The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Twenty One: A Crazy Trust Fall Exercise

           
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"Why does he always have to make everything so hard!?" I mumble to myself, pushing branches away from my face as I walk further into the woods. Upon entering the forest, it's like an entirely different atmosphere; the giant oak trees and enveloping leaves they hold block most of the sunlight, minus a few soft spots that illuminate the area dimly. I'll be honest, I'm a little...scared. If there was a word to describe "scared" with less prominence, then that would be my current emotion.

"Sebastian, where are you?" I call out with no answer. The only response I get is from a few birds above and another noise that I cannot label.

Oh God.

After treading down a descending surface, I am finally able to walk on flat land. The twigs and leaves snap and scrape beneath my shoes as I carefully walk further and further.

"Where could he have gone so damn quickly?" I ask myself, panting and wiping the sweat that has accumulated on my face. The trees seem to wind and create paths of their own, confusing me. I take the left path and keep walking, ducking and weaving through the timber branches.

Fortunately, the trees start to separate and allow more sunlight to enter the secluded area, but even that doesn't help to calm my nerves. I'm not sure how far down from the road I have walked. I've watched plenty of movies, how am I so naïve to forget to mark my trail?

I stop and rummage through my purse until my fingers touch the cold steel of my pocket knife. My hand, now shaking a bit, pulls out the pink blade and clicks it open.

It always pays to be safe.

On the next upcoming tree, I use all of my strength to carve "L" into the thick bark. It's not an artistic achievement, but it's easy to distinguish in case I get lost, not to say I already am lost.

I pull out my phone again as I keep walking. Great—no service, and not only is there no service, but my cell is hanging on to ten percent of sweet battery life.

"Sebastian! You better come out now before I go back to the car and leave you!"

Would you really leave him, Leslie? The little voice in my head baits with a smirk I imagine on her face.

"Shut up!" I silence mentally.

I start carving the first letter of my name into the next lanky tree when I hear twigs snapping behind me. I grip my pocket knife so tightly my knuckles turn red.

"Sebastian?" I yell. No answer.

The movie "I Spit On Your Grave" suddenly comes to mind, and I immediately go into defense mode.

I stay perfectly still, pressing my body into the tree as the snapping of twigs grows louder and slower. I have my pocket knife ready to strike; as my instructor told me in my Self Defense class I took a couple of years ago for two months, no one can stand against a knife fight.

Or was it no one can win a knife fight?

I can feel their presence behind me. What if it's some masked murderer? Or worse, what if it's a bear? What if it's Bigfoot?!

Out of sudden urge, I fling my arm backwards and slice my knife through the air with a loud and defensive wail. But when my knife punctures nothing but the tree next to me and when I realize the only thing that was approaching me was a Rabbit, I feel more than foolish.

I remove my knife from out of the tree and stare at the Rabbit. It stares up at me and wiggles its nose a few times before clapping its paws together and continuing to stare at me with no fear or precaution in its stance.