by JC Gatlin
The edge of Magnolia Park was just beyond an empty cul-de-sac and a row of browning Cypress trees. Abbie turned onto the curved street and traipsed through an empty lot. Muddy and littered with trash, she passed through it as quickly as she could. Dense woodlands lay ahead along with a swollen Hillsborough River. Abbie knew she had to make the jog through the park. The University campus was just twenty minutes away and she’d be stripping out of these wet clothes in no time.
She bludgeoned a path through the foliage, twisting between tall oak trees that did little to shelter her from the rain and scraggly pines and weeping willows that grabbed at her arms and tugged on her sleeves. The wind whistled through the limbs, shaking more water around her. Abbie moved faster beneath the canopy of trees, not wanting to look back. Finally pushing through sharp thickets, she came to a large, gnarled oak tree with a red arrow-shaped flag flapping in the wind. A muddy blue directional sign displaying a white numeral “4” leaned against it, marking its placement on a winding muddy trail. She knew it led back to the athletic fields, as it was often used by the cross country girls. It would’ve made for a nice walk through the woods on any other day.
Her tennis shoes squished as she moved along the trail and came to the pedestrian bridge. A wooden tunnel like an old Amish barn stretched over the river. It looked especially dark on a rainy day like this, but it would at least give her a break from the rain.
The downpour intensified with a clap of thunder and rain water streamed downhill into the river. It rushed and gurgled below her. She watched the running water a moment, before stepping on the bridge. For some reason, she paused there.
Something stirred behind her. Barely distinguishable from the falling rain and gushing river, the noise sounded almost like movement through the woods. Something—someone—trampled through the bushes.
She turned her head and wiped the water assaulting her eyes.
A man stood in the shadows beneath the gnarled oak tree, absolutely still, watching her. Tan trench coat. Brown hat. She’d seen him before.
He stood behind the muddy blue directional, as if he’d just come through the same path in the woods behind her. She expected him to come around the sign, like she’d just done. Step onto the muddy trail. Move toward her. Come at her.
He didn’t. He just stood there in the rain.
Sunnydale vampires came to mind. Stalking. Creeping. Pursuing. And then she thought of Gareth the Goodhearted Ghoul. With a large, grey alien-like head, Gareth smiled at little children, lured them back to the cemetery. That cartoon, like this man, sent chills down her back. She didn’t know why. And she didn’t move as he stepped from behind the flag.
The man’s head suddenly titled up, as if startled, when the University clock tower struck six o’clock. The bells rung loud and echoed through the woods, breaking Abbie’s paralysis. She turned and jumped up onto the pedestrian bridge, leaping over the three wooden steps into the tunnel.
The bridge interior was dark. Abbie didn’t care. Her feet pounded on the wooden floorboards. It echoed around her, competing with the rapping rain on the tin roof. She didn’t hear it though. She could only hear the man behind her, barreling his way toward her. If she turned she would see him. He was gaining on her. She could hear his breathing, a kind of labored pant and wheezing, but she would not look back. She stayed focused on the far side of the bridge. The opening grew closer, brighter, as did the continuing dirt path beyond it.
Abbie ran faster, feeling her wet shorts chafe her inner thighs. She would make it.
Reaching the far side, she spilled out of the tunnel opening and flew over the three-step railing. She landed on the muddy path and scrambled to her feet. Rain hit her face. She didn’t look back. He was coming. He was right behind her. His heavy breathing grew louder. She took off running. Her feet splashed in the puddles and she nearly slipped. Catching herself, she forged ahead, no longer caring about the rain.
Wind rattled the tree limbs above and she slipped again, then jumped when fingers stroked the side of her neck. His fingertips scratched her skin. Her heart flipped into her throat. He’d reached her. She spun around in the mud. Her hands flew up. She fell backwards. She landed on her butt, splashing into a puddle. The unicorn pendant swung violently on her neck, slapping her face. Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up, expecting to see him hovering over her. There was no one there. It had only been wet willow-fronds swaying in the wind. The ragged wheezing she‘d heard was from her own lungs, struggling for air. Her heart beat so fast it pounded in her ears, and she felt sure it was about to burst.
