by Lisa Jackson
Oliver had opened his eyes and seeing the flames growing and crawling over the sticks, rope and rags surrounding him, knowing he was bleeding from his wrists, he’d met the Beast’s gaze, smiled, and before the Beast could react, calmly stepped off the chair and kicked it backward. The metal chair had clattered noisily to the cement floor as Oliver had hung himself calmly and quietly. It had been as if Oliver had been ready for death. No, not quite right, as if he’d fucking embraced death.
That part had been unexpected.
Creepy.
Bothered him now.
Acceptance of death wouldn’t do.
Welcoming death was just plain wrong.
Unnatural.
The Beast wanted a fight.
He wanted to witness a struggle. He wanted to delight in their panic, sense their horrifying, gut-wrenching, bloodcurdling fear.
Only then would his need for revenge be satisfied.
He needed someone to fight for his life, to battle him, to make him feel the surge of power that came when the flames grew and consumed and he, the Beast, was the victor.
Oliver’s own sacrifice had tainted his plans.
Brought a bad taste to his mouth.
And now this! The kid breaking away.
Completely unexpected!
Of course Oliver had always been a nutcase. From day one.
But the kid…Now, she was a different story. Cagey and fearless, as it turned out, patient and determined, an adversary worth battling. Shannon’s daughter. He felt a zing as he anticipated chasing her down, running her to the ground.
She would lose.
Of course.
Slippery little brat! He had to find her! Had to!
Ready to face the new challenge, he calmed his pulse, readied himself for the hunt. Walking into the living area, he glanced up at the mirror and sensed something was wrong. In a second he realized one of his framed pictures was missing. The photograph of Shannon. He checked, to see if it had fallen over or been tucked behind one of the other framed photos, but no, it was gone.
His teeth ground together and the fury he’d managed to rein in just seconds before unleashed in a black, consuming wrath. That miserable, little piece-of-crap kid had taken the photo!
Oh…She would regret it…
When he caught up with her, he’d make sure she understood that she’d crossed the line with him. This was to never happen again. Who the hell was she to take the damned picture?
If he could just kill her now. Quick, fast, get rid of her, but he couldn’t. That wasn’t part of his plan, laid so carefully for years.
A scheme, because of her, now scattered in pieces.
No, he reminded himself. The plan didn’t fail. You did. You underestimated her.
Just fix it. Fucking find her!
One little miserable, lying teenager wasn’t going to stop him. He’d hunt her down. And when he did, she’d know who she was dealing with.
He slammed a fist into the wall. He wanted to find her right now and shake the life right out of her, watch her squeal in fear and pain.
Stop! Think! Calm down.
You can locate her. You picked this place because escape would be next to impossible. She hasn’t gotten far. Just outsmart her.
His mind racing, he forced himself to take calm, deep breaths, to think of this as a challenge. A hunt.
How much of a head start did she have?
Not enough, he figured. He hadn’t been gone long enough for her to have traveled too many miles. Though the forest was dense with good cover, she would stick to trails or old roads to keep from getting lost. It was dark…
He glanced to the place where he kept his flashlight. Gone.
Quickly he searched the rest of the house. She’d taken a knife and a lighter, but no extra batteries. Her flashlight would fail quickly, before dawn, no doubt, and the lighter she’d nabbed wouldn’t help her. He considered the fact that she could start a fire, attract attention, but she wouldn’t. For fear of attracting him and starting a blaze that, in these tinder-dry woods might consume her.
There was only one rutted, old forestry road up here and though there were hiking and deer trails, they all convened at one spot.
The bridges.
One for the train.
Another originally built for logging, for trucks.
Both used to span a narrow part of the canyon, each one less than a quarter of a mile from the other.
The only other way off the mountain was around the back side, but one had to climb upward before finding an equally daunting precipitous path down. He banked on the fact that the kid would head downhill rather than up.
So he’d just have to find her.
He headed outside.
His truck was already loaded with the essentials: his rifle, ammunition, hunting knife, boots, gloves, night vision goggles and rope.
He’d catch the little bitch by morning.
Nothing and no one was going to ruin his plans.
He’d come too far.
Dani’s flashlight was useless, the weak beam giving out completely. Exhausted, she found a tree and sat behind it. Maybe she could sleep, for just a few hours, until dawn. She couldn’t move in the darkness.
But he’ll find you. You know he will. You have to keep going. Just keep moving.
She wanted to break into a million pieces, to cry and pray for her father to come find her. But it was too late. She was in this alone. Tears started to track down her dusty cheeks, but she told herself to keep going. This was no time to be a wimp. She’d just have to inch along—that was it, follow the trail and…
She felt a rumble.
The ground shook.
The trees trembled.
Holy crap, was this an earthquake? She couldn’t believe her bad luck. On top of everything else, would she have to endure a friggin’ earthquake?
She shot to her feet, wondering what to do, which way to run, and then she heard it, the familiar rush of a train barreling through the night.
Where? She looked around frantically. Where?
Louder and louder it came, the thunder of its wheels upon the tracks deafening, an incredible roar.
