by Alana Terry
I slid the camera back in my bag and headed through the trees toward the street. There was something about wooded areas that made me anxious, but the trees in the park were typically far enough apart that I didn’t feel the need to pant hysterically into a paper bag.
No matter how sparse the trees, though, I walked on egg shells until I cleared them. Leaves rustled above me, and I scanned the thinning canopy warily. A squirrel bounded from one tree and onto another, sending leaves fluttering down around me.
Quiet crunching came from behind me, and anxiety flared in my stomach. I glanced over my shoulder, but there was nothing behind me but more trees.
If creepy noises were going to become a regular soundtrack when I was walking home, I was going to have to invest in a can of mace and some bricks. Just in case the mace didn’t put a lunatic down, I could beat him over the head with a bag of bricks. That worked on anyone.
I was going to freak myself out if I kept thinking about men lurking in the shadows. That man in the photos had unnerved me more than I thought. I tried to ignore the sounds of nature around me as I walked toward the eastern edge of the park.
A loud whistling tune shattered the quiet and I jumped. I turned in a frantic circle before realizing the sound was coming from the pocket of my coat. My phone was ringing. I sighed in exasperation of my own reaction and grabbed my phone.
Jace’s name flashed across the screen. I flipped it open and pressed the phone to my ear. “So either you’re excited to tell me the details of your date or it went horribly wrong and you’re calling because we’re about to have a very late night full of ice cream and frosted brownies.”
Jace scoffed. “You’re hilarious. We had to reschedule. Something came up with his mother or something. I wanted to see if you wanted to grab some Italian or Mexican on the way home.”
I paused for a beat. “That’s called kidnapping, Jace.”
She laughed loudly through the phone, and I had to pull it away from my ear. “Cute,” she said. “I meant food.”
“I am craving breadsticks slathered in butter.” I had planned on becoming acquainted with an old generic can of beef ravioli I had stashed in the cupboard, but I wouldn’t say no to real Italian food.
“Good. I’ll order and pay over the phone, and you can pick it up on the way home. It’s on your way, right?”
“Yep. I’ll be home in about thirty minutes.”
“Cool. See ya then.”
I disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into my coat pocket. I could see the abandoned playground several hundred feet ahead through the sparse trees. I was almost out of the woods. Literally.
Musical whistling filled the air again, and I fished my phone out of my pocket. I wondered if Jace had changed her mind already. The phone screen was blank. I froze and looked up, tracking the sound of the whistling.
A man stepped out from between the trees ahead of me. He whistled softly as he dragged his feet leisurely through the leaves. He stopped directly between me and the path to the playground and cocked his head. “Catchy tune.”
His lips were curved into a thin smile, but there was something about his eyes that sent a tingle of warning across all my nerve endings.
I made an effort to appear casual as I took a slow step back. The man’s gaze flickered to my feet and then back to my face. I recognized the shine of amusement in his eyes, but I couldn’t decide if it was me that amused him or my fear.
He plucked a leaf from one of the low-hanging limbs and turned it over thoughtfully in his large hands. “Having dinner with your friend, huh? Italian?”
Not only had he imitated my ringtone perfectly, but he had eavesdropped on my conversation? That wasn’t creepy at all.
He lifted his gaze to mine and flicked the leaf away carelessly. “I hate to break it to you, but you won’t be making it to dinner.”
Fear twisted through my stomach, and I backed away from him. I flipped open my phone and punched in 9-1-1. Maybe I would meet some of the hero cops after all.
“It’s Friday night in the city.” He made a show of glancing at the expensive watch on his wrist. I had a feeling he’d stolen it from some other poor soul who wandered through here. “Cops are busy. That gives us plenty of time.”
Plenty of time for what?
My heart hammered in my ears, and I barely heard the 9-1-1 operator pick up the call. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
A second man dropped out of one of the trees beside me, and I sucked in a startled breath as I stumbled backwards over my own feet. He landed in a crouch and stood slowly, brushing the dirt and bark from his hands.
“Hi there,” he said. He plucked the phone from my fingers, snapped it shut, and tossed it over his shoulder into the grass.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” the Whistling Man commented. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”
The second man’s dark eyes took me in with one long, lingering sweep before he grunted, “Eh.”
My gaze shifted between the two of them as I slowly backed away. “I don’t have anything to give you.” I hated the quiet tremor in my voice. “I don’t have any money or valuables.” All I had was my camera and my worn bracelet. I’d heard about drug deals and muggings in the park before, but that was usually after nightfall. I still had an hour of sunlight left.
“We don’t want your money,” the Whistling Man declared.
“Or your valuables,” the second man added.
Nausea crawled the walls of my stomach as their words sank in. This wasn’t a mugging then. The only two things remaining that they could possibly want from me I wasn’t willing to give.
God, I begged silently. I couldn’t form the thoughts I needed, but I knew He would understand.
I expected panic to set in, but a familiar icy resolve slid beneath my skin. It had been my armor as a child—a barrier that protected me when the pain and fear became too much. I had learned that sometimes the only way to survive was to feel nothing. And I did whatever I could to survive.
