Accounts of Sam, West border of Spiral Hood Falls, October 2017.
"You're right it's non negotiable! So you'd better hope you can catch me because if you dare follow me I'm staying in that cabin and I *won't* come out and I *won't* invite you in."
'She did not just threaten me with a home I don't have access to!' I clench my jaw as my teeth grind from the shift, hardly able to believe what I'm hearing.
"Don't be stupid," I snarl, so livid I'm surprised it doesn't emerge as a shout, "I won't have you in danger."
Where did all this nonsense come from? She's willing to jeopardize her safety over it? *Unacceptable!*
She backs away signifying how serious she is about locking me out.
"Well, I won't risk another fight tonight! And it's not really up to you, Sam. I'm not yours, you're not responsible for me," she throws her cutting retort. It does cut and it enrages me.
'*Not yours*, I'm not yours.' That line makes my blood boil. My teeth scrape against the inside of my cheek. I want to grab her, force her against the tree and tell her how wrong she is. *She is mine.*
'No, Sam, she's not…' I have no right feeling entitled to her, especially after purposely distancing myself. And it *was* the right call.
She is triggering something in me, this possessiveness is proof of it. I'm losing control of it, my inner beast. It wants her, *I* want her and I can never allow it.
Still, it doesn't change the fact that she should not be going by herself. Damn that Reaper!
She really threw a curveball with that threat. I didn't handle any of this with tact and now my hands are tied!
Damn it, Ashlen!
She's slowly distancing herself from me, eyes alert and committed, refusing to leave mine which are burning into her. It's as if she's reading exactly what options I'm considering. None will produce a satisfactory end result, it only frustrates me more.
I should have flat out lied about my intentions, but that question was so direct. What provoked her suspicions? She must have "seen" something and she would have seen through a lie. Nothing is going right, why can't things be simple for once!
"Twenty minutes," I compromise, seeing how recourse is nonexistent, "You have twenty minutes to get what you need and get back here or I'm coming in after you."
"No that's not-"
She has the gall to attempt arguing and I cut it off sharply. I assert the demand as if I have some imperious authority, like I'm not infuriatingly powerless in this situation.
"Twenty. minutes," I grind the words through my teeth. It's taking everything in me not to keep her here by force. And I'd do it in a heartbeat if it wasn't foreseen to end badly.
I'm nearly shaking with rage. My inner demon and I are on the same page for once, screaming how impermissible it is to let her frolic off into the woods alone. How I ache to annihilate the one responsible for all this, *her* maker.
I cross my arms, keeping it all caged until I can compose myself to a decent level of rationality.
She looks like she's about to blow up at me, exasperating incomprehensive choppy syllables. Her teeth shine sharp, eyes lit and incensed.
She concedes, an furious blur as she books it, vaulting into overgrown vegetation. It takes all my restraint not to rush after her.
******
The longest twelve minutes of my life slink by. The tick of the pocket watch is raucous and drawn out. The second hand seems to be getting slower and slower with every flick of the dial.
'This clock is defective, it must be running slow.'
I tap the face of it, nearly cracking the glass as it strains. I've thoroughly mangled this watch chain, how it's remains in one piece is a mystery.
This little clock is not helping. I thrust the worthless gadget back into my pocket. Rather than disperse my anger, time has only shifted it to profuse tension.
'There's no chance I can endure as a sitting duck for another eight minutes!'
I can't be rash about this. I pace the edge of the forest, listening to the woods. I hear leaves scuffling in the breeze, waving in rows. Crickets sing, pint-sized nocturnal varmints scurry with their hummingbird wing pulses, the call of screech owl joins the bustle, and the tick of my father's blasted watch taunting from inside my jacket.
I'm going to smash this damn clock if I have to listen to one more second tick by. I slide off my beat up jacket, throwing it at my bike to distance the rhythmic noise.
I recount my most recent confrontation with my ex, my final dispute. The imagery becomes favorable as I picture the reaper's dismembered head rolling on the floor instead of Betsy's loose skull. The thought makes my lips curl into a bitter sneer. I don't know how that monster persuaded Ashlen to remain loyal, that she isn't wholly accountable for all of Ashlen's plights.
*We*, we are accountable. She would never have been in this mess if not for the two of *us* that night.
Why did it have to be someone as undeserving as her? I wonder if we, the monsters, are attracted to innocence by nature, drawn in by the very things we are not. Only capable of destruction. Yet another reason Ash and I cannot be.
'I don't want to do this.' The voice of that honorable girl from years before assaults my mind through the speechless hum of the woods, like it does from time to time. And then her image arrives soon after for it's scheduled torment.
Big shiny eyes, not hazel but light brown. Dark brown curls fanned upon crimson sheets. A vestige that represents my deepest sins.
Fear was to be expected in those eyes but the indignation for what I was forcing from her was such a shock at the time. The recollection of sparkling tears spawning as her passionate pleas leave a monotone tongue. Her commitment to steadfast morals continues to move me to this day, striking me with the epiphany of what I was and am, a devil in human disguise.
And then I see Ashlen on that bed in place of her, condemning me with large innocent eyes as realization dawns that she is comparatively an angel next to my atrocities. Who ever heard of an angel being with a devil? You don't hear about it, it's blasphemous, an abomination. Impossible.
What good have I brought to Ashlen's life? Nothing, only misery and problems. I am an unintentional deceiver, but a devil, nonetheless.
