by Lib Starling
But she was alone. Alone in the forest, and once again pursued by an animal.
Roxy abandoned her resolve to walk. She ran down the trail, too addled by fear to feel any disappointment that she was fleeing through the woods once more like a rabbit chased by a hawk. The sunset extinguished itself in a final blaze of red, and the forest became a place of dusky shadow, a land of strange shapes and half-heard whispers.
She could hear the dogs running behind her, their huge paws pounding on the compact earth of the trail, their roaring breath as they panted with the raw, animal glee of the chase. Roxy clenched her hands into hard fists as she ran, willing herself to make it back to the Jeep, willing herself to stay on her feet. Soon her lungs burned with a dry fire and her throat went tight with panic.
Over the desperate pounding of her feet and her heart, she heard a male voice far ahead in the forest. “Roxy!”
“Chase,” she half-sobbed, knowing even as she said his name that it was too much to hope for, that it couldn’t possibly be him. But Roxy would have welcomed anybody at that moment, anyone who could frighten away the dogs and keep her safe.
Her toe clipped an exposed tree root; she staggered, slowed, and glanced back at the dogs in terror, trying to force herself to run faster, or to cry out to whoever had called her name. But her legs were failing, and her heart felt like it would burst as it beat wildly in her chest.
She tripped again, but this time she fell, the hard impact of the trail knocking the wind from her lungs. Her palms struck the earth and stung bitterly, but no matter how she pushed with her hands, Roxy could not make herself rise. Her legs were as useless as wet rags. With a desperate scream, she scuttled along the forest floor until she found a large fallen pine. She backed herself against it, then lay gasping for breath, watching the dogs advance.
They had slowed, and the mastiff took one deliberate step toward her, then another, its head lowered, licking its jowly lips. It seemed to be enjoying her fear, savoring the havoc of the chase, and seemed now to want to draw out her misery. She looked around for some weapon, a large rock or a stick, but found nothing more substantial than pebbles and pine cones.
“Go… away,” Roxy panted.
The mastiff came closer. Its black eyes bored into her own and its hackles lifted. In the dimness of the twilight forest, Roxy heard the rumble of its deep growl.
Her heart hammered in her ears, pounding in her head with a furious, rhythmic pressure. The rhythm of its beats sped, and seemed to grow louder… louder, closer, vibrating through the ground, through the log she leaned against.
The rhythmic pounding reached a crescendo, then ceased. A shadow deeper than the forest darkness passed over her face, and the mastiff looked up, staring over Roxy’s head, its small, mean eyes widening in disbelief.
Something large and dark, all thin legs and flashing obsidian hooves, landed in front of Roxy. Its impact with the earth shuddered through her body, and just as she realized that the tall, lanky creature had leaped over the fallen pine tree – over Roxy – she recognized the animal.
It was a bull elk. The sandy tones of its muscular form were dulled to a lusterless silver by the woodland dusk, and the long, dark curve of its neck was as black as deep water. It ducked its head, brandishing a span of pointed antlers at the two dogs and thrashing them from side to side.
The dogs backed away, though the mastiff’s growl was hollow and loud. The elk lunged at it, and the dog’s paws scrabbled as it evaded the blow. It circled back toward the elk with its teeth bared. Its smaller companion charged the elk from another angle; the elk spun and flashed its sharp antlers toward its attacker while the mastiff lunged from the opposite direction.
The dogs are trying to drive the elk away from me, Roxy realized. She pushed at the bare ground with her feet, struggling against the log as if she might shove herself through the solid pine and into another reality where these mad creatures didn’t exist.
The elk kicked out with a hind foot, the cloven hoof missing the mastiff’s head by inches. It spun toward the mastiff and charged again, and this time the tip of one antler caught the huge dog on the shoulder. It yelped and retreated, and its companion followed suit.
The dogs lingered, glaring at the elk and at Roxy from the shadow of the brush. The elk stood its ground. Its breath came in great, harsh snorts, and Roxy could almost smell its fury rising from the silvered pelt along with the scent of sagebrush and its earthy, animal odor.
