Savage Cinderella (30 page)

She had counted on the treacherous cliffside
for her protection over the years. Now, tears welled in her eyes at
the thought of Justin impaled on the crags below. Stockman stood
close to the edge, swaying as he peered over the cliff. He sneered
through ragged breaths, gloating over his recent kill.

Rage shoved aside her fear and grief. Brinn
scanned the area, looking for a weapon. Cody was completely
motionless on the ground in front of the cabin, a small pool of
blood under his head. Stockman’s gun was close to the body and too
far away to reach from where she was. The hilt of her buck knife
tucked into the back of Stockman’s belt made her jaw clench and her
eyes narrow with fury.

Brinn winced as she pulled herself to
standing. She leaned on a tree for support and then pushed all of
her emotions down deep, calling the numbness to take over. She
didn’t care about living or dying, right or wrong. All that
registered now was vengeance. Moving swiftly despite the burning in
her shoulder, pounding in her head, and the breaking of her heart,
she picked up a thick arm of an oak branch from the ground next to
her and approached Stockman with purpose.

Enough was enough. This monster had to be
stopped. He must have heard the movement or had finally lost
interest in celebrating his triumph. As he turned to face her, a
look of shock covered his face, quickly replaced by a crooked,
bloody grin of satisfaction.

"It looks like it's just you and me again,
Darlin'. It seems your boyfriend is out of the picture." He laughed
at the sick joke. Her rage boiled inside of her, bringing with it a
surge of adrenaline and courage that came from somewhere beyond
her.

Without hesitation, Brinn approached the man,
her makeshift club raised onto her good right shoulder like a
baseball bat. When she stood within five feet of him, she let the
cold fury in her heart bloom on her face and felt a small nudge of
satisfaction as Stockman stepped a little closer to the edge of the
cliff.

"I won’t let you hurt anyone else!" Brinn
closed the distance and as the man raised his arms to defend
against the expectation of a swinging club, Brinn landed a hard,
booted kick to his groin.

A satisfying crunch, accompanied by a
breathless groan, escaped the man. His legs collapsed inward, he
doubled over, and dropped to his knees. Brinn’s left arm was
useless, but she gripped the club tight with her right hand and
swung with all of her might. The wood splintered and broke apart as
it landed with force across Roy Stockman’s shoulders. She’d aimed
for his head but the inaccuracy didn’t matter. The blow had the
desired effect.

The man hit the ground face first, a rasping
grunt escaping his lips. Brinn breathed a sigh of relief when he
didn’t move, but she watched his ribs expand with breath, fear
clutching her heart. She looked at the remains of the stick in her
hand. The point of the splintered wood was sharp. She imagined
driving it through his body.

She wanted him dead. He deserved to die for
what he’d done to her, to Carrie Weston, to Justin, and to so many
others. If she took Stockman’s life now, it would be justifiable,
but would it remove the stain he’d left on her soul...or add
another?

She sobbed as she fell to her knees. She
dropped the stick and grabbed for her wounded shoulder, hugging
herself tight around the middle as grief took hold. Then a sound
from over the cliff dragged her back to the moment.

"Brinn, are you there? Are you all
right?"

It was Justin. He was alive. She crawled
around Stockman, who was prostrate and unconscious on the ground.
Brinn peered over the edge of the cliff, keeping one eye pinned on
her enemy. Justin was lying on his back on a large flat slab of
stone that was tilted precariously. He remained still. One wrong
move and he would tumble down the mountain in a rock slide.

"Brinn, get a rope. There's one in Cody's
pack." Brinn hesitated for only a second and then turned and
staggered to where Cody lay face down in the dirt. Her legs wobbled
from shock and exhaustion.

She checked for breath under Cody's nose. He
was still breathing. Tension drained from her clenched jaw. She
wiped sweat from her brow. Rummaging one-handed through his pack,
Brinn found the rope and turned back to the cliff’s edge.

She threw the end of the rope to Justin and
awkwardly tied the other end to the sturdy birch tree that marked
the edge of her clearing. "Can you climb?"

