Damn it.This wait is going to be frustrating.
But just as she’s about to lie down again, she tenses, and I hear a little gasp. She must have seen a looming shadow in the corner of the room. She quickly turns on the bedroom light. The gasp turns into a yelp of surprise when she notices the pink teddy bear with the note pinned to its chest. She probably can’t read it from where she is, though.
She remains frozen for some time before finally edging carefully toward the bear. I smirk as I see her expression change from shock to fear. She’s read the word on the note, written in blood-red marker.
Run.
She looks around, probably trying to find me. Probablydreadingto find me. I edge away from the window and press my back to the outside wall of the house.
I hear fumbling in the room and click my tongue impatiently. She’s probably getting dressed. Doesn’t she realize that when I sayrun,I meanrun?Not in five minutes.Now.
At last, the front door opens, and a shadow flits across the tiny patch of lawn and into the forest that borders the house.
My girl is surprisingly fast, but I’m faster.
I give her a two-minute head start, then begin my hunt.
12
Seraphina
Irun through the shrubbery and underbrush, the thorns scratching and pulling at my legs. Branches, wet from the cold morning drizzle that continues to flutter down on my skin, chilling me far more than any storm would, drag against my skin, and sharp pebbles tear at my bare feet.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why couldn’t I have put on my sneakers? But my fingers were trembling far too much to tie the laces of my one pair of shoes. It was all I could do to slip into an oversized shirt, knowing someone was waiting for me outside, ready to hunt me down and kill me.
I hesitated for a minute to stay inside, but only for a minute. After all, whoever was sent to end my life managed to get inside the locked house while I was in it, and place that massive teddy bear just feet away from me as I slept.
I’m not safe in that house. I’m not safe here in the forest either, but I just can’t seem to wait passively for my fate. I continue to run through the forest, panting, cold terror invading me. I have no idea where I’m going, and I vaguely realize that there are probably wild animals in this forest. Predators who may mistake me for prey and kill me.
But the only predator I’m afraid of is the one who is chasing me.
I can’t bear the thought that I will die dressed in nothing but this oversize shirt. Will Damien know I was wearing it? Will the killer tell him? Will he cover me, so that the shirt doesn’t ride up and reveal my most intimate parts?
Damien wouldn’t want them to see, I think. I hope. The truth is, I have no idea what Damien wants, apart from my death. He was so possessive, so overprotective, yet now he sends a killer after me, someone who is chasing me as I run half-naked in the forest.
But I should know by now he doesn’t give a shit. It’s just that I still can’t make it sink in.
At this point, I’m pretty much out of breath. I realize just how much these past months have taken a toll on me. My body, starved for food and sleep, is sorely lacking in endurance. Yet I just can’t seem to do anything but keep going, my chest compressed in pain, my legs shaking under the strain, until I stop, frozen in my tracks.
Just a few feet beyond me, two glittering yellow eyes are staring at me.
I don’t know what animal they belong to, but I can tell it’s a large one. And it’s gazing straight at me, with the kind of sly, hungry air of something that’s just found its dinner.
A dry branch snaps as it approaches, and I see its thick, furry hide, and the glinting, sharp teeth of a mouth, cracked open into agrin.
Goosebumps pebble on my back and arms, even as I remember the entry on coyotes in the animal encyclopedia that was once my prized possession. I had spent most of my time looking at jellyfish and polar bears, but since that encyclopedia and my Peter Pan storybook were the only books I owned, I read them both countless times. I’m pretty sure I can still recite all the text in each of them by memory.
Coyote attacks are rare… coyote attacks are rare…
I repeat that little refrain, but break it off as I notice the four little fur balls at the coyote’s feet.
Coyote attacks are rare… except when they’re protecting their young…
Coyotes sometimes attack children, whom they see as more vulnerable…
I don’t know if that coyote imagines I’m a child, what with my shrinking stature, or if it believes its own children to be in danger, but what I’m sure of, as I stare into those yellow eyes, is that it’s about two seconds away from attacking me.
