NOTE: Long chapter ahead!
Stranger Danger
"Always remember: If things can't get any worse, they'll only get better."
Scarlett's POV
"STOP!" Her screams bounce the walls of the cave.
"Please, don't hurt me!"
She reaches over, to clench his hand in her hair.
"Ouch!" She hisses in pain, as her body is dragged through another rugged path. He tightens his fist in her hair and she screams again. She tastes the blood that cripples down to her chin. Salty but fresh. "Let me go!" She digs her nails into his wrist and he gives out a wry laugh.
Her grip loosens and squints her eyes at the sudden intrusion of light. The cave illuminates with narrow stream of moonlight. The light gets blocked and then shines again. Someone walks by the dark cave's entrance and she screams her throat out this time. "Help!" She tries again.
"Over here! Please. He will kill me!"
He stops suddenly and turns her way. The killer stills and bends to snap her shut. She sniffs on his grass dirty hands and tries to wiggle herself out. He stomps on her extended hands, which reach for the light in sight. She groans in pain and they come out in mere whimpers. "Another move and I'll enjoy your torture." He whispers, in the most gravelly voice, she has ever heard. Her head starts spinning, as he voices out his thoughts.
"Nails on your skin."
"Screws deeper than kin." Her fright hits hilt with the next one.
"Axing your limbs." She screeches in terror, through her closed mouth. "You like that, don't you?" He smiles, as he rubs his masked face on her shoulder.
He gets closer, if that was even possible. "Your wish is my command." She silently watches, as her last hope walks away from her line of sight. She creases her eyebrows further and this time she couldn't even cry. He creeps, as he continues to drag her towards her doom.
"I owe you that much." He chuckles darkly.
"He's a psychopath!" Her shrieks drown in the hollow darkness. "Help me! Somebody! Please!"
And this time, he lets her wail in peace.
"NO!" I scream, forcing myself awake. My breath comes out in pants. In and out. In and out. I shift through the sort of cozy couch, I'm in. I look here and there, trying to access my surroundings. My vision clears after a minute or two. Just as it does, my hands search myself for bruises. Other than the almost healed wounds on my palms, I find no trace of harm. I gulp, as the waves of terror still ride through me. I ball my fists into the blanket sprung over me and try to calm my raging heartbeat.
I'm alive. I'm still breathing. I convince myself to see the better.
My subconscious brings back fear with the lasting doubt, till when? It's answered right away.
As he walks in the room. With every step he takes, the unusual intimacy builds. He gets closer and my stupid heart accelerates in a different way. What's happening? Who is he? Did he bring me here? Was he the killer in my dream? Did I foresee my death? Then, the light shines across his face and I forget to breathe. His paces are making my thoughts inaudible. And for that moment, just that moment. My hazing mind and whirlwind of thoughts go into a silent rhythm. I feel so light. Almost numb. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
He stands in front of me, as we both explore each other with our deep eye contacts.
Mine with inquisition.
His with intensity.
I wonder, how my soul doesn't cower away. I gulp again, facing inability to think. He has silenced all of my fears. Until, he speaks.
"Drink." He demands, as he forces the mug in front of my face. I stare long and hard at the cup. That's when I get my brain back. Unfortunately, with a sharp pain accompanied with it. I bite my lip, a little too harshly to endure the sudden intrusion. My fingers caress the inflicted area and a bandage rubs off my nails. Did he? My inner self questions. I look up to his face, and when our gazes meet. I feel that unfamiliar feeling in the pit of my stomach again. He looks away quickly though, as if he's caught doing something forbidden.
"Drink." He mutters again. I frown, thinking why he's pushing me to do this. But, I can't wonder further, because the sting strikes again. Deeper this time. I hiss. He clenches his jaw and stares hard at the clock.
Damn, how I thank God, I'm not the source.
He looks back with emotionless eyes. "I said drink." The way, he forces out the words make my hands move by themselves. I grab the cup. It smells like herbs. What is with this liquid? Why is he forcing me to drink this? I can't take things from strangers. But, he aided me. My subconscious interrupts, some people like to torture their victims healthy. Then, realization hits me like a truck.
