The rain has been gently falling for the past thirty minutes. I find it ironic from where I am it's tranquil, yet not even five miles away thunder is shouting its loud, vibrate calls and clouds are hurling down intense bolts of lightening as it slashes the sky in half to have only set large, chaotic fires in the forest. I am a witness of such a scene. I can see the blazing amber thrashing violently in multiple directions trying to hide from the bullets of rain pelting toward it. At the moment, I am safe. I lay on the tip of a grassy hill undisturbed from Mother Nature's harsh actions overlooking the area. I've been scouting the perimeter for the past three days resting for a long, vigorous journey. Though the scene is empty, soon people will be pulling in with cars ready to start camp or a day picnic. Hopefully I can hitch a ride with someone. My mom would highly disapprove, but she is dead and I will go to great lengths to get away from him.
Though my goal sounds easy, it isn't. I haven't had a decent shred of luck. It would be best to keep moving so he can't find me. I know better from prior experience . It doesn't matter where I run or hide, he'll catch me just like all the times before. Looking back to where the horrific fire raged, I see the steam slowly dissipating away from the ashen ground. To me, it appears as if an explosion went off only leaving numerous pine trees to loom over the blacken soil.
Between the spacious trees, I see bright squares cutting through the hazy air- headlights.
I immediately dissemble my pitiful-looking tent and swing my camouflage backpack over my still aching shoulder. Anxiety flowed through my veins. I quickly lay-out the two plausible reactions of I am right. If I am right and it's him then I'll back trace my feet and start in to a run. Option two is to act homeless and supply me with supplies that I desperately need. I may have to pray on the latter because Life hasn't been so keen to me in the past seven years-and no, I didn't break a mirror.
The car comes in to view, my throat swells, and it suddenly becomes impossible to swallow. I instantly recognize the oh-so familiar white, thin streak playing out on the red hood of the fords vehicle. It's a key scratch and I should know. I'm the one who put it there.
I follow the attempt to initiate the first plan, but it feels as if my feet had been glued together and my knees must have also created a mind of their own because they refuse to move willingly. My head is throbbing with agonizing pain as selected clips of my horrid past zip through. All of them relate to a certain cold, heartless man.
Eyes searching beyond the cracked windshield, a forty year old man with a rigid face sits in the driver's seat. A Budweiser bottle reflection bounces off the transparent plate. 'He's been drinking again...' His piercing blue pupils find me in the dark and a feature that I have seen numerous times, but appears far more deadly. His brown eyebrows slant downward toward his freckle nose as if he is trying to send me a message. It doesn't take a genius to tell that the gaze has only one meaning-Death.
A surge of forceful wind hits me and the book-bag's strap shuffles against my wounded shoulder bring sheering pain with it. Realization washes over me fast. If he catches me, I'll discover far worse trauma then an injured shoulder. I do what I should have done the headlights. I run.
He's behind me, chasing me on foot. I guess the hills were to steep for the aged vehicle to drive over. To glance over my shoulder would be ridiculous. I can literally smell his repulsive odor. He reeks of alcohol as if he bathes in it. The man is almost two yards behind me. It isn't much but I must, if I want to escape, use it toward my advantage.
I assume I've been running for about three miles, I am used to exert my physical self for such situations. City lights burn through the darkness and small, twinkling glows spread on the horizon as an interstate road emits along side us with a variety of vehicles speeding by.
I glimpse at Rick, the man chasing me to my death. His breathing is ragged and his coffee-brown hair is matted down in sweat. It's apparent that he's exhausted, but if he captures me then that drowsy-eye expression will spark as if Christmas had came early. He's angry, which is inevitable. It would because I ran away or that the ugly scar falling along his right cheek was made by my pocket knife.
Multitasking, the average amount of cars that have come by in the last two minutes are ten. Instantly my mind calculates on its own how many more cars will past depending on the time of day and speed. My eyes flash from right sight to behind me. Watching the silver Chevrolet truck intensely 'It's now or never...' Charging the last bit of energy , I sprint directly in front of it wishfully thinking my plan works as I barely brush its lights. It doesn't.
The truck stops immediately just as Rick dashes in front. His feet come to a direct halt. His eyes were wide and so was his mouth. II think he figured out that he was seconds away from being road kill. It's a real shame that he wasn't either.
With all that chasing, my legs slowly numb. I strain myself to keep my eyes open and my mind awake otherwise I would pass-out. The drivers seems to be a southern; but not a happy one you see on the guitar commercials smiling as he strums an instrument. His eyebrows narrowed , forming a V, and his teeth were harshly grinding.
"What do ya think you're doing?" He practicality hissed.
Rick, unfortunately, was far from shock. "Sorry but you see. This girl here wasn't looking when she crossed. I tried to stop her from going, but I got dragged in. Thanks for stopping though. It would've been an awful sight- me bing thrown all over this here road.
'Yeah, awful.' His lying skills still amaze me. How sincere his apology was and his tone as if it was layered in sugar. The driver muttered something under his breath and then sped off. Hardly any other cars were seen traveling the road. Suddenly, it hit me.
I was once again alone, nobody insight, with him. The man who frightens even my worst nightmares. My father.