A light shined through the forest as the train approached. Moving quickly, ignoring her sore muscles, Dani ran through the trees and underbrush that suddenly gave way to the tracks, laid over a big swath of cleared land. The light was nearly upon her and with a deafening rush, the engines clattered noisily by, rushing at a breakneck speed, dragging a long tail of freight cars behind.
No chance to hop the train or ride a rail, she thought, wishing desperately that she could somehow climb aboard, stow away in the big metal containers and leave these miserable woods behind. At the next stop she’d go to the authorities, the sheriff or any cop on the street, and tell them about the whack job and what he’d done to her.
Of course it was all fantasy.
The train flew by, disappearing into the night. Her heart sank. Despair and desolation converged on her. This was so useless. So damned useless.
Don’t give up now. You can do this, you can!
She squared her shoulders. Setting her jaw, she climbed up the short embankment and started walking on the tracks. She could barely see them beneath her feet, but was able, by keeping her steps even, to walk without tripping. It might take a long time, but eventually the train tracks would lead to civilization.
She set out in the direction from which the train had come, the way she’d been heading, away from the cabin. Away from him.
But she had to hurry. She knew the Beast was out in the night somewhere, sensed that he was following her, closing in on her.
“Bastard,” she said in a whisper and just kept moving, telling herself that she was being a paranoid freak and to get over it, not give in to her fear. Move. That was it. Just keep going. She walked for what seemed like miles before noticing that the sky was beginning to lighten, a gray dawn slowly but surely stealing through the hills, birds beginning to chirp, the sun ri
sing behind her.
Which was good. And bad.
She’d be able to see, of course, and could walk faster if she could keep up her strength, but he’d be able to spot her more easily, too. With the sun as her guide, she’d know which direction she was traveling, not that it mattered much because she didn’t know where the nearest town was located.
Her mouth tasted like sand and all her muscles ached. She was sure she could kill for a Dr Pepper, or a slice of cheese pizza or one of her dad’s special tacos. When she got home, she’d raid the refrigerator big time. There wouldn’t be enough chicken nuggets and French fries and homemade tacos to satisfy her.
When she got home.
If she got home.
Don’t think that way.
He hasn’t caught you yet, has he?
And even if he was chasing her she felt a tiny bit of satisfaction tempering her fear. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how ticked off he would be when he found her missing. She would have loved to have seen his face. Yeah, well, take that, you weird sack of crap, and piss it all over the damned fire.
She reached into her pocket and touched the picture of her mother—well, she thought it was her mother. How did the woman in the framed snapshot figure into this? How did Dani? Who knew? Probably no one, not even the fire-pisser. That psycho was so warped he probably didn’t know what his plans were.
Don’t kid yourself. He knows exactly what he’s got in mind and you’re a part of what’s going on.
Keep going.
Keep moving.
Her feet were sore and as the sun began to climb, she knew it would be another hot day. Even now, though it was early morning, she could feel the heat beginning to grow and any hope for fog to hide her, or clouds to offer some kind of respite, would be false. As her father always said, “It’s gonna be a scorcher.”
Her dad.
Where was he?
Why hadn’t he come for her?
She felt sorry for herself again and angrily brushed away her tears. She was tired and hungry and scared. She thought about the trips she used to take with her dad when they’d gone on four-day hikes into the mountains. Of course those hikes had been way different. They’d had food and water and sleeping bags and…
She rounded a corner and two deer, as startled as she was, bounded into the underbrush. Heart knocking, she told herself to cool it, quit jumping at shadows, when her gaze landed on the bridge.
She stopped short.
Her heart nearly quit beating. It was one of those narrow, wooden railroad bridges spanning a steep chasm between sheer cliffs. Below, over a hundred feet, she thought, was a dry creek bed weaving through the mountain floor and there was no other way down.
“Damn.”
Fear coiled over her heart.
Dread filled her.
Surely there was another way…But as she looked around, she realized she was stuck. Either go back the way she’d come or cross.
How tough could it be? She’d just walked miles along the tracks and never once had fallen off. Getting across was only a matter of nerves. Of not looking down. Of planting one foot in front of the other. Of not panicking.
But, oh, man, was that a long way down!
Maybe there was another way across, or maybe she could find a path to climb down to get to the bottom and she could follow the dry river bed. Desperately, she swept her gaze over either side of the canyon. Sheer, ragged rock walls flanked the deep chasm and were topped with brush and trees.
Not far to the south was another bridge, a narrow one that had been built for cars or logging trucks or whatever vehicle wanted to scale these hills. She walked backward for about a hundred yards or so, searching for a path that might lead through the forest to the road. She checked the spot from which the deer had leapt, but she saw no evidence of a trail. And even if she did, who was to say it would take her to the road?
The road the Beast probably uses.
That’s where he would be. He probably thinks you were trying to find the road and just used the trails to throw him off. So go for it. Cross the damned railroad bridge. Now. Get it over with.