What if? What if it has poison?
I crease my forehead. The pain follows. I shiver and he gives me a death glare. Involuntarily, I take a sip. Oh God. I'm going to die. Five minutes pass, with me still breathing. I open my worried eyes. He sighs annoyed, as he settles in a chair.
"I don't poison people. I'd rather slaughter them."
I catch the "where's the fun in that?" tone in his threat. I gulp in terror. Why did he save me, if he wanted to kill me? He should have left me in the woods. With the darkness and the wild animals. I shudder with the thought. Am I so evil, that I'm given options to die? I draw myself away from self-loathing. He might be the haunted hunter, the girls warned be about. I tentatively glance at him again and wonder. Damn, he doesn't look the part. He looks young, agitated and so... humane. Then, the lingering doubt speaks too soon. If the witches could be as attractive as to beckon the men around them, then why couldn't a hunter be as handsome?
No way, Scarlett. You just didn't compliment your future killer.
I groan inwardly and concentrate on facts, rather than hormones. Great, blame it on the hormones. My inner voice taunts again. I speak over it.
"What is this place?" I ask, looking around briefly. The place is cozy, almost home-like. A home, where a family lives not a killer. The only strange part are the framed newspapers and too many history books on the front cupboard. They are also messed up on the table, and so disoriented as if there has been a havoc of shuffling and keen information. I look at the red traces marked like a heading and then scribbled words on a rough notepad. Is he tracking someone?
"Where am I?" I ask again and just like last time, I'm met with silence.
I gaze at the sunlight that streams through the curtain. The clock dings as it strikes noon. So, I've been sleeping for more than twelve hours? I bite my lip and still ask for reassurance, "How long have I been asleep?"
This time, he starts talking. "One and a half day." Heavens!
"Who are you?" I reluctantly inquire. He doesn't seem to like my inquisition.
"No one that concerns you, Miss Williams." Rude, I mentally comment. "I suggest, you get up and leave." He wants a victim to leave? What you want to stay? My subconscious intrudes. Of course not, I deny. I place a hand at my side to force myself out of the couch and when I stress my muscles, they groan in pain and so do I. I fall back down. When I look up and am directly caught by his face. He makes my eyes a doorway to my soul and sees right through me. I gulp, hesitantly looking back. The jitters that possess me, are beyond any explanation.
"You don't want to die, do you?"
I frantically, shake my head. He gives me a haunting smirk. The facts, Scarlett. My inner voice reminds. Yes, I mean, if he's letting a victim live; he might want something out of it.
A deal? Or worse. Do I have to sell myself? To the devil?
Oh God, how far will he go? I don't even know his name. His name? Name! He doesn't know my name. The realization makes my heart pound. He called me, "Williams". He thinks, I'm someone else. But, this Williams. Do I know someone who's- Florence! He thinks, I'm Florence Williams. Oh Lord, no.
Probably, annoyed with my irrational and silent self; he gets up to leave me alone. I would have let him go. But, my mouth.
"I'm Scarlett. Scarlett Holmes." There. No room for misunderstandings left.
He freezes in his spot and I wonder if he's even breathing. "If you are confusing me with Florence Williams. You're making a mistake. She's my best friend." I don't know, why I told him that. I know, I shouldn't have. He's a complete stranger slash suspected post murderer. But, the feeling in me wants to trust him; plus don't I owe this person truth, if he's bargaining my life? When he doesn't speak for another five minutes, I've started dreading this decision already. This is so risky. What if, he just doesn't kill the William clan? You know, like in those movies. Where they kill everybody except their own family. He turns to look at me. I tense, I'm about to find out. He searches me from up to down, as if he's done the biggest mistake of his life. I frown.
"Why are you here?" He questions, and I stop myself from asking him the same thing. "The woods are off limits to visitors." He appears to be thinking, restlessly. "Unless, you're a guest." I nod, like a toddler.
"What the hell were you thinking, wandering off in the woods like that?" He shouts. "Didn't anyone brief you the rules?" He scowls and I feel bad. Because, who is he to shout at me like that! And how does he even know about the rules?