'And I'm not the only demon out there…'
I get this sharp pang in my chest, a sinking feeling in my gut. There's the faintest sound of what seems to be larger animals fighting. 'What if it's not,' I can't suppress the concern, 'What if Ash is involved in whatever that sound is?'
Paranoia is getting the better of me. I close my eyes trying to block out the slew of thoughts that will only convince me Ashlen is in danger. If she's not and I go after her, she'll retaliate by staying in that infernal cabin. But if she *is* in trouble… And I *let* her go…
'You let Derek go… And where is he now?'
Her floral citrus scent hits me hard as if she's standing next to me. A delusion, my obsessive worries? Doesn't matter. I plunge into the forest not able to stand it. Consequences be damned.
I dive through the papery decay, clearing a thorny bush like a stuntman with a death wish, crouching to suppress the landing. I'm a dog on her scent, concentrating my raging emotions into keen focus as strong emotions are tied to power. My goal is to be swift but inconspicuous.
I cut through a barrier of trees and mist dense enough to drink, pouring down through triangles of entangled branches in rivulets, guided by her perfume ingrained to memory. I just need to see her, to reassure myself she's fine.
Spiral Hood forest looks malevolent in the thick wash of clouds, transformed into unrecognizable patterns of naked spiteful tree limbs hovering in eerie ringlets of air. Like a haunted fun house with many walls and no exit, directionless and inescapable.
I trudge through soggy yet crispy leaves, mashed together and rotting, caking the floor. A palpable distress rising, eating a hole through my stomach like diseased rats chew their way out and abandoning a capsized ship.
'Let her be alright, let this be overactive paranoia.'
To my chagrin, I detect the low purr of distant chatter. *People conversing.* My veins are struck with the collision of blistering heat and an ice age as my heart hits like an asteroid at the base of my stomach.
'An auditory hallucination, that's what this is!'
But it sounds too real. An awful lot like bickering and to make things worse, Ashlen's trail has divided. Her fragrance is tainted yet strong, leading away from the reaping grounds and towards the supposed chatter.
"Son of a bitch!"
I'm barreling through like a bull on a rampage, trampling the developing plant life. I take a chunk out of a tree, levigating it as I use the trunk to take my velocity to new heights. If Ash is even mildly threatened, I'm going to eviscerate the culprit.
I can't sense her presence or energy. My anxiety is climbing to the forefront. I hone in on the only clue I have to finding her; scent.
I smell blood, *vampire blood*, at least two separate strains.
My head is buzzing with white noise, an advanced nausea is making my ears ring. It's as if I'm having an out of body experience as I tear through the wood like a madman.
This kind of fear, the fear of losing her, failing her. There's no sensation more maddening. All my insides are going to simultaneously implode.
I'm on pernicious autopilot, my only thoughts are to find her and destroy anything that gets in my way.
I'm an assassin making haste, no hesitation, as I approach the source of the disturbing aromas.
I stumbled upon a clearing, tucked in a small ravine. I hop down to promptly investigate.
The earth has been disturbed. There are signs of a struggle and there may have been more than two involved in this apparent scuffle. A few distinctly foreign scents mingle with Ashlen's perfume. Her smell is all over the place… And her blood.
I'm quaking with fury, the world seems to swim in a sea of psychosis. I lower myself to examine boot heel markings in sporadic strips, someone was dragged. Then I uncover something worse, claw marks in the mud. This area has the most spilled blood. That's *her* blood.
That sickness beats at my stomach again as I stare, convulsing with mania. My mind goes silent, blank. Trying to process the horrifying possibilities.
I taste blood as back teeth sink into my tongue and my palms feel damp with a sting of eight points barely keeping me tethered to reality.
'I'm going to make the person responsible for this *suffer*.'
I'm scouring the ground for the next trail. It's as if my sight went infrared. The place is gridded as I pinpoint and lock onto the direction they fled.
I identify a nonnative object in a pile of dead leaves. I rush over and pick it up. I can't register what I'm holding for a moment, I seem to be dissociating.
It's Ashlen's combat boot, someone took her.
I'm sprinting without being aware of it. One boot clutched tight in my grip. My senses are acute, twitching. There will be blood to pay.
A trickling of running water turns into a roar as I reach the bank of a river with a complex network of streams. It splits in several places, fissuring into multiple migrant lines.
And her trail ends here.
"No," I mouth, this can't be it. I gape at the rigid dark water, zombieing forward. I splash in the shallow as it soaks into my shoes.
I pace the murky perimeter, unable to accept the trail stopping here. I've lost too much to this hellish forest.
They went into the river, covering any clues and effectively washing them away.
I seem to be sinking into myself. The sound of laughter or a howl threatens to force its way up, but I silently fall deeper into despair.
She's gone.
"Damn it!" I thunder, throwing an arm and smashing my fist into a beached log. It explodes into splinters, flying all around my extended arm, blasting the bark like a shotgun at point blank.
'This can't happen. *This can't happen!*'
I hear my own ragged panting in my ears, there's a shadow around my sight like I'm looking through a mask. A disconnect, a separation from my mind, soul and body like they're splitting into threes.
My hand retracts from the man made cavity in the trunk, sawdust and woodchips falling away as I stare at a hand that doesn't seem to be mine.
My intake of breath slows as I go still in this altered state. I inhale deeply, memorizing and compartmentalizing each idiosyncratic aroma until it's embedded in my mind as an entity. Marking each for dead.
The animal is out, territorial and yearning for the hunt. Ready to kill.