Eternal [HS]

Chapter Eight

It could easily be paranoia getting to her. The branch that snapped could've been an animal running away at the sound of her footsteps. This could be a hypersensitive reaction to nothing because of what happened the last time she felt this way, but, then, she remembers how quick she was to ignore her instincts back then. And, if she only listened, perhaps this wouldn't be her current situation...

She isn't going to make the same mistake twice.

She twists around in place and breaks into a sprint that carries her faster than she knew her legs could move. And, of course, the second she begins to run, she hears someone running after her from the exact spot the tree branch snapped.

Her instincts were correct.

The forest moves like a kaleidoscope in her peripheral vision, dizzying her, making her question which direction leads back to the house, and making her strides wobble every so often. While the trees were once the reprieve she so desperately sought from the dark interior of the house, which felt more like a fortress to her, they're now a cage.

As she weaves in and out between the trunks, narrowly missing the hands of the captor that caught up against all reason despite her enormous lead, the trees become the prison that keeps her from reaching the sanctuary of the house. The scent that lingers on the headscarf that reminded her of Harry's secrecy and constant presence in her mind is now her lifeline. If she can only make it back to him. If she can only reach him—

But he might not even be home yet. What happens if she reaches the house and he isn't there? What happens if there's no one here to save her in time?

The moss cushions the harsh impact her feet take from the all-out sprint she makes for the house, making it much easier for her to place one leg in front of the other again and again.

For someone with a tremendous lack of regular exercising, she's coping with the situation magnificently well. The only preparation she's had for this was when the fall alarms would go off at the hospital and everyone at the Nurse's Station would drop whatever they were doing to sprint to the sound of the grating noise. It must be the adrenaline because she doesn't feel anything but a heart-pounding rush that courses through her entire body.

"HARRY!" she screams loudly enough to make her throat turn raw.

Cold, dry air burns on its way down as she huffs and puffs, scratching as if she swallowed handfuls of the shattered wine glass he dropped the other day. The man running at a speed that seems too swift to be possible is eerily quiet behind her. Not even the sounds of breathing or exhaustion can be heard from him, yet all she can hear from herself are heavy, panting breaths that threaten to send her into hyperventilation.

All she hears from him are thundering footfalls on the moss, leaves, and twigs littering the forest floor, and there was only one other time in her life where she felt as terrified as she does now. This time, it'll be a headscarf left behind on a blanket of moss rather than a knitted scarf upon the bloodstained snow.

The forest finally shifts into the yard behind the house, and safety is so close, she can almost grasp it. From the smoke trailing up from the chimney into the sky, it's clear to see that someone is home, and he'll be able to hear her if she screams enough.

Halfway around the side of the house, she calls out to him with every last ounce of energy she has, "HARRY! PLEASE, HELP—"

The wind is knocked out of her chest.

The man caught up and dove forward to tackle her, arms wrapping right around her waist to throw her into the earth with enough force to rob her of her breath.

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, fruitlessly searching for air, as she reaches for her throat with both hands and claws at it in helplessness. The last time this ever happened to her was when she was a little girl on the playground at school. She tried to skip a monkey bar and plummeted down six feet to the mulch below onto her back. Feeling the air getting knocked out of her was a strange sensation to feel for the first time, so it isn't any more pleasant the second.