"I think so," he called up. "I might have
cracked a few ribs, but I think I’m okay otherwise.” Pain and
frustration infused his tone as he wrapped the rope around his
waist and tied a secure bowline knot. With a labored breath, he
called up to her. A relieved smile covered his face at her
appearance above him. “Are you okay?"

Brinn looked down at the prone form of Roy
Stockman, bloody, tattered and unconscious, and yelled back. "I
am."

And she was, she realized. As much as she
wanted the man dead, she hadn’t given in to her desire to kill him,
but had fought to hold onto her humanity. She would not be like
him. He could not have her soul, nor would he ever hurt her
again.

Brinn turned her attention to Justin, who was
making his way slowly up the cliff side. The rock beneath him
groaned, shifted, and crashed down the slope as his weight was
lifted off it. The clatter of the rockslide echoed in the trees.
Justin gasped and groaned as he dangled by the rope and slowly
found purchase for his feet, inching his way up the side of the
jagged cliff. Brinn’s heart was in her throat as she helplessly
looked on.

The barking of dogs grew louder and Brinn
tipped her nose to the air. The scent of men drifted up the
hillside. They were only a few minutes away. Relief swept through
her, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving her feeling weak and
dizzy again. With her attention focused on Justin’s laborious
assent, and her own efforts to remain conscious, Brinn didn’t sense
the movement behind her.

Last Chances

She screamed as Roy Stockman grabbed her by
the hair, dragging her away from the ledge. He spun her around to
face him, blood mixed with dirt completely obscuring his features,
now unrecognizable as human. The flesh on both cheeks was torn to
the bone. Long slashes from sharp claws left little of the face
that had once been plain and nondescript. All except for the empty,
black eyes that stared down at her with disgust and triumph.

Brinn had no strength left to fight. He
gripped her hair tightly and pulled her painfully close. Only his
eyes and his face swam in her view. His rank breath and the thick
scent of blood choked her attempt to cry out. As he raised her buck
knife overhead—the knife that she had depended on for her
survival—she felt darkness descend and the sick sensation of death
and helplessness envelop her. The dream where she was running in
the meadow, legs heavy and leaden with the weight of fear on her
back came to her in blurred images. The world faded from view. She
blinked her eyes furiously, trying to hold onto the light.

Then the memory of waking in Justin’s arms
that morning in the cabin, warm and safe, found its place in her
mind. She would not give in to the darkness. Stockman could not
have her. Not now. Not ever again.

Taking in a sharp breath that infused her
with a burst of life, her eyes flew open wide. As Stockman’s arm
came down, the blade glittering in the sun, Brinn ducked her body
under the blow and twisted, disrupting his balance. His grip
loosened enough for her to escape. With her right hand, she grabbed
his wrist below the hilt of the knife. She allowed the swing of his
arm to continue its downward momentum as she guided the long blade
into his inner thigh.

The movement was one fluid and graceful slow
motion picture in Brinn’s mind. The sensation of the blade entering
his flesh brought everything to a screeching halt. The man howled
in pain. Blood gushed from the wound through the hole in his pants.
The stain spread out at an alarming rate. A look of shock covered
his face as he dropped to one knee. His eyes were blank as he
pulled the knife from his leg and watched the pulsing flow of blood
soak the ground. She’d hit the femoral artery. He would bleed out
in minutes.

As if on auto-pilot to kill, he slashed at
Brinn. She drew her spine into a tuck that barely evaded the slice,
and grabbed for the knife once more. She had practiced this
maneuver a hundred times. Instinct and training took hold and Brinn
twisted the man’s wrist while she grasped the handle of the knife,
taking control of the weapon and thrusting it into Stockman’s
throat just as the crack of a gunshot sounded.

He gasped like a fish suddenly ripped from
the water, blood spurting from his open mouth. His eyes went wide
and he fell to the ground face first, driving the blade clear
through to the back of his neck. He didn’t move again. Stunned,
Brinn stepped back, her legs finally giving way as shock took over.
Before she hit the ground, someone caught her.

