Chapter Two
I’m in the bath. The faucet won’t turn completely off. The drip, drip, drip annoys me. I’ve been in the tub for a while and I’m feeling chilled. I should probably get out, but I feel so drowsy…
I open my eyes. For a moment everything is blurred shades of green and brown. There’s a slight pain in my temples. I feel hungover. But it was just a glass of gin.
Gin. That’s the first recollection that pops into my mind. Why, I don’t know, but I can see my hand holding the crystal glass. Before that there was the auction, and then the car ride after, and the plane…
I raise my upper body and look around. I’m on the ground, on a bed of damp, spongy moss. When I sit up, my head brushes low branches with wide leaves. The water I heard in my dream is dripping from them. My mouth feels dry, and I’m too confused to be scared.
I was on a plane, wasn’t I? Yes. Of course. Now the fear comes. The plane. It must have crashed. Why else would I be here? I’m afraid to move anything, afraid to encounter the pain of a broken limb. But as I gaze down, I realize that not only am I unhurt, but my dress isn’t even wrinkled.
This is when I notice the pack. It’s just a few feet from the root of the tree I’m under. If it weren’t for the brass buckle on the strap, I might have missed seeing it. I look around as I slowly reach for the strap and pull it toward me. I open it. There’s clothing inside. A tank top and a pair of blue jeans. There are also socks, and boots. Everything is my size. This is my first clue that whatever has happened is no accident.
I push the bag away and climb to my feet. The heels of my shoes sink into the moss. I grab onto the low-hanging branch for support.
“Hey!” I call. “Hey!”
There’s no response.
“Hey!”
I step away from the tree into a small clearing. I turn around slowly, blinking my eyes against the light coming in through the canopy. I take stock of the plants. The air is misty, but cool. I’m in a rainforest, but not a tropical one. I’m in the northwest, but where? And why?
Fuck the reasons. This isn’t funny. And this wasn’t part of the plan. I should know. It was my plan. I feel anger and indignation rise in me like bile.
“Hey!” I yell once more. “Hey, asshole!”
My only response is silence. These are wild woods, and I am alone. But is a person ever alone in the woods? I know creatures are watching me. I know he’s watching me, too. I have the same feeling I had after the auction. It’s a feeling every woman knows, that feeling of being watched. It’s like a caress, an invasion. It’s predatory.
“Why are you doing this?” I don’t even try to keep the fear out of my voice.
I hear something then, and at first I think it’s my imagination. But I know what a growl sounds like. This one is low and guttural. Menacing.
I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I start to step back, and stumble on my heels. I can’t run in these. I can’t even walk in them. Hell, even without the heels I can’t run in this tight dress.
I hear a twig snap, or I think I do. My heart is pounding. I look around, my eyes searching the shadows for movement. I sense whatever is watching me is still there. My only hope is to run, and I have no chance of running unless I change.
Adrenaline kicks in. I kick my heels off and pull the pink dress over my head and toss it to the forest floor. I can’t shake the sensation that I’m being observed, but by what? By whom? My hands are shaking as I upend the bag and dump the contents onto the ground. I’m surprised to find that there’s not just clothing, but a canteen of water inside, as well as a sheathed hunting knife with a serrated edge. I hastily don the tank top and then the jeans before pulling on socks and the boots. I strap the belt attached to the knife sheath around my hips. I do this while standing, keeping my eyes trained on the spot where I heard—or think I heard—the twig snap in case I need to run. My heart is pounding. Is this what it feels like to be a deer? To constantly be on the lookout for an explosion of movement from the undergrowth?
I lean down, jam the canteen back into the bag. That he would include these things means he’s giving me a fighting chance, but for what? To live? To get to freedom? Is this some kind of game? If it is, I have no choice but to play.
I don’t know where the fuck I am, but I do know I need to find water, a stream or a creek. I used to camp when I was in college, and I remember that a guide once told me if I ever got lost, to find a source of water and follow it. Creeks lead to rivers, and rivers lead to civilization.
What was that? Did I see something? Movement in the shadows? Should I run? I listen for the growl; my breath catches in my throat. The sudden silence of the woods is worse than the sounds. I don’t even hear birds. Where are the birds? I back out of the clearing, looking up through the trees as I do. It’s overcast. I can’t see the sun; I don’t even know what time it is. I tell myself I won’t run, that I’ll remain cool and watchful as I navigate my way through the forest to water. But when I turn away, that’s when I feel it. I feel someone staring. It’s not a sensation; it’s palpable, this gaze. It’s predatory. It’s hungry. I remember the lion at the zoo, and my mother’s fear as she snatched me away. I remember my father’s words.
It’s a good thing the glass is there.
But there’s no barrier here. Not now, not between me and what’s coming after me. And I know he is. Even if I can’t hear him now, I know he’s coming, and I panic. And I run.