At last the dogs melted into the forest. Roxy held still, hardly daring to breathe lest the elk should hear her and attack. Did it know she was there? It had seemed to be defending her – but that was impossible. Why would any self-respecting elk protect a human?
After a long moment, the elk’s breathing grew less harsh. It raised its impressive antlers, staring in the direction the dogs had run, as though considering whether they were truly gone. Then it turned slowly toward Roxy.
Roxy swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She looked up at the creature’s face, long and noble with gentle, attentive eyes. It nodded its head slightly, and Roxy whispered, “Thank you.”
She tried to rise, but her legs still shook with exhaustion and fear. She was as wobbly as a three-legged chair, and had to clutch at the rough bark of the pine long to stand upright. The elk took one slow, careful step toward her, still gazing at her with those large brown eyes. Then another step, and another.
Something was so familiar about its presence – as if she knew it.
That’s stupid, she told herself, even as she reached one trembling hand toward its face.
The elk nuzzled her hand, and warmth flooded Roxy’s chest. The creature turned its broad side to her, and she draped one arm across its back. Leaning against its warm flank, she took a few steps on protesting legs.
“The more I walk, the steadier my legs will be,” she told the elk. “But I’ll have to go slowly. Can I hold onto you until I’m walking all right again?”
The elk moved slowly, guiding her along the trail as she leaned gratefully against its strong body. Faint patches of starlight had begun to gather in the sky over the trail; the light gleamed on the elk’s magnificent antlers. After several yards, Roxy’s legs no longer shook, and she felt she could carry her own weight again. She pulled away from the elk slightly, but they continued to walk side by side in silence.
With time the elk drifted away from her, turning toward the deep shadows of the woods as if it had business elsewhere. Its silence was so companionable and its presence so reassuring that Roxy felt a pang of regret.
“Thank you,” she said again. “You saved my life.”
It turned and walked into the forest, merging with the starlight and shade of the woods.
Roxy, calm and strong now, continued down the trail. She was nearly at the trail head, and felt no terror of the darkened forest. The encounter with the elk had made her thoughtful, turned her inward, and she listened to the gentle stirring of the unnamed force that lived deep inside her soul. It told her the night was her friend, the forest was her home – and she had nothing to fear.
Just before she found the trail head, a faint glimmer caught Roxy’s eye – starlight reflected from something metallic and small. She stopped and peered into the brush beside the trail. On a flat-topped stone overhung by the root ball of a toppled tree, something soft and dark was resting. Roxy pushed through the brush and bent to examine it. She reached out, and her fingers found the soft fabric of a sweatshirt. Beneath it, a pair of jeans lay neatly folded, and beside the stone were two large white tennis shoes with a sock rolled neatly inside of each. A golden chain glinted faintly where it peeked from the folds of the sweatshirt – and it was this that had caught Roxy’s eye.
She straightened, staring around the dark forest in wonder, but could see no one nearby. No camper’s tent, no backpack, no sign of any person. For a moment she considered that this might be evidence from a crime scene – that somebody might have been stripped of their clothing here in the fores
t. But she discarded that idea. The clothing was folded with too much care, and it was dry and soft, not dampened by dew or littered with fallen pine needles. It had been placed here recently – very recently.
She scooped up the items and carried them until she emerged from the trail head into the parking lot. A few cars were parked here and there, most of them with blue paper passes hanging from their rear-view mirrors, which indicated the owners were on overnight hikes high in the mountains. These clothes might belong to anybody – Roxy had no idea who to return them to, or where to leave them so that they might be found by their owner.
A cold wind moaned down from the high peaks, and Roxy shivered. She fished her keys from her backpack and let herself into the Jeep, then turned on the dome light to examine her find.
She pulled the chain from the folds of the maroon sweatshirt and held it up to the light. A flat medallion swung from its length, and Roxy squinted at it, trying to make out the image on its surface. It was etched with twin spreads of many-forked lines, like the tributaries of a river or branches of a tree.
