Teaser: Fool’s Fold

Branches and leaves snapped around the twilight-cloaked figure as it raced along an overgrown footpath. The trail led a haphazard route through the thinning forest.

A path to freedom. An escape route.

Light glanced off the yellow dress clinging to the woman’s shoulders. Her hair, greasy and bedraggled, flew out behind her as she dodged a tree trunk.

She’d been on her feet for more than an hour. She was barefoot and not used to running, so her soles were bloodied and torn, her legs numb and aching. It was deep autumn in this part of the country. The chill of approaching night seeped through her flesh and settled into the marrow of her bones.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

She’d been so careful with her plans. Every step had been calculated, plotted. She wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t thought it would work. Else, she could have stayed there, in that special hell, and let them keep doing those abominable things to her. Things she could never erase from her mind. Things she kept seeing night after night, things now branded into her dreams.

A root snagged her foot.

She tumbled to the carpet of dead leaves and crawling things, scrambling up an instant later. Her head swung around by instinct and she caught sight of the shape racing after her.

She knew him so well that just a silhouette sufficed as identification. A scream throttled her breath. She pushed forward, her legs shrieking at her to stop, that they were about to collapse.

How long had he been tracking her?

He’d killed the others, the ones they’d sent away. She knew this because he’d told her. He’d told her while he was washing her hair in the bath and lathering soap on her skin.

And he hadn’t been remorseful. It didn’t matter who knew: he could cover it up. It didn’t matter who he told: he could claim they were crazy from the drugs and were suffering delusions.

And then he would kill her.

So she ran, and kept running.

Now he was behind her, snapping twigs underfoot, calling her name with a voice that didn’t sound winded, only frustrated.

He always managed to twist things on their fucking head.

The only thing he was concerned about was how far he would have to carry her back in his arms.

She hated those strong arms. She hated his eyes. She hated the smell of him and the feel of his hands on her.

So she ran.

So she would keep running until she couldn’t run anymore.

There had to be people out here, somewhere. A road. A house. Some-fucking-thing.

Was he getting closer? Was that sound his crashing feet or hers?

Her breath was fire, igniting her lungs, scorching her throat. Her body rattled with every lurching step, her teeth chattering together. Sweat popped out on her skin, cooling instantly. But it couldn’t keep that inferno inside her tempered. She felt ready to explode from the heat and pain and fear building inside her, stretching her mind like a balloon.

The trees disappeared. Her feet pounded onto something hard and even.

Tar.

A road.

She lurched to a halt, head turning from left to right as she stared down the empty road. It curved behind a wall of trees on both sides. She was on a bend, a mountainous wall of trees ahead and to either side.

A sob tore through her. She stumbled further into the road, head swinging from side to side.

Please, God. Please, please, please. Just one fucking car. Please—

A crash of underbrush behind her. She spun around, facing her predator. Light slowly leaked out of the world as the man straightened his shoulders and let out a huff. His hands curled into fists.

He turned his head, eyes narrowing.

She turned too, her eyes flashing wide.

A car.

It hurtled toward her: a black SUV, tinted windows, anonymous silhouette of a driver.

She flung her arms up, despite her body’s intense protest, and hobbled toward the car. They had to have seen her. But they weren’t stopping. They weren’t even slowing.

“Stop! Stop!” Her voice cracked, and she coughed.

The car sped past her, its velocity yanking at her dress and making it flutter violently against her legs. She twisted back to face it and swallowed a scream.

He was right behind her.

Her legs tangled around each other. She managed a last scream as the man drew back his fist, skin stretching tight over his knuckles and his tattoos standing proudly over the back of his hand.

In the distance, she heard the car slam on brakes. Raised voices.

Her head snapped to the side as a tattooed fist connected with her cheek. The world swept past her, bouncing when she hit the tarmac.

Night swallowed her: numbing her to the feel of those hands sliding under her, lifting her, carrying her back to that special hell.

Her own, special hell.