She watched the trail behind her. She could still see the bridge in the distance. Its gaping mouth stood empty. No man. No tan trench coat and brown hat. Nothing stepped out the dark tunnel and down the three little steps to the waiting pathway. She couldn’t see down the sloping banks to the river, but felt sure that even if she could, she’d see nothing there either. Abbie was alone, at least on this side of the bridge.
Standing, she inhaled deeply and fixed her eyes on the path ahead. Street lamps around the University parking lot shined dimly through the trees and the hazy rain. She wasn’t far. Heading in their direction, she walked faster, thinking, I’ll make it to the campus. I’ll make it to the campus.
Behind her on the muddy path, the chain necklace floated in a shallow puddle, broken into two snaky cords. The little silver unicorn sunk to the bottom, and vanished in the muck.
Chapter 6
After a few steps, Abbie looked back over her shoulder again. She hesitated for a second–just a split second–and wondered if she’d imagined him.
The woods were dark. Shadows moved between the trees. Rain fell, but nothing moved. Perhaps the whole ordeal was just in her head. Even if it was, Abbie knew, her fear was not just her imagination.
She picked up her pace, coming to a sidewalk that stretched around the campus parking. Her tennis shoes squished and squeaked on the cement. Her sopping clothes clung to her body, preventing her from running as fast as she wanted as she crossed the parking lot. When she reached the campus lawn, wet and winded, her legs tangled in each other and she tripped. She threw out her palms to take the jolt as she hit the grass.
Lying there, Abbie didn’t move. She closed her eyes, and felt the rain on her back, her neck, her head. And she breathed, willing her heart to relax. This man–imaginary or not–had frightened her. This was a panic attack; she was sure of it. And she wasn’t sure why.
For some reason, Professor Cunningham’s office came to mind. She was sitting in the little chair at the side of his desk. He was across from her, looking down on her. And she heard his voice, Miss Reed. I’ll be watching you.
Abbie opened her eyes.
A man wearing a blue and black uniform stood over her, holding an umbrella. He looked like a college student wearing his father’s police uniform.
“You alright?” He held out a hand to help her up. Abbie took it, sat up, then reached for the unicorn pendant. The necklace was gone. Flustered, she turned her head and ran a hand through the grass around her. The man bent at his knees. “Ma’am? You lose something?”
Abbie looked up at him, grabbing the collar and lapel of her drenched shirt where the pendant would’ve been. She looked back at the dark woods. She’d lost it in there. Somewhere. She shook her head and wanted to cry.
“Ma’am,” the security guard asked again. “Are you okay?”
“Someone’s following me.” Abbie sighed and pointed toward the woods beyond the parking lot. “At the pedestrian bridge. Behind the cross country path.”
“Did he hurt you?” He positioned the umbrella over her head to protect her from the rain. It didn’t help. Abbie was soaked and dirty. Mud streaked across her cheeks and forehead.
“No.” She looked down at her drooping wet clothes. “I’m just a little shaken.”
“What’d he look like? Do you know him?”
“He’s wearing a rain coat, or a trench coat or something.” Abbie shook her h
ead, thinking about the strange man. “He’s got a brown hat on but I couldn’t see his face?”
“It was a man though?”
She nodded. He handed her the umbrella. “Wait here,” he said.
He walked across the parking lot to the dirt path, then disappeared behind the trees. Abbie waited for him, her heart pounding. After several minutes, he came back around the corner. He dropped down on one knee, facing her.
“I didn’t see anyone,” he said.
“He was there, I tell you.” Her body trembled with cold rain and the fearful images built in her mind. “He was following me.”
“Was he a student?”
“I don’t think so. He was older.”
“A teacher?”
Abbie paused. Professor Cunningham invaded her thoughts again. “I didn’t get a good look.”
