Run Like Hell (2 page)

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Ricky Smith. He’s a freshman.”

I think for a moment. I do go to Upper Creek High School but don’t know anyone named Ricky Smith. I barely know any freshman at school.

“Sorry, I don’t know him.” I lean against the trunk, unsure of what to do.

“Well,” he explains, “he’s at some party around here. I’m supposed to pick him up which is why I’m in this area.”

“Is that why you stopped earlier?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’d dropped him off. By the way, you’ve been out here for a while. It’s almost midnight.” He avoids my gaze and scuffs the dirt with his sneaker. “Listen, I can drive you to the gas station. Its a few miles up the road, unless you’re expecting help to arrive soon.”

“You mentioned the party your brother is at. How far away is it?” He’s got to be at Chelsea’s party. Her house must be close. Why did fate have to intervene this way? The biggest party of the year and I’m stuck on a road with an empty gas tank and a dead cell phone.

“About seven or eight miles, but the gas station is closer.”

“Can I borrow your cell phone?” I ask hopefully. He glances at the iPhone in my hand but doesn’t ask why I’m not using it.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring mine,” he says and shrugs.

He remains standing several feet away from me, still illuminated in the headlights. He’s waiting, I sense. Waiting for me to decide what I’m going to do.

I’m out of ideas at this point and will miss Chelsea’s party. I imagine Traci, Jack, and my parents trying to call me, wondering where I am. The stress is making me anxious and irritated.

“Okay,” I begin, taking a deep breath and thinking it through before I speak. It’s either trek several miles along a dark, wooded road or hitch a ride with him. “May I ride to the gas station with you?”

“Sure.”

I swear his eyes light up and his lips curve. Is he smiling? It’s a ride, I remind myself. Perhaps he needs to be reminded too.

“I’ll grab my purse.” I duck inside the car and sling the long strap of my purse over my shoulder and across my chest. I toss my useless iPhone inside it and turn off the headlights before locking the car. I leave the hazard lights on. I’ll be back soon with the gas.

“You said the gas station is a mile or two away, right?” I follow behind him to his car and slide into the passenger seat. It’s an old sedan, the kind my grandma drives, with a long bench seat in the front and back. He starts the car and backs up, then pulls onto the road. Mom’s car disappears into the darkness as we drive away. What have I done?

“It’s close,” he answers as he fiddles with the radio. “You like this song?” The station has a lot of static but I recognize the Billy Joel song.

“It’s okay,” I shrug, not interested in listening to the radio. I want to get the gas, fill up my mom’s car, and go to the party.

“So do you go to Upper Creek High School? What grade are you in?” He glances at me and then resumes looking at the road.

“Yeah, I’m a junior there,” I reluctantly tell him.

The car smells awful, a blend of cigarettes and dirty socks. I roll the window down for some fresh air and anxiously watch for the upcoming gas station. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune of the song. A street sign is visible ahead and I anticipate him turning, but he drives past the road. Disappointed, I wonder what Traci and Jack are doing. They must be worried about me.

“Hey, did you see the new movie starring Matt Thompson? I heard it got really good reviews. I’m a big fan of his films.”

His voice invades my thoughts. I don’t want to discuss movies, let alone a Matt Thompson film. He’s an older actor and my dad enjoys watching his thriller movies, but they’re not my preference.

“No, I haven’t seen it,” I say dismissively. Nor do I intend to. I rummage around in my purse to appear distracted.

“What about the upcoming Todd Smith film? The trailer is awesome.”

What’s this guy’s deal with these older male actors and their movies? I’m not a fan of either one of these movie stars. “Maybe, I don’t know. I haven’t seen any movies lately.” I want to drive in silence and get to the closest gas station soon. Once there, I’ll call Traci, or a taxi, but I’m not driving back to Mom’s car with this guy.

He drives past two more streets and I’m growing more concerned. He said the gas station is a mile or two ahead. We’ve driven at least five miles by now.

