The Face Behind The Mask

29

No.

She wasn't going to be an accomplice to her own destruction.

No.

He wouldn't make all the decisions. And she wouldn't be compliant, wouldn't surrender to whatever sick plan he'd hatched in his crazy head. He drew the hair away from the back of her neck and then she felt his hot breath.

With desperate violence, she threw her elbow back, striking him square in the face. The syringe was dislodged and he rocked back on his butt.

She burst from the blanket and hurdled him. He flailed and caught her ankle. In a dizzying instant, she crashed to the concrete floor. Up ahead, a thin, vertical slice of moonlight. A door. She kicked out of his grasp and launched herself forward like a missile.

Bang. The door flew open and she tumbled out into the inky darkness. A vast, desolate field stretched out in every direction behind the man's parked vehicle.

"HEEEEEEELLLLLLPPPPPP!" she shrieked.

She didn't wait for an answer. She sprinted barefoot, blindly. She didn't get far before a sharp stone tore into the bottom of her foot. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the dark ground would be covered with hard, spiky objects. She needed to accept that. She limped to a stop but then noticed the man appearing in the doorway, adjusting the glasses on his pasty face.

She bolted, fighting to push through the pain with each alternating stride. Behind her, she heard his feet on the gravel as he gave desperate chase.

On an average day, Kelsey would have left him in her dust without breaking a sweat. But the Ketamine had handicapped her. Her balance, coordination, dexterity, all compromised.

The moonlight fell on the open field, catching the tips of the tasseled field grass, engulfed by the deep shadows of surrounding trees. She heard his labored gasps behind her, breaking the cold soundless space.

With her vision bouncing as she sprinted the uneven terrain, she tried desperately to make out shapes of things, outlines, textures, anything to provide orientation. Find your rhythm. Keep your balance.

Two strips of flattened grass indicated the route he'd driven to access this remote location. She diverted off the trail. She wasn't going to make it easy to track her.

She felt them now, the bruises on her shins, on her throat and arms as the long-stemmed grasses lashed her. She rolled her ankle and nearly fell, but righted herself and drove her body forward, arms pumping furiously.

She sunk low, swallowed by the tall grass. Her heel skid through a wet patch of turf and she toppled backward, hitting her tailbone against the hard, wet ground. A chill gripped her shoulders and spilled down her back. Get up! Get up! She rolled forward onto her feet, clawed through the reeds, and pushed forward, trampling weeds and goldenrod.

She recognized the sounds. His footsteps out of cadence, his sucking breath against the back of his throat. His body was surrendering. She knew from experience to rely on those sounds. Never look back. Never. Know he's flailing by the telltale signs. Keep your head down but your eyes always forward. Always focused on the goal.

Escape was the goal but in which direction?

It was all about rhythm and balance, arms pumping in harmony with her strides. She wasn't a long-legged runner. Kelsey was barely five feet two inches tall but years of playing tennis and miles of running had given her powerful legs and, at barely one hundred pounds, her powerful legs had little weight to carry.

She could no longer hear his footsteps. She slowed and stopped, cocking her ear. He knew he'd never catch her and he'd given up the chase. But then she heard a car door slamming.

Was he getting a gun out of his vehicle?

As she barreled across the field she heard his car start. Headlights bloomed behind her in the low-lying fog. The engine roared and the vehicle lurched forward.

To her left was a treeline. She summoned her strength. As the vehicle pushed through the field, closing the distance, she sprinted toward the trees, determined. She saw her shadow stretched out in front of her and knew she was in his headlight beams. He'd found her.

His vehicle wasn't suited for off-roading. It cried out in protest, the wheels spinning on the dewy grass.

A bolt of adrenaline surged through her. She gulped the night air, pumping her arms, legs driving, thighs burning. Animalistic whimpers and grunts spilled out of her. She hurdled a fallen tree and pierced the veil of the cold forest. She blazed a blind trail through the thick growth of trees, snapping spindly branches along the way. If he had thoughts of continuing the chase, he'd need to abandon his vehicle.

He pushed open the car door and stumbled out of his vehicle. With his chest heaving, he squinted into the blackness, listening to her footsteps disappearing into the void of charcoal and indigo shadows.