serial killer / hs

Chapter 4

Tess' point of view:

"I don't want to be," he says, his voice surprisingly softer, a jarring contrast to the menacing growl it had held moments before. It took me by surprise, a sudden shift in his demeanor that left me speechless, my fear momentarily forgotten in the wake of this unexpected change. I stare at him, my eyes wide with uncertainty, my voice caught in my throat. I don't want to say the wrong thing, to trigger another outburst of rage.

"You don't have to be," I finally verbalize, my voice a hesitant whisper. He shakes his head, his movements slow and deliberate, and continues pushing me through the dense undergrowth, the rustling of leaves a constant, unsettling soundtrack.

He doesn't respond, and I don't want to say much more. I've learned, in the short time I've been with him, that his temper is as unpredictable as the weather, and the silence feels safer than risking another explosion of anger.

"Stay here," he says, pushing me against a thick, gnarled oak, its bark rough against my skin. He uses the rope he's been carrying, a thick, coarse cord, to bind my body to the tree. You have got to be kidding me. My heart stutters in my chest, a desperate cry of fear trapped in my throat. I can't escape this. I'm a prisoner, bound to the tree, a captive in the heart of the woods.

He walks away, back to the car, I'm guessing. At least a half an hour passes, the silence punctuated only by the chirping of crickets and the distant hooting of an owl, before he finally returns.

"Where have you been?" I ask, my body shivering in the darkness. The air is cold, the scent of pine needles and damp earth filling my nostrils. I can barely see him, only his dark silhouette, until he turns on a large flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness like a spotlight. He sets the flashlight on the ground, then pulls out a tent from his backpack, its nylon fabric crackling softly as he unfolds it. I sigh, my shoulders slumping with exhaustion. Is he ever going to answer any of my questions?

He sets to work, quickly and efficiently, building a fire and setting up the tent. The crackle of the fire, the snap of twigs, the rustle of fabric – they all blend into a chaotic symphony of sounds that only serve to highlight the terrifying silence that surrounds me.

After successfully starting a fire, and setting up the tent, he walks over to me and unties the rope from my body. The feeling of freedom, however fleeting, washes over me like a wave of relief, a sweet taste of hope in the face of my despair.

"Unless you have to take a piss, get in the tent," he demands, crossing his arms, his gaze fixed on me. I shake my head angrily, stomping my feet as I unzip the tent and get inside, my frustration and fear a volatile mix. He follows me, his shadow falling over me as he enters the tent.

Suddenly, a plan pops into my mind, a spark of hope in the suffocating darkness. Once he falls asleep, I'll try my best to successfully sneak out of the tent, find his car keys, and drive back to my house. Another plan, if plan A goes wrong, is to try to find his cell phone, digging in his pockets when he's asleep. My mind races, trying to map out every detail, every possible obstacle.

He takes off his t-shirt, revealing a muscular torso, his body radiating a strange mix of danger and vulnerability. He crosses his arms behind his head, lying down on his back, his eyes closing. The flickering firelight paints his face in shadows, highlighting the harsh angles of his jaw, the dark lines of his brow.

I take a deep breath, moving farther away from him as possible, and closing my eyes, awaiting for the perfect moment to sneak out of the tent. The fire crackles softly, casting a warm, dancing light on the walls of the tent. My heart, still pounding with fear, tries to find a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. This is it. My chance. And I won't let it slip away.