"Who gave you the right to shout at me?" I snap, my inner tigress finding its voice. He snickers and I glare at him.
"And for the record, I'm here for a trip. Yes, I was briefed the rules and I'm staying at the –"
"The lake house." He cuts me off.
Are all the people living in this damned forest crazy?
"How does a stranger –"
"I'm Jack. Jackson Wyatt." Stop cutting me off! I want to scream at him. "You're here, because I couldn't have left a weakling lying in a ditch." Did he just call me vulnerable? How dare he?
"Excuse me?" he profoundly ignores my offense.
"Why were you running?"
"What? Did you not expect a weakling like me, to put up a fight?" I mimic his tone.
"I wouldn't have killed you."
"Slaughtered me, right?" I retort.
That shuts him for good. Though, it's not a comfortable silence. It's like, there is so much to be said, but we have enforced this quietness as a punishment. I look up at him, wondering when he'll reveal his true colors. But, after scanning his own house helplessly and I know, it's not him helpless. It's me. He goes back to his tracking mission and starts the shuffling again. He's so careless, like he's almost forgot that I'm sitting right behind him. Strangely, this calms me down. I've begun to feel comfortable around him and with the ease he's working; seems like he's started trusting my presence too. Which is absurd, because how long has it been since we've known each other? My fingers trace the cup in my hand. I smile unknowingly, as I dwindle with the warmth in my palm. I take one last sip. Wow, this drink was magic. It numbed my pain. I contemplate staring at his form.
What is with him? How can someone like him kill anyone?
He's so considerate. Yes, rude and even cold but not heartless.
"Can I say thank you?" I ask politely, with a slight incline of my head. He doesn't respond, but that's an answer enough. I check the scratches on my palm again. Suddenly, events of last night flash right in front of my eyes. My ragged breathing, rapid heartbeat, the fear. Injuries... my fingers touch my collarbone.
I begin to explore, but am taken aback slightly.
The silk shirt that my body supports isn't mine. He changed you, my subconscious laughs. My face pales and I gulp, hardly swallowing the bile in my throat. Shivers run down my spine. Now, I understand why there is such intimacy between us. I face palm myself. Where was my mind earlier? Why didn't I notice this before? Because, you were too caught up day dreaming about your supposed killer. My subconscious retorts.
"You didn't, did you?" I inquire, shaking away the mean sneer. He gives a brief careless hmmm. My eyes curse him. I hate you, I hate you. I hate you!
"Oh God" I inhale sharply. "How could you?"
I grit my teeth and clench his shirt tightly to my chest. What exactly will you hide now? There's nothing that he hasn't seen. And I'm this close to begging my thoughts to stop being insensitive.
"I didn't want dirt on my couch." He replies, like it's the most obvious and normal thing to do.
"I want my shirt back." I declare, getting up. I groan, my back still hurts. But, I can't stay with him anymore. Not after what he's done. Or what he has seen?
"It's in the trashcan beside the couch," He explains further, as I glare daggers at him. "The flimsy thing wasn't in the best condition." And that's when I'm reminded of the fact, that it may have been torn in the upheaval.
"I want to leave." I croak.
I grab my jacket from the stand behind the couch and near the wall with the big historical painting. My eyes catch glance of the small photo frame beside a Greek souvenir. Happy faces of three peer back at me. I reach for the frame, but he takes it from me and places it back flat on the wooden surface. "Better," He rasps. I scan the house one last time. The timber walls, the dark wooden floor, the average sofas and the handmade quilt that was sprung over me. The ancient sculptures and antique clock and lights. The heavy woolen curtains hanging low looking exquisitely fine. Everything seems so old and historic but is astonishingly so clean and tidy. Even my thoughts sound ironic, as they comment his home as a museum.
"Come on." He urges, coldly.
I follow him through the door.
We walk silently till we reach the path, I might have hit my head at. Nostalgia makes my emotions, capture me just like they did that day. Fear and rush hit me like a storm. In the daylight, the forest looks beautiful again and not as terrifying as that night. I continue walking my path. When he blocks it and guides taciturnly,
"Never take right," Looking at no one in particular or is he...avoiding my gaze? I look at him puzzled, "Pardon?"