Brinn turned to the arms that held her tight
around the waist from behind, feeling the strength of Justin’s body
holding nearly all of her weight to keep her standing. He helped
her to the rock and sat her down—then collapsed beside her.

“
You’re okay, Brinn. It’s
going to be all right. I’ve got you, now.” His voice was tight with
pain, but soothing. Brinn released the held breath that kept her
muscles tense as she rested into his arms. She stared blankly at
the lifeless body of Roy Stockman. His eyes were empty and dead. He
would never come after her again. Her nightmare was finally
over.

A moment later, the small clearing filled
with a dozen search and rescue workers and police. Brinn was
immediately surrounded by concerned and capable hands, Justin at
her side while the paramedics taped and wrapped his broken ribs and
tended her shoulder.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Brinn
and her friends made their way off the mountain. After climbing to
the high meadow where a helicopter waited, she stopped to say
good-bye to the forest that had held her in its arms and kept her
alive.

Justin had come after her. He had risked his
life for her and in the end, they had saved each other. Justin
wrapped his arm snugly around her waist, holding her as if he’d
never let her go. The shock had worn off and Brinn welcomed the
aching in her flesh. It meant she could also feel the rush of
warmth that moved through her with Justin so close. Her heart
swelled with joy at the thought of seeing her family and friends
again. Above all else, she felt gratitude for the life that coursed
through her. Pressed close to her body were her sketch pad and the
worn copy of The Diary of Anne Frank.

Above the whir of the helicopter blade, she
stood tall and cried out in a loud, high-pitched wail that traveled
through the mountains and echoed off the trees, filling the air
with a triumphant and savage song.

Lessons Learned Along the Way

Spring, a year-and-a-half later

It was hot for May. Brinn stared out at the
crystalline blue sea, the late afternoon sun settling its rays
across the surface, obscuring the world that lay beneath. White
foam settled along the shore where the waves lapped softly against
the white sand beach. Drawing in a deep breath of salt air, she was
infused with happiness. She smiled down at the dozing figure beside
her, and watched him sleep. If she could spend her life gazing at
him in peaceful slumber, a relaxed, dimpled smile curving the edges
of his satiny lips, she would believe that angels and heaven were
only a touch away.

Miracles seemed a constant in her life these
days. Love, hope, and faith in family all seemed within her reach,
while the past drifted further away with each passing day. She
considered the Victim’s Advocacy group and her therapist as a troop
of fellow warriors to help in her daily battles against the
pervasive fear and anxiety that shadowed her still, even knowing
that her enemy was no longer a threat. Recovery was a blessing but
also a work in progress.

Although counseling and school kept her more
than busy enough, she and Justin found ample time to spend
together. He had successfully convinced her that his kiss with
Charlene was completely innocent, at least on his part.

Justin opened an exhibit at the Museum of Art
and Design in Atlanta, showcasing his "Savage Cinderella"
collection. Brinn surprised him with his old camera, having
retrieved it from the mountainside. The original pictures of her by
the creek drew rave reviews.

She loved the photographs that he took. Each
one captured expressions of emotion that she was just beginning to
discover. Sharing herself with the world she’d felt separate from
for so long brought healing to her soul and the sense of belonging
that she’d longed for. Having spent so much of her life hiding in
the wilderness, surrounded by beauty but experiencing only
loneliness, fear, and survival, the world was suddenly an open
book—a book in which she could discover new freedoms, new places,
and new feelings, and write her own story.

The sound of seagulls overhead drew her
attention to the cloudless blue sky. She squinted and shaded her
eyes. The birds dove into the sea after fish that shimmered just
below the surface. She smiled at their natural cunning and skill,
remembering her time of catching her dinner within her own two
hands. Remembering the day that changed her life—the day she met
Justin.

Despite the many challenges of reintegrating
into society, building relationships, and managing to learn
parallel parking in downtown Atlanta, she felt content with the
path before her. She still worked at Mr. Hoffman’s store on
weekends, much to his delight, but she had big dreams for her
future—a future she never believed possible.