“Well, there’s no one there now. I think you’re safe.” He helped her stand, and his dark brown eyes softened at the sight of her. “You’re in good hands, ma’am. I have law enforcement in my blood.”
She was caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy of his voice. “Are you a cop?”
“No, ma’am. I’m Josh Parks, campus security guard.” His shoulders straightened, his chin jutted ever so slightly. “But my father is the Chief of Police.”
“Chief of Police?” Abbie looked around the empty parking lot. Falling rain glistened in the beams of the street lamps. Around them was utter darkness. She looked back at Josh. “Should we call him? They’ve got a canine unit, right?”
He laughed. “I don’t think we need to call in a canine unit just yet.” He gripped her upper arm and gently tugged, motioning for her to follow. “Come on. Let’s get out of the rain.”
Splashing through puddles, she followed him to a blue and white golf cart with an orange lights flashing on the roof. Falling into the passenger seat, she felt her anxiety rage out of control. She wished she could dump all those feelings into one of the trash cans along the curb. She was being silly. It had to have been her imagination. And, if it wasn’t, the man in the rain may not have even been following her. He hadn’t made any aggressive moves toward her, much less even acknowledge her. For all she knew he could’ve been a poor sap caught in the rain, just like her. Still, there was something about him that brought up memories locked deep in her subconscious. Something she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Josh. The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice.
“You’re safe now. So take a deep breath and relax.” He cocked his head, watching her. “I didn’t catch your name, ma’am.”
“I’m Abbie Reed.” She held out a hand, then realized her fingers and palm were caked in mud. She pulled it back.
“That’s okay, Abbie Reed.” He took her hand anyway and gave a firm handshake. “I’m kinda wet and muddy now too.”
They pulled up to the guard shack at the edge of Parking Lot S, before the road turned out onto Fletcher Street. They stepped out of the golf cart and entered the glass building. Josh found a couple of towels stuffed in a box under the desk and handed them to her. Then he took one for himself, wiping his face and arms. He pointed to a blue cooler also stashed under the desk.
“You want something to drink?”
She looked at him a moment, considering it. “Minute Maid Old Fashioned Lemonade, if you have it.”
Josh opened the cooler lid and looked inside. “I’ve got blue Gatorade or bottled water.”
“Water’s fine.” She took the bottle he handed her and twisted off the cap. Then she noticed he was still staring at her.
“Do you want me to call someone?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine. Really.”Abbie wasn’t though. She felt frazzled, and tried to hide it in her voice. “So if your father is Chief of the Police, what does that make you? A sergeant at arms or a deputy or something?”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work that way, ma’am.” An clumsy silence settled between them. After a moment, he finished his Gatorade and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. He tossed the empty bottle into the waste basket then looked at her. “You want to hear a joke?”
She looked at him. “What?”
“You want to hear a joke?” he asked again. When she nodded, he smiled and said, “So what did the Mexican fire chief name his two sons?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“Hose A and Hose B.” Josh erupted in laughter. It was a deep, haughty laugh that made Abbie smile. He pointed toward her. “You see? You see? You’re smiling now. You feel better, am I right?”
“I guess.” Abbie blinked and focused her gaze on him. Josh was a young guy compared to the other campus security guards, maybe only twenty-five or six, with curly dark hair and striking light blue eyes. She hadn’t noticed his eyes. He stared back, waiting in silence. Catching herself staring at him, she looked away. “I just need some dry clothes out of my locker.”
“You a senior?”
“I’m a freshman,” she said. “I just moved here a couple of months ago. How ‘bout you?”
“No. Ever since the police academy rejected my application, I’ve just been making money the old fashioned way. I rob banks, liquor stores, convenience shops.” He laughed again. It was a full hearted, contagious sound and Abbie couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing too. Maybe it was just stress relieving itself. Or maybe the anxiety. Either way, she felt better.
“You look like a student,” she said. “Not just...”
“Not just campus security?” He thumped his badge.
She smiled and nodded. “Yeah… Most the campus security guards are retired, aren’t they?”
“Well, we can’t all live the dream, can we?”
