The Hunt - Now - Chapter 1 of The Hidden - Sneak Peak

Thump thump...thump thump...thump thump. Samantha’s pounding heart reverberated in her ears. An image popped into her head. A memory of an old movie where villagers beat on drums with vigor and beckoned King Kong forth to accept his tribute. Thump thump…thump thump…thump thump. The strange picture painted a hopeless comparison with depressing accuracy. Although the drumming came from within her own chest, she fled from the drums with equal intensity to the real danger that lurked not far behind. Thump thump…thump thump…thump thump…

The deeper and longer she pushed into the woods, the more her chest heaved, and she choked on simple air. Her vehement gasping camouflaged the rhythmic beating of her heart. In the dark, amongst the stubby jack pine and tall red pine trees, a cloud of white steam billowed into the night air each time she expelled it from her mouth. A constant fog of her own huffing and puffing followed close behind.

Branches stretched out and tore at her clothes, face, and hair. The ground beneath her fell away into holes and divots and rose again, filled with dislodged pinecones, tree roots, and tiny rocks. They threatened to trip her and spill her onto the ground.

I should have left. I should have gone immediately. But no, I hesitated, I waited…I knew…but, I doubted myself, as usual. Why didn’t she call? Why did I wait on that phone-?

“Oof!”

A proud tree root protruded from the dirt and snagged the tip of her shoe. Instinct shot her arms out to ensure her hands contacted the earth and not her head. She managed to stop herself before she landed face first into pine needles and hard black soil. Samantha tumbled and sputtered, and her teeth knocked together, sending a shockwave through her stiffened jaw. Rattled, she remained motionless and shook her head before she pushed herself to her knees. Samantha winced and fell back onto a hip. She clutched her knee, and a faint and guarded whimper slipped from her throat. She bit her lip and rocked back and forth in self-pity. The pressure she applied to her knee, after the tumble, shot a pain straight through her leg and hobbled her.

Don’t make a sound. Tough it out. Tough it out.

She scanned the area, overwrought with a wave of paranoia. The crash to the ground must have vibrated with a boom comparable to T-Rex as he stomped through Jurassic Park.

“Ugh,” she groaned. An ache emanated from where she chewed on her lip. A horrible absentminded habit she clung to. She extended her fingers and with gentle care inspected the area to be sure she hadn’t drawn blood.

Since she confirmed no new cuts joined the list of mounting injuries, she went back to the examination of her knee and damaged palm. They both stung from the lashing they received from the unforgiving ground. Samantha traced the point of tenderness with a feathery light brush of her fingertips and grazed rough upraised skin.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.”

The canopy of trees blocked out most available light, and it took her eyes several minutes to adjust when she first crashed through the woods. Now, as she sat on the cold ground, the light teased her eyes. Random blobs of dark shapes danced by bushes and other types of shrubbery. They seemed to disappear and reappear right in front of her. Samantha craned her neck back. A gap in the leaves above allowed moonlight to stream into the woods in pockets before a cloud cast gloom over her and the shadows disappeared once more.

The salt from her own skin licked the open wounds, but still, her head rolled backward in relief. The knee took surface wounds, not deep, but painful. She shook her head once more and rubbed her jaw.

Small miracles. You have to get up. Stop wasting time.

Samantha brushed off the dirt from her pants and wiped at the sweat on her forehead with the bottom of her shirt. She gasped for air and struggled to keep the looming anxiety attack at bay. With wild eyes, she focused on the direction she had come from. She squinted, but it didn’t help much in the eerie and quiet woods.

With an ear cocked toward the heavens, her feeble body tried to regain control. On the balls of her feet, she peered through the trees. She scoured for shifts of silhouettes and waited for flashes of movement. No one. Not one shadow roamed around her.

Samantha stayed frozen in place. She commanded within herself to act, and yet her feet remained planted. Before the intimidating obscurities returned and unveiled itself once more, she screamed at herself to push forward. She scooped in the air, and for a moment, an uncontrollable tremor shook her. Powered by the resentment of her own cowardice, she extended herself to a standing position and continued onward. The effort met with an audible grunt because of the new slower pace she found herself advancing.

