The Girl From the Woods
32
"Rachel," I whispered. "What are you talking about?"
She looked at me, her eyes glassy. "Quinn, I can do things. I can make someone see what I want them to see, and I want that asshole Brandt to see what he did to me."
"His name is Victor," I responded. "Did he tell you that?"
"I remember something about him, but it wasn't his name," she murmured. "It was his eyes. He had these kind eyes, and now I know I was only imagined that. Because he was nice to me. But deep down, there was a monster there. A vicious killer. I need you to hunt him down for me."
When she grabbed my hand, then, I saw everything. The images were harsh, brutal, and I wanted to pull away, but she held me tightly.
Branches cut her face as she ran. The night was quiet, except for his voice, calling her name. He said he wouldn't hurt her, but she knew he was lying.
Rachel fell, into the mud, on her wrist. Pain raced up her limb, but she picked herself up and kept going. Gasping, she stopped, grabbed a tree for support, and closed her eyes.
A hand pressed down on her shoulder, and she screamed.
"No," he whispered against her back as he pulled her close. "Good girls don't make noise." He brushed his lips along her ear.
When the knife plunged into her body, she jerked and cried out weakly. Her knees buckled, but he held her still. And drove the knife in again. Over and over, until she stopped struggling. Until she stopped breathing.
And then he let her crumble to the wet earth, and disappeared into the trees.
She looked at me, her eyes glassy. "Quinn, I can do things. I can make someone see what I want them to see, and I want that asshole Brandt to see what he did to me."
"His name is Victor," I responded. "Did he tell you that?"
"I remember something about him, but it wasn't his name," she murmured. "It was his eyes. He had these kind eyes, and now I know I was only imagined that. Because he was nice to me. But deep down, there was a monster there. A vicious killer. I need you to hunt him down for me."
When she grabbed my hand, then, I saw everything. The images were harsh, brutal, and I wanted to pull away, but she held me tightly.
Branches cut her face as she ran. The night was quiet, except for his voice, calling her name. He said he wouldn't hurt her, but she knew he was lying.
Rachel fell, into the mud, on her wrist. Pain raced up her limb, but she picked herself up and kept going. Gasping, she stopped, grabbed a tree for support, and closed her eyes.
A hand pressed down on her shoulder, and she screamed.
"No," he whispered against her back as he pulled her close. "Good girls don't make noise." He brushed his lips along her ear.
When the knife plunged into her body, she jerked and cried out weakly. Her knees buckled, but he held her still. And drove the knife in again. Over and over, until she stopped struggling. Until she stopped breathing.
And then he let her crumble to the wet earth, and disappeared into the trees.