Between Octobers

Turning Point

Turning Point

Halfway through the second turn, I feel a sudden, petrifying urge. Before I can think it through, my feet come to a screeching halt.

The moon has disappeared, again. The instinct of flight is overpowered by a growing dread. I search for the gloomy shapes, turning from one side to the other in a sudden mass of confusion. I can't tell which direction I came from, and have no idea where to go. The shades of gray that carved my immediate path are gone.

Why did I look back? 

I try to mimic the rotation in reverse, but can't be sure if I'm facing my original direction, and I can't feel the natural line in the earth I followed to this place. The wind that blew at my back is gone. I hear its blustering whistle, but no longer feel it. Chirping crickets and leaves disappear in the howling wind. All is violently still.

The silence I ran towards has become a plunging nightmare. I'm trapped, ensnared by black. Every flitter of a wing, every shiver up my spine is my hunter, stalking. I strain to find the bounding beam of the flashlight, but there's nothing. Only fear and the resounding flux of my heart.

The stress throbs continuously in my head and shoulder. I try to take my pulse, but my tremulous fingers cannot feel. The skin of my hands and forearms are on fire. My pleas are quiet sobs given to the crease of my elbow.

My sweaty hair whips in a sudden arctic blast that swirls, caking me with dirt. As I step back, something brushes against me. I jump, spinning in mid-air, throwing my hands over my belly, but can't see anything. No shape of a shadow within the shadows, and no presence. Driven by a nauseating sense of importance, I reach out. The black is cold and hard against my fingertips. A huge rock, stretching higher and further than I can reach.

There's a sense of security in the stone. An assurance no one can grab me from behind. There's nothing to see in any direction, but the wind is blowing in short, freezing bursts.

I lock my lips around my chattering teeth, waiting, hoping the wind will move the clouds again, needing moonlight for guidance. I curl against the solid mass, drawing down the hiked sleeves of my sweatshirt with my teeth and pulling the strings to tighten the hood around my face. Crouching down on my ankles, I run my numb fingers along the ground, searching for anything to help. I find the point of something hard, and dig around it. It feels long and solid, sharp at one side. I angle the odd-shaped stone between my knees and try to cut through the tie on my wrists. But shivers rock my body as I work. Each time, I drop the stone and have to start again.

My head snaps up when I hear the crackling of feet. The light falls into view a moment later. My eyes follow the dim beam carried by my tracker. I grip the stone with rigid fingers, clutching the scream in my mouth. A taste of blood lingers on my tongue.

Please don't let her see me . . .  

In the same second I make the prayer, the light of the high moon peeks from behind a thin cloud. There's the black shape of my stalker, running down the slope. The flashlight's pointed at the ground.   

I look around while the dim holds, hoping to mark a means of escape. Off to the right, only the high wall. To my left, the gray ground suddenly ends. I hold the gasp, looking down into the nothingness, a chasm, inches from my hiding place. So close, my feet automatically pull me back. I'm tucked near the edge in the mouth of a natural recess against a giant rock wall. The slight turn I took carried me away from the deadly ridge and into safety. Had I not turned when I did, I might have run right off the edge. If I hadn't stopped so suddenly, I might've smacked into the rock and fell.

As my mind registers the immediate danger of the stalker and the narrow avoidance of my own death, the sickening realization creeps in. There's nowhere left to run. When she sees the emptiness ahead, she'll have to turn. And she'll find us. Defenseless. 

I look to the rock. To the creeping beam, bouncing down the graded ground. Soon, she'll come to the bottom where the ground swells. The small hillock where I turned. I gaze up to the moon, measuring how long the light will last against how long it will take her to reach the spot.

A little while longer and it will all be over. A little more death and I will die in the most complete sense. I have, already, in so many ways. My mother and father took with them my security, an entire life full of moments of my past and theirs, which would never be recovered. Those memories that were solely theirs—the exact day I took my first steps, the first time I laughed out loud. The precise words my father used when he proposed to my mother and the way she felt when she heard. The advice she might've given when I told her how I liked a boy—all of it's gone because they are.

And Solomon. Every tie so closely entwined in him was severed when he departed. Evan—my great love and father to his unknown heir.

Each incident has been an uncompromising, uprooting, and earth-rending heartbreak that's killed pieces of me. If it were only me, I could live through my own ending, but how can I let the inevitable strike, knowing I'm not the only one affected?    

She was going to bury us. The trouble she's taken to follow me this far only proves she's determined to finish what she started.

The wind picks up again, thrusting the clouds across the sky and taking my light. I strain to see the black against black, taking aim.

The rock lands with a loud smack and bounces out of knowledge. I hear the crumbling earth and see the light carry up the hillock, gaining speed as it goes. The stride is fast, full of misguided expectancy.