Missing Like You

THIRTY-SEVEN

ISABELLE DONOVAN
FRIDAY JUNE 24, 2022

I'm running as fast as I can, as though my life depends on it. I run and run until all the air fills my lungs and I feel like I can no longer breathe.

This is my one chance to escape, my one chance to make it out of here alive. I cannot fuck this up. I need to keep running until I lose him completely.

I feel like the deer, running in between the trees, through the trails. I don't dare glance behind me out of fear of how close he is. For all I know, he's right behind me, arms extended, about to grab me.

But I can't think that way, that's pessimism. I need to remain optimistic. He is far behind me. He'll never catch up. I am lean and fast and I'll make it out of here alive.

That's when I hear the gunshot. It's more than loud as it pierces the air and reverberates through my eardrums. Instinctively, I clasp my hands over my ears as I fall to the ground and land on my knees.

My first thought is that I've been shot. I don't feel any pain, but pain is often delayed due to shock. I look for blood, certain it will be oozing out of me. But by the time I realize I haven't been shot, it's already too late. I hear the footsteps approaching close behind me, shoes crunching on soft leaves. I'm too afraid to turn around. I can't face him, don't want him to see the shame in my face. He'll have to shoot me execution style.

"Get up," he says, and I notice that his voice does not sound angry or out of breath. Just very calm, very typical JD.
I hesitate, then begin to stand, very slowly, then all at once. I am standing. I turn around carefully until I'm facing him.
He's staring at me, gun pointed directly at me. Neither one of us say anything.
He holsters the gun, then walks towards me and grabs my arm hastily. I feel a sharp pain as he bends it and brings it towards him. Just like before, my arm is looped through his. We begin walking back the way we came.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, but he doesn't answer.

In fact, he doesn't say a single word to me for the entire duration back to the cottage. It isn't until we're back inside, doors locked, moon full in the sky as the clouds darken above, that he finally speaks.

"That was stupid," he says to me. I'm seated on the couch. He's standing in front of me, like a lecturing parent.
"I'm sorry," I say again.
"What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't. I mean..." I pause. "I just wanted to run, like the deer. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home."
"I know," he says it empathetically. "But you can't. Not right now, anyways."
This gives me an inkling of hope. "But soon?"
He doesn't respond.
"They're still looking for me," I tell him. "They'll find me. What if they come here?"
"They won't come here."
"How do you know that? How can you be so certain?"
"Stop asking questions." He takes a seat on the chair.
I stare at him, too afraid to say anything else. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"Are you going to kill me?"
He glares at me. "I think if I was going to kill you, you'd be dead already."
"Then why am I here!?" I cry. I can't help it any longer. I know he told me not to ask, but it's killing me, not knowing.
He takes in a deep breath and I prepare myself to be yelled at and told off again. But he surprises me when he doesn't.
"I've told you from the beginning," he says. "You are here for a reason. I've been trying to protect you and shield you from the truth. But you're only making things difficult for the both of us. I haven't harmed you and I don't intend to. I could have shot you tonight after that little stunt you pulled, but I didn't. And don't think I won't hesitate to pull the trigger if you ever try something like that again. But do I want to hurt you? No. I need you here for other reasons."
I stare at him, trying to process his words.
"What reasons?"
"I can't tell you everything at this point in time. But you need to trust me, okay? And especially now, after everything you told me earlier... God, it was so hard not to tell you then. But this is all his fault. Everything is his fault. You are here because of him."
"Who?"
"Your husband," he says. "Scott."