There’s no sign of another car. Is he here? Will he follow? I didn’t see any other vehicles this far out. Another mystery, one I might ask him about when this is over and we’re back to being just friends. Whatever that means.
The clock on the dash says seven twenty-eight. I switch off the engine and my hands rest on the top of the steering wheel as I look out at the line of trees ahead.
And nervous laughter rises in my chest. We’re really doing this.
It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t want a relationship. If my kids were to ever ask how I met their daddy, telling them he hunted me in a forest probably wouldn’t be the best answer.
I pull the door handle and step out, leaving my keys in the car where he told me to. I’m not worried about it getting stolen. The island is safe. One of the many things I love about Liberty.
But it’s still intriguing. Why does he want me to leave the keys here? To heighten the tension? To make me feel alone? Afraid?
Another piece of the Zach Fitzgerald puzzle I can’t quite seem to place. But I know he’s done it for a reason. The past few days have proved he doesn’t do anything without planning it meticulously.
Seven twenty-nine. I take a deep breath and lookaround, but there’s no sign of him. The only light comes from the full moon. There’s not a cloud in the sky.
And no sign of Zach at all. Is he even here?
The moment my watch says seven-thirty, I walk toward the trees. There’s a huge white x painted on one of them. And I can see an earthy path next to it. Not quite a trail. More of a desire path, built up by years of walkers.
Still, it’s that route I take as I walk into the tree line, my heart hammering against my chest.
You will run.
I can’t run yet. I’m too edgy. But I walk faster, enough for me to feel it in my calves and hamstrings.
It’s dark in the trees, despite the light of the moon. My feet sink into the bark and moss that lines the route, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
The scent of pine grows heavier, the breeze shifting against my skin. Somewhere above, a gull cries once and falls silent.
Dammit, he told me to run. I’m gonna run.
I launch myself forward, the ground beneath my feet soft and forgiving as my sandals strike the mossy earth. My strides aren’t long – they can’t be in this dress – but I make up for it in speed, trying to keep my breath steady as my pulse starts to throb.
I run for a minute. Then another. Along the path, because going into the trees would be madness. A branch whips at my arm, the sting sharp against my skin, but I ignore it, because I’m on a mission here.
That’s when I hear a twig snap. It makes my breath catch and I slow down even though I should be speeding up.
Is he here? God, I hope it’s him. If it’s somebody out fora lovely night time walk they’re gonna get the shock of their lives.
A giggle – almost hysterical – rises up. Then I hear another movement and the laughter fades.
Oh God, I feel it. The rush of adrenaline. Of knowing he’s close. Of knowing he’s hunting me. Shadowing me.
Wanting me.
Then I hear the clearing of a throat. Low, deliberate. He’s playing with me. Letting me know he’s here.
That I’m in his sights.
“Hello?” I call out.
There’s no reply. And I know I could call out another word. And this would be over. But I don’t want to. I want him to chase me. To catch me.
To make me feel like I’ve never felt before.
So I keep on going. Half-running half-walking. Looking around me, behind me, but not ever seeing him.
But he’s here. I can feel it in the way the back of my neck prickles. In the way my body responds to him. All heat and slickness.