"The right side of the woods goes deeper, it's not safe." He warns and starts walking in his usual casual stance.
"I'll keep that in mind." I agree, trying to kill the tentative silence. Let's face it. It's creepy out here. And this quietness is making the aura even more eerie. Even though, I don't stand this man's presence after what he did. I haven't got much of a choice, then to follow him until I reach the lake house safely. So, until then there's a truce.
"Since when have you been around?" I probe, out of nowhere. Besides, this place doesn't exactly look people friendly, especially the side of the woods he comes from.
"Did I scare you?" He answers a question with a question. Yes, the living hell out of me! But, I don't tell him that.
"I believed in a stupid bonfire story and it was dark." I reason. But, he seems to have caught my lie with the way he hmm's suspiciously.
"Let's play a game." Even I do a double take, after I've blurted out those words. Scarlett, what?
"The rules are simple." I quote jigsaw and mentally face palm myself. What the hell are you doing, Scarlett?
Feeling highly enthusiastic, I playfully balance myself over a tree trunk in my path. Bad move. Because, my left foot slips and I almost topple over. He catches my waist instinctively, before I could fall. I close my mouth from the sudden impact and try my best to breathe steadily. My heart, it has its own pace and it's not slowing down at all. He places me down and I can't stop looking at him. He sighs and then frowns. He's annoyed with me. Obviously, you're acting like a kid. My inner self scolds. I clear my throat awkwardly and look away. Why am I being so embarrassing? I curse at my childish self.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, Scarlett!
"Game?" He starts conversation this time, as we continue walking. My head does a once over in shock. So, this dark, brooding and considerate badass is improvising. And that too, for me. Doesn't matter, he's killing silence. That matters. He's not as rude as he pretends to be. Hmmm.
"Yes," I pause to catch the expression on his poker face.
"How about we guess things about one another?"
No change. Still that face giving away not a thought. I continue, "It'll kill time and the walk to the lake house won't seem as hectic." And it'll get you talking. I plot secretly. He nods and my heart does somersaults. "Great! So, I'll go first." Of course.
"You've been here, almost all your life and you are a modern Tarzan." Quite imaginary, but works for a guessing quest. There's a hint of a smile on his face, but he doesn't let it reach his eyes. It's gone quicker than a blink.
"That's a good way to put it." Ha! I knew it.
He stops walking abruptly and looks me square in the eyes. Checks every detail of me from up to down. My chest heaves, because his gaze makes me nervous. "High school-er. Everyone's favorite. Goody two shoes. Won't even hurt a fly."
If it weren't for bad manners, my mouth would have dropped open.
"Am I that predictable?" I sound low.
"I'm good at predicting."
"I was wondering," I pause. "Why is murder always on your list?" Hinting towards the "killing a fly" comment.
"Habit." He all but says. And even if I shouldn't. I want to know more about this habit. "My turn." I gape at him and tap a finger on my chin observing.
He's so well defined. Between lean and muscle. His physique callous and aura laid back. Just like his gaze, dominating but his eyes are warm eagles. His curt jaw with a hint of a beard, his sharp but soft nose. He doesn't have visible cheek bones, but that just suits him better. Those eyes, don't even start with them. Light brown orbs staring right back at me with apprehension. His hair are the darkest shade of any color. It's like, they are there to confuse. Are they black or are they brown? His lips curve into a half smirk. Damn, he's hot and knows it.
Quit drooling. Get back to the game.
"You're a history major."
His face has an incredulous look to it, but he hides it well.
"Because of the newspapers?" He questions skeptically, to which I nod a yes. Because, his antique house gave me vibes about how much of a history geek, he would have been or still is.
"How smart." He remarks in a sarcastic tone. Mean.
"Excuse you. It's a guessing game," I remind, offended. "It could be wrong, it could be right."
"And I guessed, you're smart," He adds and carelessly shrugs.
"It could be wrong, it could be right."
And now.
We both need to shut up.