Morgan
The whistling stops, and no matter how hard I try to slow my breathing, I can’t. Terror is building at such a rapid rate it has me panicking, and with this increased panic, I begin to hyperventilate. The hairs on my neck are standing upright. My palms are slick with moisture. My legs are shaking to a fast tempo and my mind is racing.
Please leave me alone. I can’t take anymore.
A beam of light shines straight above me. I follow its path out the front windscreen and this can only mean one thing –– his location is at the rear end of the car.
I take one large breath and hold it. I think of Aleeha and Brax running around the house –– laughing, fighting, being kids, and I play these images over and over, trying to make my mind believe that’s where I am right now, at home, not here with him. I don’t need to be frightened. I don’t need to be frightened, I mouth in a chant. Fear can only become powerful if I give it my power. Fear can only become powerful if I give it my power. I mouth these words too. My dad used to say this to me when I had nightmares or I was frightened when young. It’s his voice I hear clearly now. It’s his hands wrapping around me in protection. My dad will calm me. My dad will save me.
The light disappears. I keep my eyes wide and try to pant small breaths. All that surrounds me is the darkness. Maybe, he doesn’t know I’m in here.
The light returns and then disappears quickly. I welcome the darkness once more. Lots of flashing light turns into flickering then vanishes, leaving me blinded in the dark. It’s deathly quiet. I dart my eyes up, down, left and right, repeatedly, trying to keep my mind busy.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I press both hands over my mouth to muzzle the scream lingering at the back of my throat.
Fuck!
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Every small whimper is contained, my hands pressing harder against my lips.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Don’t move Morgan. Don’t fucking move.
Each beat of my heart is happening at such an erratic pace, it becomes deafening. I will it to slow down. I beg it to believe there is no threat … no danger. It hammers even faster and the more my fear takes over, the more my panic consumes my every thought.
I have to run. I need to run back into the bushland. I know if I tell myself I can do this, then I will. And if my horror keeps escalating like I know it will, then it will aid my body in finding a form of hysterical numbness.
Sprint. Don’t look back. Keep going. Stop for nothing.
I rise like a mummy returning from the dead. Arms outstretched and slow. I find myself in a trance-like state as I face the open door I entered through. With slight hesitation, I rotate my head as slowly as I rose until I’m looking out of the back windscreen into the thick black of the night.
I squint my eyes shut the moment the light beams into them … shielding them with my hand simultaneously. The light dulls and after I blink excessively, I see the red letters in what I believe to be lipstick, written there. They are backwards, yet it takes no time to decipher them correctly in my mind.
Who am I?
I move my mouth toward the glass. I blow air against the surface until the heat of my breath creates a fogged area. With my fingertip, I write, R E I D.
I see the Wolf standing close, the light turned against his masked face as he shakes his head. He’s lips are moving and I don’t dare look away until he mouths. “Wrong answer.”
I drop my head as I slide my bottom over the seating, and before my legs dangle at the opening, he’s there.
“Don’t hurt me,” is all I say as he grabs my shoulders. We struggle. I fight as if I’m in a battle with a hungry wolf who is determined to feed from me. My hands flail. I’m scratching, tugging and slapping him. He’s strong. Overpowering.
My hair is looped around his hand as he tugs my head backwards in one pull. The strain on my neck as my chin points to the sky makes it hard to swallow. I don’t whimper or cry out because I can’t. I can barely breathe. I’m turned in a circle on my arse from his grip, and can no longer see him. With one forceful grunt vibrating from his throat, I find myself pounding hard into the ground.
He’s dragging me. I’m kicking my legs, twisting at my waist. I couldn’t give a shit if he rips all my hair out due to me flailing about, because at least I’d have a chance to escape if he did. His grip remains tight and he doesn’t slow down his caveman style walk; instead he quickens it. By the time he’s jogging, my eyes and mind have become fuzzy, and the wounded screams I manage to finally achieve pierce the night air. By the time he is running, I close my eyes and succumb to the pain. I let the fuzziness sweep me away until I feel no more pain, no more fear, nothing … I submit to the harsh darkness.