Roxy shook the folds from the sweatshirt and held it up to the light. She bit her lip when she saw the logo on its front – the yellow crest of the running wolf, with the words BLACKMEADE UNIVERSITY arching above and below. Roxy tried to re-fold the sweatshirt in the confines of her Jeep. As she handled it, her finger slid unexpectedly into the fabric.
She lifted her hand and stared. She had poked right through a tear in the shirt, near the cuff of one sleeve.
With the flash of a sudden dawning, Roxy remembered her tearful confession on the couch while the muted movie credits played, the remains of popcorn littering the coffee table.
Darien.
She snatched up the chain again, and stared at the design on the medallion’s golden surface.
Not the branches of a tree, not the map of a river. The etching depicted the spread antlers of a bull elk.
Carefully, her hand trembling with excitement and her breath coming fast and ragged with disbelief, Roxy laid the medallion on the neatly folded clothes.
The problem of Scarlett would have to wait. Tomorrow Roxy would pay a visit to the one place she’d sworn to avoid: Alpha Delta Phi.
Part 3
.1.
W hen Roxy rolled to a stop in the weeds at the side of the gravel road, the sere lawn of Alpha Delta Phi was empty of everything but a few crushed beer cans and the wind-blown litter from the latest party. She sat for a long time in the Jeep, clutching the steering wheel with sweaty hands, eyeing the faded Victorian mansion and the enormous Greek letters that hung above its door. Since promising herself she wouldn’t come near another frat boy, she’d felt serenity, an inner strength that had been foreign to her for many years. Now just the sight of Alpha House’s faded siding and fate-filled porch steps flooded her with sick dread and a gnawing sense of shame.
The image of Alexander came back to her with terrifying force, his eyes flaming, his marble-carved face rigid with single-minded, predatory pursuit. She felt again the heat of the car’s engine against her back as he threw her across the hood of his car.
Roxy bit her lip and tightened her fists on the steering wheel until her knuckles blanched white. Alexander, she had dealt with. Just like a dog on a leash, in fact – all it had taken was a threat to his precious necklace and he’d reeled his violence back in, and submissively driven her home.
Chase was a different story. He had hurt her more deeply than Alexander had, but Roxy could think of no way to make him stop tearing at her emotions. He was in there somewhere – inside Alpha House right now, for all she knew, laughing with his friends over the way he’d taken the fat girl’s virginity and then stomped all over her unworthy heart.
Roxy swallowed hard and considered the stack of Darien’s clothing waiting on her passenger seat. She had coiled the gold chain neatly on top.
I wish I had a leash for Chase, she though, remembering how Alexander had flinched in something very like pain when Roxy had yanked on his necklace. I’d break it – I’d destroy it right in front of his eyes. Let him learn how it feels, to have something precious ruined forever.
But Darien… he was her friend. And possibly her savior. She would return what was his, and seek answers. Roxy could trust Darien – he was the only Alpha House brother she could trust. She knew he wouldn’t deny her – he would answer any question she asked.
Steeling her rattled nerves, shielding her bruised heart, Roxy gathered the clothing and stepped from her Jeep. She shut the door quietly.
She stood for a moment, listening tensely, on high alert like a forest creature who’s reacting to the harsh alarm of a jay scolding in the trees. A faint murmur of voices came to her from the direction of the house. They were low and masculine, of course, and held a note of undeniable caution.
Roxy moved carefully across the yard, hugging Darien’s clothing to her chest. As she drew near to the empty porch, she realized the voices were coming from inside Alpha House. One of the windows stood barely ajar; the light draft passing through it stirred the mismatched curtains that covered the glass. They moved like hesitant ghosts.
Roxy crept up the porch steps, shifting her weight slowly so the planks wouldn’t creak.
“I’m telling you,” one of the men said, his voice urgent, heavy and upset. “I couldn’t control it.”
