You Only Die Twice

Chapter SIX





The movement was off to her left.

She looked over and all she could see was a vast landscape of woods, some of which were so thick, she couldn’t see beyond the trees, especially the fir and spruce trees, which grew into each other in such a way, it was as if they were conspiring against her. Whoever brought her here was likely just beyond them, watching her and waiting for her to make her move.

She got her feet under herself and stood. The pain was there, drumming for attention, but what was happening to her now snuffed it. Her own survival trumped everything.

She stood still and listened. It was quiet, not silent. Leaves fell to the forest floor from the surrounding maples, oaks, elms and birches. Birds flew above her, navigating seamlessly through the maze of foliage as if doing so was nothing to them. She could hear the sound of her own breath, the cool breeze at her back, and the undeniable sound of the occasional footstep as it rested softly on the wet pine needles that worked to betray it.

Even in these boots with their thick high heels, Cheryl Dunning didn’t question whether she could run, but whether she could outrun him―whoever he was. She didn’t question whether she had fight within her, because she did, but whether it was enough if he had something that could drop her, like a gun. She didn’t think about the pain that threatened to consume her if she allowed it to, because if she did, she knew he would win. All she thought about was how best to get through this. She wasn’t a fool. She knew the odds were against her. But if she listened to her gut, she sensed that if he had wanted to kill her, he already would have done so.

For whatever reason, he wanted her alive. At least for the moment. She assumed it was because he wanted to toy with her before he killed her.

Before he tries to kill me.

It was the only thing that made sense. Otherwise, why would he have strapped the phone to her hand? Why had he stopped beating her when a few more kicks to her chest, legs, stomach and head would have ended her life? He wanted her alive for a reason, and as far as she was concerned that reason was because he was here to hunt. She was his game. On some twisted level she’d never comprehend or understand, he wanted her to live because with her alive, she was his to play with until he grew tired of the game and he could finish her forever.

She needed to think. Strategize. She looked around her, but all she saw was forest. There was no sound of traffic, which meant he had planted her deep into the woods, which also made sense. When he killed her―if, for instance, he planned to shoot her―it was unlikely that anyone would hear the shot or the passing of her own life. And even if they did, the shot would be ignored. Right now, after all, it was hunting season.

Again, movement to her left. A gentle press of a footstep that was meant to go unnoticed, but the sound of which carried with it the weight of danger.

She wanted to call out to him, make a deal with him and end this, but those were the thoughts of a fool, and after what she’d been through in her life, Cheryl Dunning was no fool.

After being murdered and raped and losing a child she never meant to carry defined who she was today. Even with the faint ring of the scar that carved around her throat, which caused many to stare but not to question because most in this town knew what once happened to her, she was tougher than people knew. Beneath the smiling, agreeable facade she brought with her to work each morning because she needed a job in order to create an existence for herself, she was cynical, untrusting and deeply sad for all that was lost to her the night Mark Rand literally stole away her life, and also how she viewed life now.

Rand was sent to prison for his crimes, but because of what he did to her, Cheryl also was sent to a prison of her own.

She wanted to trust people again. She wanted to be rid of the hate that lived within her. In spite of her fears to the contrary, one day she did want to be open to a potential relationship. She did want to get married, have children, have that normal life other people took for granted, but the risks, she felt, were too high.

Regardless of what her therapist and Patty said to her, it was safer to shut people out. It was safer to be that smiling secretary who worked hard and nodded politely at her boss’s whims, but who went home alone at night, terrified that someone might jump her when she hurried from her car and into her apartment.

Now, inexplicably, nine years after the event with Rand, here she was again, on the cusp of being undone by some unknown man.

The movement in the woods drew closer. She couldn’t just hear it now―she could feel it. A part of her knew that was intentional. He wanted her to know that he was close. He wanted her to run now. He was ready for his game to begin and she had no choice but to begin it for him.

There was a trail in front of her and behind her. A wild of woods was to her right and to her left. Obviously, she couldn’t go left―he was there, waiting for her to emerge. Choosing the path would be easier, but she would be exposed, which could end in a quick death if he had a gun. But if she could cut through the snare of woods off to her right, she might be able to get ahead of him and conceal herself as she ran into the deep they provided.

And so that’s what Cheryl Dunning did. She ran. And the moment she ran, she heard a burst of activity behind her. Trees bent. Branches snapped. Then his voice: “That’s a girl! You run now! You run, whore!” He clapped his hands, the sound of which licked at her back as she pushed through the woods, the twigs flicking across her face and her outstretched hands like merciless whips.

“Make it fun for me,” he said. “Come on now, Cheryl. Don’t disappoint!”