For my mom, without whom I wouldn’t be the person I am today
His hands felt like ice. He rubbed them together, the dry scratching an even tempo in the otherwise quiet woods. The chill in the air was unacceptable, especially for so late in the spring. After he finished this, he would move to a warmer climate. But for now he was here, and the sun was starting to make its descent. She would be along at any moment. Then the cold would no longer matter. Soon his hands would be warm. He blew into them and hummed “The Long and Winding Road,” a tune that always made him smile.
He heard a crack. A crunch. His skin began to purr. He lifted himself ever so slightly from his crouch, just enough to peer from behind wire-rimmed glasses over the craggy boulder that shielded him from view. A sigh escaped his throat at the sight of her. So small, so pert, so completely, utterly oblivious. Her blond hair lay in a thick braid down her back. It was the hair that had seduced him. So thick, so soft, so many varying shades of gold. She had no idea how beautiful it was. How beautiful she was. He loved her for it.
She was skirting the dying oak tree, about to step over the wet crag full of slick, slippery, water-worn rocks. It was time. He ensured that his gray canvas messenger bag was properly camouflaged by a pile of leaves and stepped out from behind the rock. A thin branch that had fallen from a nearby birch cracked under his heavy boot.
She froze. He could feel the fear radiating off her. She whirled around, her eyes wide, but didn’t see him. Hugging herself, she took a few quick steps, her heavy backpack banging against her spine. He stepped on another branch, purposely this time, snapping it clean in two. She stopped again. Now he could taste her fear, and he swallowed it whole, savoring the tangy saltiness of it. She started to run. The moment she looked behind her—they always looked behind them—he stepped out into the path in front of her. When she slammed into him, he didn’t flinch. She weighed practically nothing. She screamed, and his chest filled with unadulterated joy.
He put his hands on her arms, steadying her. She pulled back, her eyes wide, her skin taut, her complexion pale. Then she saw him. Really saw him. And her body sagged in relief.
“Mr. Nell! Oh my god!” Her hand was on her heart. Everything was fine. She knew him. She felt safe now. Silly girl. “You scared me! What’re you doing out here?”
He let her go for that one, brief moment. Gave her that moment of confident security. Then he licked his lips.
That was all it took. The fear returned, hotter and faster this time. She took a step back, but they were right at the edge of the crag. She wobbled, just as he knew she would. Reaching out, he closed his fingers around her wrist and used her own momentum to fling her around, ripping the backpack to the ground with his free hand. She tried to scream again, but he clamped one arm around her neck and the other over her mouth. He dragged her backward off the trail, her hair, her delicious hair, brushing his lips.
She struggled, of course. They always struggled. The only variable was how long she would last. How long she would fight before she realized the inevitability of what was going to happen. Before she accepted it. Some fought until the very end, clawing, kicking, biting, slamming their tiny fists against him until he strangled all the strength right out of them. Others simply begged. It didn’t matter what they did. The ending was always the same.
Rory Miller would probably plead with him. He had watched her for months and knew she was not a spirited girl. Aside from her passion for science and her ability to come in third in almost every cross-country race she’d ever run, she didn’t have much fire in her. In fact, there was almost nothing special about her at all. Except for the hair. Her beautiful, golden hair.
He opened his mouth and took some of it under his tongue.
She tried to scream again, but his grip was too tight to let the sound escape. The boulder was mere inches away. He pictured slamming her temple onto the razor-sharp edge, cutting a ragged wound into her scalp. But then this would be over far too quickly.
As he reached the edge of the boulder, his heel came down on a wet leaf, and he slipped. For a fraction of a second, he fought for balance, and his grip on her loosened ever so slightly. It was the minutest of mistakes, but it was enough. She let out a screech and slammed her sharp elbow into his solar plexus.
He doubled over, trying to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come. His vision clouded over. His hand pressed against the cold surface of the rock, and he blinked until his eyes began to clear. That was when he saw the jagged, broken end of a branch thrusting upward toward his face.