“No.” Abbie got up from the chair. “I guess I’d better find my locker and get out of these wet clothes.”
“How ‘bout I give you a lift? If there’s someone out there, you gotta respect the danger.” He opened the glass door of the guard shack. “What building?”
What building, she thought. She wanted to ask him to take her back out on the running path and into the woods. She wanted to ask him to help her find her necklace. She couldn’t lose the pendant. She just couldn’t. But it was too dark. Too muddy. And that man, imaginary or not, was still out there. Instead, she just said, “The gymnasium.”
He held the door open wider and motioned toward the golf cart. “Hop in. I’ll get you there safe and sound. The ride is totally strange men proof.”
She regarded him a moment, and perceived him to be one of the good guys. She nodded. Perhaps she needed friends after all.
* * * *
Rain spilled from the slanted roof of the pedestrian bridge and pooled in the gravel walkway. Excess water streamed downhill into the river and sounded like a running faucet. The quiet noise competed with the bull frogs and the gators. He could hear them, but couldn’t see them. Darkness had fallen, and heavy rain clouds blocked the moonlight.
Still, something sparkled in a puddle just beyond the pedestrian bridge. It lay barely a foot from the last step. The spot where Abbie Reed had fallen.
He knelt beside the puddle, rain drops beading on his tan trench coat. Water dripped from the brim of his brown hat, spilling faster with the tilt of his head. He picked up the shiny object.
It was a silver unicorn pendant. The clasp had broken. He gripped the gold necklace, letting the pendant twirl in a tight circle below his hand. Standing, he closed a fist around the unicorn, then stepped up into the pedestrian bridge.
He disappeared into the shadows.
* * * *
When Abbie finally got home, she retreated to her bedroom and picked-up her laptop. Clem was there, waiting, and jumped on the bed. Abbie ran her hand across his back, ruffling the fur, and remembered the psychology paper she needed to write. But what was the point? She’d have to return to Professor Cunningham’s office in the morning and come clean that she wasn’t paying attention in class.
She reache
d for the unicorn necklace again. Her heart sank when her fingers grasped air. The necklace was gone. It felt like she’d just lost a friend somehow.
She knew that sounded funny. Maybe a little weird. And she knew Dr. Wachowski was wrong. She didn’t need a lot of friends from school or people in her life who just wouldn’t get her.
She never had any friends in the traditional sense anyway. Growing up, Clinton Reed would never let her go to the park or hang out at the mall. There were no dances or football games on Friday nights. She never had a sleepover.
Still, if someone asked her, Abbie, are you lonely, she honestly wouldn’t have known how to answer. She may not have had friends like other kids in the neighborhood, but she had Clinton Reed and her grandparents. She loved to bake with her grandmother and grocery shop. She had a massive collection of Legos that released her imagination. Her father would help her build houses, cities, and battleships. Abbie asked for the Mega Set for her tenth birthday, and was excited to unwrap it.
As she got older, she found a passion for reading, and collected hundreds of books and escaped into every one. She loved Sidney Sheldon and read Master of the Game and Rage of Angels three or four times each. By her mid-teens, she discovered Buffy and the Scooby Gang.
But Lonely? At best she had some faint sense of longing for friends, like Buffy, Willow and Xander. They would be there for you, have your back. But they weren’t real, and friends weren’t part of her reality.
Like a child blind from birth would only have the most academic understanding of sight, Abbie had no concept of what lonely was because she knew nothing else. If she had friends then lost them, she might have understood. But in her world, loneliness was simply a part of her, like her uneven ears or the odd little gap between her two front teeth.
Perhaps feeling the slightest twitch of loneliness, or perhaps it was something else entirely, she picked up a dog-eared copy of If Tomorrow Comes and read a couple of chapters. She wanted to lose herself in the book. Laughter from the living room distracted her. Susan was with her friends—two twin girls named Lindsey and Lindsay. They drank and giggled and gorged themselves on pizza and cosmopolitans. Abbie did her best to ignore them and kept her nose in her book.
