the hunter // lrh.

0.1

    I don't know why I am running, but I am running and fast. In the moonlight I can only see the path of concrete in front of me, ticking with each step I take. As I sprint into an alley, the darkness of the night envelopes me in a tight suffocating hug, and soon I'm huffing, gasping for air.

Of course-- like something out of a damn book-- I come to a dead end. I begin to panic, and my breathing gets heavier. I'm extremely frightened, and I have no idea what to do. At this moment, I knew I should have stayed back in New York with the busy streets and my mother to protect me, but I'm just so stubborn I didn't.

The footsteps I hear in the background are getting closer and at this point, I almost want to cry. But if I learned anything from my mother, it was to never show anyone they got to you, especially the monsters. They love fear; they live for it.

As I backpedal towards the metal gate at the end of the alley, I stumble and scrap my palms against the ground. They begin to bleed crimson, but I keep backing up because in the back of my head I know I'm dead, I'm just prolonging what little bit of time my pity life has left.

With my bony back against the iron, the approaching shadow turns into a black figure in front of my face. Like my mother said, I try and hide the extreme fear I feel inside, but it's no use. Fear is pouring out of every cell in my human body, and I know he can sense it too.

I take a silver throwing knife out of my pants, and I throw it at the monster. Instead of growing up on Barbies and Ken dolls, I grew up throwing knifes and shooting a gun at glass bottles. I hit the monster in the heart, but since it isn't a stake, it doesn't kill him. The knife that is submerged in chest of the monster, only pisses it off.

    He pulls the knife from his chest and throws it to the ground and he snickers. The monster looks at me from his position, twenty feet away, but then shifts his way to me within seconds. He begins to choke me.

    "Such a shame. Your poor mommy isn't here to save you now. Aren't you Elliot's suppose to know better than this; silver doesn't kill a monster like me," he chuckles evilly and squeezes harder, successfully blocking air from entering my lungs.

    Out of nowhere, a familiar voice echos. I don't recognize who the voice belongs to, but I couldn't be happier because they just plunged a stake in the chest of the monster, right where my knife was. The last I heard before being surrounded in a world of black was, "True, but a stake kills bitches like you."

* * * * *

When I wake up the next morning, I am in a local hospital in the middle of Indiana. I wake to the sound of my mother's voice interrogating the nurse about my condition. The good thing is that I fully remember everything that happened, so at least I haven't suffered too much brain injury, but the bad new is my mother's here.

Disobeying your mother, stealing the keys to her only car, and traveling across America to hunt a monster that nearly kills you, calls for quite a lecture. Boy, am I not ready for this either.

I want to go back into my coma thingy, or whatever caused me to be knocked out, but I know that pretending to be asleep or nearly dead will only make the matter worse. I just know that my mother has to say to me isn't going to be nice, plus I'll probably be grounded.

"Mrs. Elliot, I understand your concern for your daughter, but right now, we're doing the best that we can. The doctor and his team are doing everything that we can for her." Well shit.

"You call this everything!" My mother was furious and I felt bad for the nurse because we Elliots have a temper-- it makes us good hunters, in my opinion-- and right now that nurse was facing all the wrath of my mother. "My daughter is unconscious right now, suffering for God-knows-what, and all you can tell me is 'you're trying.'" She throws her hands in the air. "This is bullshit! What if she has a concussion... O-or brain damage? I don't know, and honestly, I need to know more than the fact that she's unconscious."

"Ma'am, like I said, we're trying. We don't want to run any tests until she is awake. The doctor feels it is best not to risk your daughter's stability. Once she wakes up, we will begin to run test and have a definite diagnosis for you, Mrs. Elliot." The nurse is persuading and calms down my mother a bit, but she still paces outside of my room.

Well, guess that's me que.

"Mom..." I say. My vocal cords are weak, my throat is dry and scratchy, and it hurts to try to talk. The sound that creeps from my lips is barely above a whisper and almost inaudible, but magically, my mother hears me choke out my call for her.

My mother immediately stops her pacing from outside the door and rushes to my side, and the relief of my wellness brings color back to her pale face. As much as she wants to scold me, she is too thrilled to hear my voice and hold back from the parenting.

"God damn you... Remi, do you understand how much you worried me? You can't just run off like that. Look what you got yourself into!" She pauses for only a moment before continuing, "I'm just glad you're well."

"I'm f-fine, r-really," I choke the words out to my mother, since my voice is still scratchy and my throat still dry. Even though that is all the words I can speak out, my mother finds comfort in it. She relaxes, but will continue to be tense until the doctor fulfills her motherly needs.

The nurses check me every couple of hours, and bring me lukewarm water with a cup of ice. The told me I couldn't have ice cold water because it will only make my throat hurt more. They also check the purple bruise around my neck, where the monsters hands were, and bring ice and Advil for the swelling.

Mom told me she told the nurses I was mugged, but from the looks the give me when they come into the room, they don't believe me. I mean honestly, what I am experiencing is a little too much pain to mug a seventeen-year-old in ripped jeans and some old, dirty Converse. They would have believed my torn-up palms and a couple of bruises, but not the purple ring around my throat.

* * * * *

Within a couple of days, I am being released from the hospital with a mild concussion, a sore throat-- for which I was given a nice dry-erase board and a couple of colorful markers-- and a nice bruise. The color purple seems to suit me at the moment.

Being released, meant moving on; we ditched Indiana, and started making our way to a new case, with new monsters to hunt. Mom says there is a couple of suspicious activity going on in Alabama. She says that it might after something to do with demons. They're common, but still ain't easy to fight.

Mom also has I staying in a shithole for a little while. Enrolled me in school too, and she is even making me go. The kids are gonna love the new girls, probably gonna think I tried to kill myself.

Ah, sweet home Alabama.