He heard the crack. Tasted the blood seconds before he felt the excruciating pain. His glasses flew off his nose. His knees hit the freezing mud, which quickly turned red from the river of blood streaming from his nose.
“You whore!” he screamed, blood burbling in his mouth.
But she was gone.
No. No. No. This could not happen. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, covered his nose, and staggered forward. Twigs and brambles whipped his arms, underbrush tugged at his feet, the cold wind stung his face, but still he ran. He had tasted her already. He had to have her.
Everything was a blur without his glasses. Then, a glimpse. A flash. The white canvas lining of her hood. He ran faster. He could feel her again. Feel her terror. All he had to do was close the space between them and she would be his. His fingers stretched. They ached. Just one more inch and he would have her. Just one. More. Inch.
A blinding light flashed. A screeching of tires. He heard her scream before he realized what was happening. She’d reached the edge of the woods. She’d reached the road. And now she was either dead or saved.
Instinctively, he hit the dirt. His nose throbbed. His sweat congealed on his skin, freezing him from the outside in. There were voices. Shouts of alarm. Ever so slowly, he slunk backward. Slunk into the bushes, the woods he knew so well. He could hide here. He could disappear. He would be all right. But it wasn’t enough. Because he had tasted her. He had
tasted her. He had tasted her. How could he ever survive knowing how close he’d come? This need would never be sated. Not now. He knew he would never rest until he had her.
Not dead, he prayed as he slipped deeper into the oncoming darkness. Please don’t let her be dead.
If she was not dead, there was still a chance. If she was not dead, he would find a way. He always, always found a way.
The uneven end of a thin tree limb ripped the skin from my cheek. My lungs burned with every ragged, panicked breath. My eyes were so blurred I couldn’t see where I was going. My foot caught on a tree root, and I flew forward. I screamed as I imagined him right behind me, closing in on me, grabbing me off the ground, and dragging me to my death. I pushed myself to my knees and gasped for air. His breath was hot on my neck. His fingers grazed my shoulder. I let out another scream, my throat constricting, but when I whirled around, no one was there. I forced myself up and kept running.
I shoved aside a clawlike branch and leaped over a fallen maple trunk, almost tripping again as I hit the ground on the other side. This was not happening. It couldn’t really be happening. Mr. Nell was my teacher. He was a good guy. Funny. Everyone thought he was so cool in that retro, dorky teacher way. This had to be a nightmare, and any second I was going to wake up and laugh over the fact that I ever thought it was real.
I heard a twig snap behind me. A footfall. He was closing in. He’d looked into my eyes and licked his lips. He’d tasted my hair and moaned.
My throat filled with bile. I was not going to die this way. I was not going to let him have the satisfaction. I was supposed to go to college, become a doctor, get married and have kids, win awards, buy a beach house, and die surrounded by my loving family knowing I’d saved countless lives over the course of my storied career. Or, like my sister, Darcy, was always saying, I was supposed to die alone and surrounded by cats. Either way. But not like this.
With one desperate explosion of adrenaline I surged ahead, and suddenly, there were no trees. There were no leaves, no brambles, no underbrush. There was only asphalt tearing the fabric of my jeans at the knee and an SUV bearing down on me.
The last thing I saw before I flung my hands up was the gleaming silver grille headed right for my face. There was an awful, deafening screech, and the world filled with the scent of burned rubber.
I held my breath and braced for impact.
“Rory?”
I blinked. Christopher’s face loomed over me. His beautiful, perfect, startled face. His dark hair was slicked back from his forehead, wet from the school showers.
“Oh my god, are you all right?”
I looked back at the woods as he grabbed both my arms and dragged me off the road. When I tried to stand, my knees gave out and I leaned into him, gripping the sleeves of his black-and-white varsity jacket with my dirt-streaked fingers. There was blood on the back of one hand, and mud soaked the cuff of my sleeve. Every single inch of me was shaking.