Page 39 of Stream & Scream
I'm sick. A monster disguised as a human.
But I can't look away.
Lexie's struggles slow, then stop entirely. Her hands fall to her sides, her legs stop kicking, and her eyes roll back to show nothing but white. The blood flow from her mouth slows to a trickle, then stops altogether as her heart stops.
The Hunter drops her body, letting it fall to the ground with a thud.
Tara finally finds her voice, releasing a scream that starts low and builds to a sound that probably carries for miles through the silent forest. She knows this is it. She won’t get away from him.
But she still tries.
She bolts into the trees, sprinting like her life depends on it, because her lifedoesdepend on it and she’s finally realized that.
I should run too, follow Tara's example and put as much distance as possible between myself and The Hunter while he’s distracted with her.
But I can't move.
Not because I'm paralyzed by fear, I realize.
I can't move because I don't want to miss what happens next.
The Hunter straightens slowly, wiping the blood from his knife on Lexie's tracksuit before sliding the weapon back into his pocket.
Then he turns toward where I’m hiding in the trees, making my heart stop entirely.
Even through the mask, I can feel his attention. It’s chilling.He’schilling. He knows exactly where I am.
Heat pools low and hot in my stomach as I hold his dark gaze.
"Go on then, clickbait," he says, his voice carrying easily through the night air. "Show me how fast you can run."
Clickbait.
I'm not prey.
I'm entertainment to be savored slowly and carefully. Toyed with and made to do anything he wants.
Fire races through my veins at the thought of him playing with me.
"Run," he says again, and there's amusement in his voice now, anticipation.
So I run.
Partly from terror—my heart is pounding and my hands are shaking and my breath comes in short gasps that fog in the cold air around my face.
But I also run because he told me to run, because this is his game we're playing now.
The forest explodes into motion around me.
Branches whip across my face, roots catch my ankles, thorns tear at my tracksuit and the skin underneath as I sprint.
Behind me, I can hear him following. He's not even trying to catch me yet. This feels a lot like foreplay, the opening to what will be my demise.
The thought sends another wave of heat through me, making me lose focus and stumble over a fallen log, nearly crashing face-first into a tree trunk. My wrist camera bounceswildly, recording every clumsy movement for an audience who’s probably screaming for my death.
The forest streams past me in a kaleidoscope, every tree trunk and hanging branch another obstacle slowing me down. My lungs burn, my legs ache, my heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape the cage of my body.
But I keep running because stopping would feel a lot like surrender, and surrender feels like giving up in what is the darkest, most invigorating game I've ever been invited to play in.
