, especially after growing up with two siblings wholoved to team up to fuck with me because they knew how much I hated it. But for some reason, the thought that I was literally running for my life and away from someone who might want to hurt me wasn’t just exciting. It was exhilarating.
Shaking my head, I turn away from my window and go to my computer. I’ve got enough going on right now that worrying about a weird reaction to being scared isn’t high on my priority list.
I’m still dealing with the hacker who invaded my system, I’m still trying to find that original video file, and now I have to worry about more blackmailers coming out of the woodwork on top of the stress of just trying to survive at this school and get out as unnoticed and unscathed as possible.
The only change I’ve made in case someone really is watching me through my window is that I’ve shifted my desk so my computer screens aren’t visible from it. They don’t need to see what I’m working on, but if they want to watch me walk around and hang out and even sleep, that’s a them issue.
Once I’m at my computer, I launch another search for the video file that could ruin my life, then head over to my dresser. I have a few hours before the program finishes, and I’ve been feeling restless all day. The best way to fix that is to go for a run.
Ignoring that ever-present feeling that I’m being watched, I strip off my clothes and pull on my running gear. I’m in full view of the window, and that gives me a little thrill.
I don’t know why not giving in to my fear is such a rush, but it feels like I’m giving whoever might be out there the proverbial middle finger every time I choose to stick to my routines or move about my room with the curtains open.
They might be watching me, but that doesn’t mean they can control me, and I’m feeling weirdly triumphant when I slip my feet into my sneakers and head out of my room.
The cool evening air feels nice against my heated skin, and the steadythumpof my feet hitting the concrete gives me something to focus on as I run down one of the many paths that snake through the campus.
The school has multiple sports facilities, including indoor and outdoor tracks and the best treadmills and gym equipment that money can buy, but I’ve never once used them. I hate treadmills, and running around in endless circles is almost as bad as being stuck in one place.
I’d rather not run at all than do it indoors or on a track, but thanks to the storm we had last night, the path in the woods is a muddy mess, so I’m stuck running through campus until it dries out enough for me to use it again.
At least there aren’t many students out right now. It’s almost the end of dinner hours, and with exams starting next week, the usual slew of parties and events has slowed to a trickle.
A loudcrackto my left makes me jump and almost stumble. Hastily, I look around, but there’s no sign of anyone near me.
My chest tightens, and I quicken my steps. Is it the figure I saw in the woods? Are they out there watching me?
I’m just running past one of the many utility sheds scattered around campus when three figures clad all in black jump out from behind the shed.
The ambush is terrifying enough, but the black tactical balaclavas with a white printed skull on the lower half of their faces are literal nightmare fuel, and I trip over my own feet as the three figures rush toward me.
One of them grabs my arm before I can fall and hauls me off the path with a hard yank that sends a jolt of pain through myshoulder. I try to pull free, but the other two are already on me, and they drag me behind the shed.
“Don’t even think about screaming,” one of them snarls as they shove me against the side of the shed.
The impact is hard enough to force the air from my lungs, and I’m too shocked and winded to fight back as two of them pin me against the shed and the other gets right up in my face.
Their masks are as terrifying as being outnumbered and overpowered, and I stare at them in horror as they surround me.
Is one of them the person who’s been watching me? Did I just sign my death note by not taking this seriously?
“We have a message for you,” one of them says.
With their mouths covered and my brain frozen from fear, it’s impossible to tell who’s speaking, and I look wildly between them, my chest heaving as I try to slow my breathing so I don’t hyperventilate.
