The Art of being Strangers

xxii.

I was running as fast as I could. I didn't dare look behind me. I knew Ansel was right behind me. I could hear him screaming my name, begging me to stop running. But I couldn't. My breath was shaky, and my legs were almost giving out. My right leg hurt every time it touched the ground thanks to Esther's accident.

I bumped into a tree, losing balance. I could hear something fall from my pocket. I didn't know if it was the pocket knife or the phone. I didn't care. My adrenaline was high, and my blood rushed to my ears.

I picked myself up, catching my breath, and looked around. Fear was showing its ugly face, but I stood strong. I didn't want to be scared. There was no one here, but I could hear footsteps in the distance. Also in the distance, I could hear a creek's murmur. I moved towards the sound, deeper into the trees. Thorns from bushes snagged my jeans and oak leaves fell around me, making me flinch.

Then I saw it. The creek Marigold told me about. The creek Basil insisted didn't exist. Even in the dark, the water was still clear. The creek was growing wider as I ran beside it, the water rushing and crashing over the natural slope of the land in an imitation of white rapids. I reached the spot where the creek rushed downhill in a mini waterfall to join the river.

I was amazed, almost forgetting I got here because somebody was after me. But then I heard footsteps again. I quickly looked around for a place to hide.

There was a huge rock – broken in two – that could possibly hide me. I took my chance and quietly crouched, entering the small space.

I slowed my breathing, praying whoever was after me couldn't hear me because of the creek. It was so dark I couldn't see anything. I wasn't even sure the breathing echoing was mine.

As a kid, I was afraid of the dark. The shadows I saw from my dresser or bookcase were turned into monsters. Creatures of the night that wished to feed on my fear. The dark makes any mind twist, especially a young child's, whose mind adults believed was more imaginative than most.

So my mother bought me a nightlight.

And I got over it.

But now I didn't have a nightlight beside me to light the surroundings and make me feel safe.

I was on my own, no light source anywhere or even in my head. I was drenched in sweat.

Ansel was after me, wasn't he? How did he know I was here? Did he follow us? Has Esther told him about me and her hanging out this late? The real question is, did he hear me accuse Esther of murder? Because if he did, I fucked up. He knew I was after somebody. He knew I knew Basil was murdered. He knew I found out it wasn't Esther and I'd go for him and Marigold. And he got scared, didn't he? So he decided it was the moment to strike and go after me. I tried to make more connections, but my head was hurting too bad.

I heard a voice calling my name.

I raised my hand to keep my mouth shut, but it hit something. I flinched. I took a breath and put my other hand in the pocket of my jeans, searching for my phone. I sighed relieved that my phone was still there. It was the pocket knife that fell, not the phone.

I didn't dare turn the flashlight on, thinking it would be too much light. So I just put the screen on the least luminosity and typed in the police's number.

But my call quickly shut down. I was getting more and more nervous, my hands barely holding my phone because of how much they were shaking. I looked over to the top of the screen. No signal. A sob almost escaped my throat, but I managed to keep quiet.