Gritting her teeth, she made her way to the edge of the trestle again, then squatted and placed her hands on the rails, feeling for any sense of movement, listening hard, hoping that if there was another train coming she would sense it. The rails didn’t tremble at all. Nor could she hear the huff of an engine or the clack of wheels on tracks. All in all, aside from the twitter of a bird or the rustle of a chipmunk or squirrel in the brush, there was no sound.
Just do it. Go on. Quit being such a wuss!
It was now or never.
Tentatively she started out, making certain each of her footsteps landed squarely on the wooden slats, seeing, through the spaces in between, the land give way to clear space and a terrifying drop. Carefully, she stepped on one narrow tie at a time.
Keep going.
Heart pounding, she inched farther over the chasm, noticing that her breathing was shallow, that her heart was frantically beating, that her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. All of her concentration was on her movement, slow, but sure, even farther over the wide crevice, one foot, then the other, one foot, then the other.
Out in the open, without the hills or trees to shade her, the sun beat hot against her crown and sweat ran down the sides of her face. She didn’t dare swipe at the beads that stung her eyes for fear she’d lose her concentration or, worse yet, her balance.
What had her mother often said? “Every task is as easy or as hard as you make it.” Yeah, right. “Easy as pie, honey.”
Her dad had told her, not without a sense of pride, that she was fearless.
Wrongo, Dad. Inside she was quivering like a leaf in a stiff breeze.
Halfway across now.
She took a long breath, then stepped forward again. Maybe she was going to make it. On the other side she wouldn’t even stop to rest, just keep going along the tracks, hoping and praying that there would be a town, or at the very least, a farmhouse in the distance.
Another step.
And another.
Closer still.
She looked up and thought she saw a movement in the brush along the sides of the trestle. A glint of something…glass caught in the sunlight?
She stopped. Barely twenty feet from the end of the bridge. She looked more closely to the spot where she’d seen the glimmer of light, a reflection of some kind, but there was nothing in the brush and shrubs, no movement in the shadows.
Yet the hairs on the back of her neck raised.
Her skin crawled and fear inched up her spine.
He couldn’t have figured out where she was, could he?
Couldn’t have driven his truck down the road and, banking on the fact that she’d gone in this direction and wouldn’t risk using the road, had ended up here?
No…that was giving the guy too much credit.
Or was it?
She hesitated. Bit her lip. Squinted at the hillside in front of her. She took one more tentative step forward and stopped again. Something wasn’t right. She could feel it. Did something move in the shadows beneath the tree? Another deer?
Yeah—with glasses. No way.
She took a step backward. One more.
He was there!
The damned Beast was there.
Her eyes widened in horror.
He rushed from the brushy shadows, a big, muscular man in camouflage and sunglasses, striding straight for her, fearlessly, onto the trestle bridge, his footsteps causing it to shake.
Somehow the Beast had found her.
No!
Spinning quickly, she twisted her ankle but hurtled forward, trying to get her feet under her, intent on racing back the way she came. But the expanse was huge, the drop paralyzing, the slap of his boots on the trestle like claps of thunder. Her heart kicked into overdrive. She wouldn’t give in to him, wouldn’t. She started running, faster and faster, feeling him coming closer.
Oh, God, no, she couldn’t have come all this way only to have him catch her now—
The toe of her tennis shoe caught. Screaming, she pitched forward and saw the deep chasm beneath her. Far below the rocks gleamed in the sunlight.
A strong hand surrounded her arm, grabbed painfully and hauled her to her feet.
“Hey!”
He threw her over one shoulder. “Stop it, you little brat, or you’ll get us both killed!” Her head was dangling down his back, her hair falling in front of her face as he held her legs and turned seemingly effortlessly, heading toward the ledge where he’d been hiding, the brushy end of the bridge where she’d thought she would find salvation.
Tears of frustration fell to the ground and she beat at his back with tired, angry fists.
“Keep it up, you bitch, and I’ll drop you, I swear I will,” he promised and she quit, her hands falling to her sides, fingertips nearly sweeping the ground, great wracking sobs welling up from her body. She was doomed, she knew it. No, she didn’t think he’d kill her right away, but it was only a matter of time. If she had any guts at all, she would try to fling herself away from him, over the edge, hoping that both of them would fly into space. Yes, she’d die, but at least she’d take the psycho with her.
But she didn’t.
Instead she gave up.
Let him haul her off the bridge. He carried her down a path and through the forest for nearly a mile to the spot where he’d parked his truck. It waited at the side of the road, baking in the sun.
She was silent on the drive back to the cabin, too tired to plan another escape attempt, no longer trying to be brave, letting tears track down her cheeks.
He drove like a maniac, the truck bouncing along the rutted road, dust pluming from beneath the wheels. He didn’t seem to care if she saw where they were headed. She knew why. He was going to kill her soon and since she’d already been outside, seen the lay of the land, secrecy no longer mattered.
He parked in his usual spot, lit a cigarette, then, prodding her with a damned rifle, marched her along the beaten path to the sorry little cabin. Inside he flung his cigarette butt into the fireplace, then nudged her, with the tip of his gun, toward her bedroom. The prison cell. “Strip,” he ordered, and she balked.