Dammit! Always look ahead when running in the woods. Rookie mistake, straight out of a horror movie and if I keep this up, I’ll definitely be the first one to go. First one? I’m the only one. Shut up!

Without an adequate respite, it didn’t take long before fatigue caught up with her again. This time she refused to stop, and she limped-jogged further into the darkness. She hoped whoever chased her lost her in the thick dark woods.

“Who else would it be?” she scoffed. “Of course, it’s him. It was a nice run. Months of not feeling stalked and at least a couple of months of not feeling scared of my own shadow. I had a good ru-.”

She stumbled backward and landed against a nearby tree trunk with a thud.

She cried out in muted agony as she proceeded to knead a tweak of pain that shot a lightning bolt down her leg. Her tears flowed down her cheeks. A childish tantrum brimmed under the surface and she gritted her teeth in response before she leaned back. Samantha rested her head on the tree and wiped tears. She wiped tears from her eyes and snot from her nose.

Motionless in the dark of night and in the middle of the woods, disheveled and frightened, more questions swirled around her head and created more turmoil. However, one crucial question plagued her the most.

“How? How did he find me?”

Her eyes investigated the tree beds and sought out the snap of a branch that cracked off in the distance. A tingle ran up her spine, and her face drained of blood. She no longer leaned against the tree, but stood, straight and rigid.

Her desperate attempt to give shape to the shadows in her precarious surroundings forced her blood pressure to skyrocket. The silence of a haunted, nightmarish evening fell around her. Though a full moon sat low in the sky, the towering trees blocked much of the light from finding her.

Come on Samantha…keep moving. Pfft...Samantha.

She scoffed at the echo of that name in her head. A foreign ring in her ears whenever a new client or her new bosses called her name. The name she created to hide in plain sight. The name she created to bury an old one.

A soft wind passed through the leaves, and she wrapped her arms around her body to stop the windswept chill, but the cool air didn’t cause the shudder.

The bark of the tree trunk poked her in the back as she leaned against it. The scratching noise against her jeans made it difficult to remain quiet enough to give proper attention to any additional noises in the distance. No footfalls and no more snapping twigs resounded.

Please tell me it was just an animal, I’m too tired for anything else. I mean, it must have been an animal. A bird, a squirrel? Wait…hopefully not a bear or a wolf.

The new worry slithered into her mind and slowed her progress.

Dammit. There could be wild, dangerous animals out here.

She rolled her eyes at herself.

One nightmare at a time, ‘Samantha’.

She rubbed her arms for warmth and pulled at the tattered threads from the sleeves of her sweater. This inadvertent effect elicited an exasperated sigh as she held the yarn strips in her hands. Her clothes, for the most part, though still intact; however, she accepted the garbage bin fate of her favorite top. The branches lashed with vicious intent against her body during her frantic sprint. The delicate material was beyond salvage.

The lightweight sleeves provided an airy quality owing to the wide crocheted style from the top of the shoulder all the way to the wrist, where it ended in a bell fashion. Alluring and yet, more susceptible to ruin because of the loose and catchy threads.

The cowl neck, made of the same needlework, collected the fallen debris that showered onto her when she brushed passed trees and bushes. She whispered a winded prayer of gratitude this November had proven to be a mild one. She happily dealt with the minor scratches and ruined garments as opposed to the loss of fingers or toes.

Why is it always cold weather when I’m running for my life? And why am I always running through the woods? Couldn’t it be June or July in a mall? And why is it always at night!? And why for the love of God am I even running for my life again? I better win the lottery after this, or this just isn’t fair karma-wise.

Irony paid her a visit that afternoon when, for the first time in months, the anticipation of a terror-induced race through the woods hadn’t entered her mind.

A strange man slinked through the door in the afternoon, ringing the tiny gold bell attached to the metal frame. A new level of unease struck her the moment he spoke. She found nothing wrong with his voice or his manner of speech, but he littered his conversation with odd comments, which raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

She had returned home early, on edge, and waited for her friend to contact her. She bubbled with anxiety and marinated in her own self-induced nausea after her desire for self-preservation inspired her to a little online research.