“Weren’t we supposed to turn there?” I ask, wondering how much farther he’s going to drive.

“Oh, it should be the next road,” he says offhandedly.

I peek at the car’s mileage and make a mental note of the number.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, glancing away from the road and looks me up and down.

Get out of this car, Morgan! His question hangs in the air and I’m unable to speak. My body is tense. My mind screams for me to escape and I try not to appear panic stricken. He must’ve sensed my uneasiness because he doesn’t wait for me to answer.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “it’s none of my business, just trying to make conversation.”

I stare out the window but also keep an eye on him, worried he’ll try to grope me. When we pass another cross street, fear replaces panic. Without slowing down or turning, he drives past a visible gas station.

“You passed the gas—” I begin but he cuts me off.

“Oh, that one’s closed,” he responds abruptly.

People were pumping gas and the store lights were on. The gas station didn’t appear closed. An icy realization trickles down my spine. I’ve misjudged him. He has no intention of helping me. Paralyzed, I imagine what he might do to me and a cold darkness begins to cloud my thinking. I’ve watched this scene play out on movie screens. Am I to have the same horrible fate as those victims?

Breathing is difficult, despite the fresh air blowing through the cracked window. The stale cigarette smell now has a taste in my mouth and the stink from the old upholstery is nauseating. I close my eyes for a split second and breathe. Something within me – my inner survivalist – warns me to remain calm.

“Hey, I have to pee. Do you think you can pull over real quick? I really can’t hold it any longer.” I press my legs together tightly to make it appear I have to go badly.

“We’ll be there any second. It’s the next road coming up.” He glances down at my locked legs and then looks back at the road.

I don’t believe him. “I have a medical condition and when I have to go, I really have to go. I seriously can’t wait.” I feign a look of severe discomfort.

Despite the evening chill, beads of sweat are collecting on his upper lip. He appears different now – threatening, nervous, anxious, and evil. My mind can’t stop racing with different scenarios of why he wants me in this car, where he plans to take me, what he plans to do with me. My panic and fear builds, threatening to crack my composure. I have to get out of this car and far away from this guy.

He locks the doors using the little button on his arm rest. “We’re close. Hold it a second longer,” he says sternly, as if I’ve annoyed him.

A vision of my over protective mother flashes in my head. If she knew the situation I’ve gotten myself into, I’d never regain her trust. She’d be so disappointed in me. I’ve already violated two sacred rules she taught me growing up.

Rule number one.
Don’t talk to strangers
. This rule was more applicable when I was younger. Now that I’m seventeen I generally disregard this rule. Otherwise, how else would I meet new people? I can’t deny the fact that it would have prevented me from getting in this car.

Rule number two.
Never get in a car with someone you don’t know
. Earlier I feared walking along a dark, wooded road more than hitching a ride with a stranger. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.

This leads me to rule number three.
If taken, do whatever you can to get away from the captor – fight, claw, scratch, scream.
In other words, escape.

The landscape quickly passes by. The road remains bordered by grass and surrounding woods. He’s not going to stop and the farther he drives, the farther away from my mom’s car I am. My only option is to jump out of the moving vehicle. I calculate the risks involved, such as breaking an arm, a leg, or worse. The speedometer shows he’s driving fifty-five miles an hour. Perhaps if the road curves he’ll slow down and I can jump out then. I need to distract him while I wait for my opportunity.

Noticing the pack of smokes in the console, I innocently ask for one. I’ve never smoked before but this is a perfect diversion. Plus, a lit cigarette is a weapon. Looking less annoyed now, he reaches for the pack and pulls two out. I slide the cigarette between my lips and notice him starring at my mouth. Averting his eyes back to the road, he flicks his lighter and holds the flame steady for me. I stupidly cough when I inhale the first drag. He eyes me suspiciously then lights his own.

My escape lies ahead. A road sign indicates to slow for the curve. He eases up on the gas pedal and begins to turn the wheel left when I simultaneously stab him in the neck with the lit cigarette and manually unlock my door.