I studied the two men as they closed in around me. There was no way I was going to be able to skirt past them to the street. Even if I managed to escape the park, there was nothing to stop them from catching me and dragging me back inside.
I knew my chances of escaping unscathed were virtually impossible. The dark-eyed man was the smaller of the two, and I might be able to fend him off, but the Whistling Man was probably a foot taller than me—six two, maybe—and he moved like an athlete.
I had to accept the fact that they were going to hurt me. I would escape if I could—I would survive—but if nothing else, I would do my best to make them regret choosing me.
“I have a feeling she’s gonna rabbit,” the dark-eyed man observed. “She looks cagey.”
“Don’t do this,” I pleaded, and my voice came out far steadier than it had moments ago.
Painful memories and emotions pressed against the barrier I had erected, but I held them back by sheer force of will. I needed my mind to be sharp. I backed away and discretely slid my fingers under the strap of my camera bag. I was suddenly grateful I hadn’t slung it across my body like I usually did.
“I promise it won’t hurt,” the dark-eyed man said.
Someone should let him know he was a really bad liar. “You’re a terrible liar,” I blurted. May as well be me.
The dark-eyed man grinned. “Yeah?”
He stretched out a hand to touch me, and I slid the strap off my shoulder and swung the bag in one swift movement. The bag smashed into his face, and I heard the lens of my camera shatter against his nose. The man let out a string of curses as his hands flew to his face.
I swung the bag at the second man, but he jumped back to avoid it. I lost my grip on the strap and let it hurdle through the air toward him as I pivoted on my heel and ran. I dashed through the park at full speed.
I trained every day so that when I came face to face with my fears again, I could outrun them.
“She broke my nose!” the man bel
lowed, his voice muffled by the hands he had cupped over his face. A small sense of relief flickered through me. I knew from experience that blinding tears were welling in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks, and it would slow him down.
An eerie feeling of deja vu crept over me as I darted through the trees, trying to outrun the heavy footsteps that nipped at my heels. My foot hit a patch of damp leaves, and I grabbed a branch to catch myself before my legs could slide out from under me. I slipped and skated down a small wet slope and then picked up the pace again.
“There’s nowhere to run!” the Whistling Man called out.
Every step led me deeper into the park. There was another playground at the opposite end, but I didn’t want to endanger children. The nearest walking path was empty, and there was no one I could ask for help. I just needed to reach the street.
Fear pounded violently against the emotional barrier I had erected, sending hairline cracks through it. Something old seeped through—like a memory of terrifying, debilitating fear—and it threatened to consume me.
I tried to push it away, but it clung tighter with every breath. It was suffocating. I ducked behind a patch of bushes whose leaves had begun to fade into fiery red and sank to a crouch.
Something was wrong with me. I was so terrified that my body was trembling, and tears pooled across my vision. I hadn’t been this frightened in two years, and those circumstances had been far more dire. These men hadn’t even touched me yet. I covered my mouth to quiet my gasps, and closed my eyes. I needed to control myself.
Unbidden scenes flashed behind my closed eyelids.
I tried to melt into the tree behind me and disappear as I listened to the heavy footsteps snapping through the brush behind me. I bit down on my lips to keep my teeth from chattering as the cold air whipped through my nightgown.
Another snap brought him closer. He was going to find me. Fear stole my breath, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I began to tremble. I mouthed the prayer Mom had made us memorize in case we were ever lost or afraid:
Jesus, sir,
I come to thee
And ask you please
Watch over me
Keep me safe
Dry my tears
Protect me from
The things I fear
My eyes snapped open as the scene dissolved. For a moment I’d been there in those woods, shivering in a nightgown as someone hunted me. I shuddered. It had felt so real.
I heard a heavy thump, followed by a string of violent curses. The Whistling Man had found the small slope I had skated down, but his descent hadn’t been as graceful.
I needed to move. He was too close. I slunk around the bushes and kept low to the ground until I was sure he couldn’t see me from the spot where he’d landed.
He was dragging himself to his feet and grumbling under his breath. His head lifted and his eyes scanned the area for me. My heart hammered in my chest as his gaze glossed over the small tree I hunkered behind.
“There’s nowhere to hide,” he shouted. “You’re not gonna reach the sidewalks. No one’s gonna help you.”
He was probably right. People were selfish creatures. Most would probably walk by a guy bleeding to death on the street because they were late for an appointment. Or because they just didn’t want to get involved. But really, just because no one would help me didn’t mean I was going to roll over and offer myself up as their evening entertainment.
“Stop playing with her and just grab her!” the dark-eyed man shouted from somewhere in the distance. “Or is a hundred-pound girl too hard for you to handle?”
“I’m not the one with the broken nose!” the Whistling man shouted back. He swatted the nearest bush in irritation, and then swore at it when the rough stems cut his palm.
He walked forward slowly, and I shrank down. If I moved, he would see me, and if I stayed, he would find me in a matter of seconds, but then it would be too late to run.
Running at least gave me a chance. I shot to my feet and bolted.
“Found her!” he shouted before launching after me. “She’s on the move again!”