“Were you wearing…”
“Of course I was. I’m not an idiot.”
There was a pause. Roxy lifted her hand to knock, but some small, quiet instinct stilled her. She felt she needed to hear what the men would say, and so she waited breathlessly for them to speak on.
“No one is calling you an idiot.” A chill shot up Roxy’s spine. That was Alexander’s voice, smooth and coiling like a silken rope. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this. It’s troubling, that you couldn’t control yourself.”
Roxy nearly gave a bitter laugh, but choked it back just in time. Funny, Alexander talking about not controlling himself.
“I’m not the only one,” the first guy said. “It happened to Logan, too.”
“What? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“And Jack before that,” said another voice. “Every day it’s somebody different.”
Another silence. Roxy’s heart pounded in her ears. If Alexander caught her listening, he might grow wild again… No, she told herself firmly. He won’t attack you again. He won’t get away with it. You know his weakness; you know how to stop him. You’re safe, Roxy. Safe.
Another of the men spoke up, his voice musing and slow. “It’s almost as if… it’s like we’re being tested. Methodically. Like somebody’s prodding at us, one by one.”
“What about Darien? Chase?”
“Nobody’s seen Chase since the last party.”
“He’s not in his room?” Alexander asked. “Or at the school?”
“I haven’t seen him. Have any of you?”
A chorus of nos followed.
“And Darien is in his room, but hasn’t shown his face all morning. Wouldn’t even go to classes. Said he couldn’t come out.”
“Couldn’t? What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know, but when I talked to him through his door, he smelled… fearful. I think maybe he’s next – maybe whatever force is poking at each of us one after another has moved on to him. It’s Darien’s turn. You all saw what he was like last night.”
Darien in trouble? Roxy gave a silent gasp. She had to see him, then – now. Enough eavesdropping. She knocked on the door.
The sudden silence at the window crashed in Roxy’s ears. “Stay here,” Alexander said. She heard footsteps moving along the wooden floors of Alpha House; in another moment, the door opened to reveal Alexander.
He gave a start when he saw her face.
Something has him spooked, Roxy thought. Is Darien in serious danger?
“Roxy.” A flash of guilt flickered over his pale features, and was gone again in an instant, replaced by his usual
air of arrogant confidence.
“Hello, Alexander,” Roxy said with chilly formality. “I need to see Darien.”
Alexander gave a stiff half-smile. “He’s upstairs in his room, and if you can get him to come out you’ll be doing us all a favor.” He stood aside, holding the door open for her.
What a gentleman, Roxy thought wryly as she entered and headed for the stairs.
“Last door on the right,” Alexander called after her.
Roxy didn’t bother to knock. She spoke up as soon as she reached the last door on the right. “Darien, it’s me. Please let me in. I really need to talk to you.”
The door opened a crack. The shadow of Darien’s body blocked it, and one deep brown eye peered out at her. Although she could see only a narrow strip of his face, Roxy could tell her friend was in a bad way. His eye was rimmed with red, as if he hadn’t slept all night, and the skin of his cheek was creased with the indentations of a pillow or a sheet. He’s been lying in bed all morning.
“It is you,” Darien muttered.
The door swung open to admit her, but Roxy balked at the sight of him. Darien wore nothing but a pilled white undershirt and faded boxers. He was barefoot, and his face was haggard with worry.
“What happened,” Roxy began, but Darien’s eyes widened when he recognized the clothing clutched in her arms.
“Did you find…” He reached out for his belongings, his expression bleak with desperation.
Roxy handed them over, but when Darien saw the gold chain nestled atop his sweatshirt, he seized it in a shaking fist and dropped the rest unceremoniously on the floor.
“Oh, thank God,” he said. His voice was nearly a sob, and he stared at the medallion with trembling relief. Then he hastily slipped the chain over his head. When the medallion settled against his chest, Darien sighed.
“All right.” Roxy seated herself on Darien’s bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Now that that’s done, we need to talk.”