Samantha speculated that the mystery man did not want to be a mystery to her after all. Logical or not, she believed he wanted her to unearth the enigma he wrapped himself in. The alarm bells had rung out. Each hair and pore of her body filled with the electricity of panic that he would return at any moment and stop her call for help. Her shaky fingers fought an imaginary adversary, each time she attempted to press a number on her phone. An invisible force pushed back, and she cried out in irritation. Her frayed nerves calmed within a few minutes, and she completed dialing, but her call went unanswered.

She left a voicemail, and when she spoke, the quiver and quake of her voice matched her hands. An unrecognizable high pitch utterance escaped her throat, surprising her, but she stammered out her distress call nonetheless. She decided if her call remained unanswered, she would leave at dawn. Her plan fell apart to her dismay.

Another cold breeze whistled through the trees sending her into a fit of shivers and reminded her that she no longer lay comfortable on her couch, draped in the warmth of her own home.

A continuous breeze might have aided her flight by hiding the commotion of the breaking twigs beneath her feet. The pine needles crunched, and the tiny rocks smacked trees and burrowed into bushes when her clumsy feet kicked them up. Leaves rustled, and branches creaked under the gusts of wind, and this could hide her, but it could also hide her pursuer.

Admittedly, a hibernating bear could be roused by all the ruckus I’m making. Of course, that noisy wind I want would likely freeze my a-ss off…. Then how would I know if he was sneaking up on me? Focus!

Her own salvation drove her both with fervor and thundering steps through the house, out the back door, and straight into the woods, giving no pause to grab a coat or sweatshirt of any kind. For a hike through the woods, her low-rise flared blue jeans would suffice. She considered herself lucky with the attire she did have on. Most other days of the week she wore pajamas the moment she hit her front door.

Sneaking out of my own home? I guess it was never my own home or my even my own city. I just want my life back.

Another tear fell in frustration, and she bent over and rested her palms on her knees. Her mind reeled from the evening's events. She wiped at her eyes furious with herself. This despair and exhaustion only rivaled by another night, one in which she almost died. The night he had tried to kill her.

This, of course, brought more imagery to mind. The portrait of a life she lived ages ago. The image of a woman named Lauren. A family law paralegal residing in the twin cities. Her biggest worry at the time only consisted of whether a happy hour plan would ever come together with her best friend, Kelly, or if she found time to pursue a life outside of work. But now “Samantha”, an assistant in a real estate company, who lived and worked in Pequot Lakes no longer worried if she worked beyond her straight eight hours a day. She wanted to stay under the radar. On her brief walk to her car after work, which ran along the main street, she only peered in on others who sipped cocktails with friends. Patrons in this small town lacked her thirst for a more expensive beverage, but once in a while, she smiled at a random stranger as they lifted the fragile martini glass to their lips and drank a Cosmo. She accepted their cheers they surely directed at her.

However, she refused to make friends. She remembered Kelly’s last moments with Tony. The horrible pictures he had sent to her phone with his venomous threats. The knife as it plunged into her own stomach, while he penetrated her soul as he stared deep into her eyes, driving the knife deeper. He hungered for her extinguished light and waited with the patience of an accomplished predator for it to flicker and burn out. She fought to quiet her mind as memories floated to the surface. A swirling in the pit of her stomach soon followed, and her face drained of color while saliva pooled in her mouth.

She fell to her knees, and the horrible retching noises commenced. The death, the blood, the running, the hiding, Kelly, and Joshua. All of it crashed upon her. She threw up until the food left in her gut lay in front of her, and she proceeded onto the dry heaves.

Will this ever stop?

She forced herself to sit back and wipe the evidence away from her mouth, ruining her sweater further. She snorted in disgust. Oblivious, her fingers went to her old scarred wound and with a ginger touch explored it through her shirt. The new quirk developed during times of stress.

Her head whipped in the direction of an owl hooting in the distance. She glanced back to the pool of fluids on the ground and snapped back to the real world. She mumbled thank you to the owl for breaking her out of her trance.

Keep moving, Lauren. How far had she run anyway?

To her credit, after she left the hospital all those ages ago, she took up running. Her last jaunt in the woods with Tony taught her the importance of cardio, much like the movie, Zombieland.

That movie was not wrong, except for the zombies of course.