On flat ground his long stride gave him an advantage. I had no doubt I could tire him out if I could just stay ahead of him, but he was gaining on me. He stretched out an arm to grab me, and I swerved, narrowly avoiding the tips of his fingers. He stumbled as he reached for me the second time and missed.
I spotted a figure in the distance. Someone had appeared on one of the walking paths that wound through the park. “Help!” I cried out. I had no idea who it was or if he would even help me, but I had to try to reach him.
I screamed when a heavy force slammed into my back and tackled me to the ground, knocking the breath from my lungs. I coughed and clawed at the grass as I tried to pull myself out from under my attacker.
“No, you don’t,” he grunted, as he dug his fingers into my hips and dragged me back.
I searched desperately for something to hold onto, but there was nothing. My fingertips brushed a thick branch, and I grabbed it. I twisted and swung it with as much force as the awkward position allowed. It thumped the man across the side of his head.
I hit him again and he recoiled, raising his hands to shield his face. I scrambled forward a few feet before he grabbed a fistful of my jacket and tried to drag me back. My cold fingers fumbled hastily with the zipper. I twisted out of the sleeves and nearly fell forward from the sudden lack of resistance. The man threw my coat aside with a growl of frustration and lunged after me.
I skirted around a tree in my path, and he cut me off on the other side. I screamed as he locked an arm around my waist and heaved me off my feet.
He clamped a hand over my mouth to silence me. “Got her!” he hollered over his shoulder. I squirmed against his hold. I needed to get away from him. I had to fight harder than this.
God, please don’t let this happen.
“Let’s go somewhere a little more private,” he suggested, as he carried me toward a thicker patch of trees.
Panic threaded through me. It made me want to scream and fight, but I couldn’t fight him. Even if I managed to kick him or hit him, he would put me down with a single blow. I had to find another way to get free.
I stopped fighting. I let my body go limp, and I dropped like a sack of bricks, which I could really use right now, and took my captor with me.
“What the . . . ,” he exclaimed, as my sudden drop threw him off balance. He’d expected squirming and flailing, but 115 pounds of dead weight were more difficult to maneuver.
He uncovered my mouth to wrap his other arm around my stomach and heaved me up. I took advantage of his confusion and let out a scream shrill enough to reverberate through the entire park. He slapped his hand back over my mouth. “Shut up.”
I thrashed violently as he lifted me up, and the moment he adjusted to carrying me, I let my body go limp again. He nearly dropped me. I was going to make this process as frustrating as possible for him.
“‘Riley! Stop!” someone shouted in the distance.
The sound of something or someone racing across the grass through the dead leaves made the man holding me stiffen. “What is that?” he muttered to himself.
I squinted against the fading light at the blur cutting through the park too quickly to be a person. It hunkered low to the ground, and the color of its fur nearly blended into the fall background.
“Is that . . . a dog?” he asked, and there was fear in his voice. A German shepherd bared down on us, his muzzle contorted in a snarl. I tried to shrink away as the predator leaped toward us. The dog slammed into my attacker, sending both of them tumbling into the grass. The German shepherd growled and ripped into the man’s arm.
“Get it off me! Get it off!” the man screamed.
I scrambled backwards through the leaves as the fight between my attacker and the dog came closer. The man balled his fist and hit the dog in the side of the head. The German shepherd whimpered and reared back.
The man stumble
d to his feet and fled through the park, running as fast as he could with his injuries. The dog gave chase, and I had no doubt he would catch him. I couldn’t find it in my heart to feel sorry for him.
A third man lumbered over on my left, and I gathered my legs under me to run. He plodded to a stop a few feet from me, bent over to grip his knees, and gasped, “My dog . . .”
I froze where I crouched. I noticed he was carrying half of a leash that had been snapped in two. He’d called after his dog when he broke the leash and came for my attackers. This was the man from the walking path.
He was a round man pushing sixty, and he was in no shape to be running. He wheezed as he stood up, and his face was an unhealthy shade of red. “Riley,” he managed to squeeze out.
Too stunned to do anything else, I pointed in the direction the dog had run. The man sighed heavily and hung his head. “He’ll come back.” He dropped onto the ground where he stood. He examined me with a quick thorough glance. “Were you the girl who was screaming?”
I watched him warily, unsure what to make of the situation. “That was your dog?” When he nodded, I said, “I don’t understand. Why did he chase that man off?”
The man drew another heavy breath and let it out. “Riley is a retired police dog. He has PTSD. Gunfire and screaming set him off. His former partner was a female officer, and I guess something happened to the two of them. I don’t know all the details. I do know he gets me in a lot of trouble when we go walking. Someone is always screaming, and it’s like it’s programmed into his head to help them . . . but half the time it’s just some kid playing. At least this time he was right, huh?” He looked down at his broken leash and tossed it aside with an unhappy grunt. “Third one this month. I’m gonna go broke.”
There was nothing I could say to express the awe and gratitude that flooded through me. I had prayed for help, and God had sent Riley.
Chapter 4
I STUDIED MY BROKEN, ragged fingernails as I sat on the curb. Blood and dirt were caked beneath what remained of them; I hadn’t paid much attention to the pain when I was trying to claw my way out from under my attacker, but now they throbbed.