“What the hell?!” he yells and reaches for me but misses.

I push the door open but hesitate. My mother often tells me I’m too impulsive, I live my life without boundaries, and I don’t consider the consequences of my actions. She’s right. She’s completely right. Then I leap from the car.

The impact is fierce and painful. My arms protectively shield my head and my legs lock as I roll and tumble across the unforgiving asphalt. I’m suspended in time. What seems like minutes is over in seconds when I come to a jarring halt. My body slams against a tree trunk and the air is knocked out of me. I know I’m alive because my body throbs in pain.

Stunned, I lay crumpled beside the tree. The woods and the evening are quiet and still around me. Disoriented, I gaze up and try to focus on the moon peeking through the treetops. The back of my head rests against the moist ground and the scent of fresh pine revives me. My body is motionless and my mind tries to register what happened seconds ago. Were it not for the sudden screech of brakes, I’d lay here awhile longer. My mind commands my body to move. I know I have to get up and run – run like hell.

Chapter Three

I struggle to my feet, uncertain of what injuries I’ve sustained but knowing this is my chance to escape.

“Where are you?” he screams.

His voice is close and his anger propels me forward. I run as fast as I can manage considering my collision with the road and tree. I’m limping but I grit my teeth through the pain and forge ahead. Thankfully, darkness cloaks me from his wrath. I try to put distance between myself and him. My side hurts from slamming into the tree and my arms are sore but not broken.

Though I’m damaged and beaten, I’m alive and my will to survive is strong. This nightmare will be over soon. I’ll run, I’ll escape, and I’ll never have to see him again. My long limbs stumble in the dark and trip on the uneven ground. I fall several times but regain my balance and keep running.

The engine roars to life and I glance over my shoulder. He turns the car around and drives toward me. Ducking into the woods, I hide behind a huge tree trunk before the headlights illuminate me. My heart thunders in my chest and I take a moment to catch my breath. Kneeling hurts. Something is wrong with my leg. My hand runs down the length of my leg and halts at the ripped jeans and bloody fabric. My fingertips graze over the wound on my calf. I can’t tell how bad I’m hurt in the dark.

Biting my lip, I remain quiet, but adrenaline fueled by terror, pain, and exhaustion, builds in me. I’m ready to explode with a mix of emotions. My heart jumps at the sound of the car door slamming. Foolishly, I step back and a twig snaps under my weight. He heard. He knows where I’m hiding. Panicked, I tear into the woods before he can advance. As I run, I try to stay parallel to the road so I won’t get lost.

“There you are! Wait until I get my hands on you! I’ll make you regret running from me,” he yells as he pursues me.

He continues to threaten me as he tears through the forest, swiping at branches and overstepping fallen trees. His crude words propel me forward, despite the throbbing in my leg and side. I trip on a root and my face slams against a log when I fall. I scramble back to my feet and continue running but his hand clamps onto my upper arm. A terrifying scream erupts from me and birds flee from the treetops.

Defensively, my hand balls into a fist and I swing at his face, as hard as I can. I hit him, but not with the force I was hoping for. He becomes further enraged and I pull my arm back for a second punch, this time aiming for the cigarette burn on his neck. He bellows loudly and I know I’ve hit my mark. Momentarily, his grip loosens on my arm, allowing me to yank myself free of his grasp. I turn and run.

Breaking through the thick foliage, I sprint through the forest and run onto the road. I can’t risk falling on the uneven ground again. My Converse pummel the asphalt. My heart hammers in my chest as I race ahead, trying to outrun him. His heavy breathing indicates he’s close behind. I’m hoping he’s not much of a runner. Pumping my arms harder, I focus on the dark road, careful not to trip or stumble. I’m in agony but it’s nothing compared to what I’ll endure if he gets his hands on me. The road is void of cars, not a headlight in sight as I continue running.