She found, not only did it build endurance should she need it again, but it also gave her comfort. Soothed her. And the rush of endorphins became a nice bonus and staved off the ever-increasing cravings for a cigarette. And the ever-threatening depression she dangled on the edge of when she first came to Pequot Lakes.

A chill pierced through her when the cool air hit her sweaty face. She pulled the damp, red-dyed hair off her neck and dug into her mind for happier images. She pictured herself sitting on her own front step with a glass of wine and a good book. The sun glowed a red-orange brilliance, and she soaked in the vitamin D before the fading orange ball sank into the horizon. In her mind, she closed her eyes and smiled.

The recollection of more serene times worked, and she drew in the air slowly. The soothing sensation of a light wind whispered across her neck placated her further.

She patted the front pockets of her jeans, and her fingers traced the upraised impression of a hair binder on her right side and the lump of a bulky item on the left. Both items lent her a sense of security and safety. She sighed in relief. In haste, she tied her sticky hair into a messy ponytail and forced herself from a walk into a jog. The pain dissipated in her knees. Perhaps the adrenaline had kicked in. She hoped so. Tony would not give up until he accomplished his mission.

She might have wished for her cell phone, however, on rare occasion did a bar or two of reception break through the dense foliage. She doubted it would be a different story now. Still, she kicked herself a little because she had a cell phone. She left her phone behind in her mad dash to escape the intruder.

The glass shattering from the basement awoke her from a dead sleep. She flew off the couch and burst out the back door. Mere seconds after she hit the tree line the screeching of metal springs attached to the screen door sliced through the night. The thumping of shoes on the wooden steps superseded the door slamming shut against the wood frame. Survival instincts kicked into hyperdrive and she sped through the woods until she hit a tree root.

WHY THE HELL COULDN’T I AT LEAST LIVE IN TOWN!?

A year ago, she knew he wanted to murder her, but she worried his desires had since evolved. Perhaps the hunt now made his list of wishes, and for the first time, she exposed him to a new fetish. A new fascination. A change. Maybe he wanted to drag the adventure out for maximum pleasure. She shuddered.

“Don’t dive into the psycho’s head, La – Samantha,” she corrected herself. She shook her head and blinked back another tear. She would miss her little home her former boss Beth helped her to acquire. She couldn’t stay.

“Saammaanthhaaa…” She froze. He fractured the night with the sing-song bravado he used. She spun on her heels.

“Wheerrree aaarrreee yooouuu…” he taunted.

Which direction did that come from? Behind me?

Perhaps she stayed quiet for too long. After a few minutes of intense apprehension, riveted in place, he called out again.

“I will find you!” The whimsy in his delivery vanished, and anger replaced it.

The vibration through the trees made the origin hard to track, and the drums in her chest returned the moment he shouted her name a second time.

“SAMANTHA! I know you can hear me. Or would you prefer I call you Lauren?”

She puzzled as to which direction the hollering came from and stomped the meltdown deeper inside when she sensed it frothing beneath the surface.

I suck at this. Why can I never identify the direction of a sound? It sounds like it’s coming from the left and it’s actually coming from the right. Gah!

She veered forward, but also to the right. She split the difference on risk. She hoped if he got ahead of her, he lay to the left, and not to the right. Or if she happened to stumble her way in the wrong direction, toward him, she hoped he still lagged behind.

“No response huh!? I guess someone did their homework as expected.” He forced a loud chuckle.

He doesn’t really need to work on driving up the terror, I’m all full up.

She halted and turned toward his voice and made a deduction.

He didn’t struggle when speaking. He didn’t pant or sound out of breath.

Wherever he hid, shrouded in darkness, he remained immobile. No panic colored his speech, only an elevation to be sure his messages carried through the woods.

“The longer you make me look for you, the more pis-sed I’ll be when I find you.”

“Is this a theme with all psychos? He can’t be close enough to see me, I can’t see him. And you are talking to yourself again, Lauren. Awesome.” She whispered to herself. “Screw it.”

She took another step in the direction she hoped led away from her would-be captor.

She dove ahead and walked with an ethereal lightness allowing her to detect any indication of his approach. She may die tonight, but it wouldn't be because she gave up.