Page 111 of Bad Intentions

I can hear her footsteps. She’s following me. I pass the pile of metal scraps and run farther into the dark. I can see the forest in the moonlight, just a hundred or so feet ahead. If I’m in the forest, she won’t find me so easily.

I dart toward the darkness.

“You can’t get too far!” the voice sings in the distance behind me.

I look over my shoulder and see the bright dot of her flashlight. That’s my clue to keep going.

I run, trying to be careful.

There’s no path. It’s impossible to move fast. I can’t see. My wrists are still tied behind me, making it harder to move.

Just then, I trip on something hard and tumble onto the cold ground. My thigh, shoulder, and cheek connect with such force that it knocks the air out of me for a second.

The pain makes me gasp, but right away, I clench my teeth, trying not to shout.

I can’t do that.

I can’t feel bad for myself.

I can’t lie around, trying to figure out if I’ve just broken something in my body.

I can’t have broken anything. If I did, I’m dead.

I can’t stop to take a breather, despite my lungs burning from cold air and my heart pounding in my chest.

Because I have to keep going. I have to try to survive.

“Joooo-siiiiiie!”

Fighting through the pain, I wiggle on the ground, trying to get to my feet. The ties around my wrists cut into my flesh so hard that I think my hands will fall off. But I manage to get up.

And I run again.

The forest is a bad idea, I realize as soon as I step into it. Panting, I fight through the bushes. The branches whip me in the face. These are not clear woods. These are brush forests. No paths. The forest floor is uneven. I’m fighting through the debris, making noise as I step on dry branches and old leafage.

“Joooo-siiiiiie!” the psycho sings much closer behind me.

I turn to see the flashlight flickering among the bushes. Suddenly, it whips in a different direction.

I freeze. All sounds disappear, except one—the distant sound of the police sirens.

My heart leaps in hope. The police are coming! I should’ve run toward the road! I would’ve gotten away! But I didn’t, and there’s no turning back now.

I keep fighting through the brush, going forward. Razor-sharp branches whip my face and jam their stubby ends into my body. But I close my eyes and keep fighting through, praying that the psycho doesn’t catch up.

Her deranged singing gets closer.

“Booooot-siiiiie! You little bitch! I can’t have you getting away with all that I’ve told you!”

I keep pushing through the debris. My life depends on it. The sirens get closer, the dark forest slowly acquiring the reddish-blueish overtones from the police lights in the distance behind us.

Suddenly, my foot dips into a hole, and I fall forward. Sharp pain fires through my ankle. I land face down, the needles piercing my cheek.

I scream in pain, gasping and holding my breath, knowing that she just heard me. But the pain is unbearable, making me whimper.

I pull my foot out of the hole and fight to get back to my knees, but when I step on my foot, the pain is so bad that it knocks me down.

Pain is everywhere. In my ankle, in my shoulder that I must’ve injured, in my face cut up by branches, and my wrists cut up by the ties. I crawl, moving forward, but it’s close to impossible.