Dead By Dusk

4. The Woman With The Crazy Eyes Silene

4

The Woman With The Crazy Eyes: Silene

I bend my arms as best I can to try and wrap my hands around her wrists, hoping that my eyes are able to convey my message of “I won’t do or say anything, please just let me go.” As she pushes me into the wall harder, I realize that is probably not the message received on her end.

I don’t try to fight her off. I don’t find a real reason to, honestly. Call me crazy if you want, I’ve been looked at like I am several times already, but she doesn’t seem interested in harming me. No matter how distressed she may seem with torn clothes, greasy and wild hair, and wounds in various stages of healing marring her body, she seems frightened and pleading more than anything. Though her fear and injuries definitely don’t seem to be doing anything to hinder her physical state. She’s strong, stronger than she appears at first glance.

No matter how crazed she may appear, she’s survived something that I know awaits me.

So, I release all tension from my body instead and slowly blink at her, waiting for her to either let go or give me answers. I’d be okay with either at the moment. Though, answers would definitely be the preferred option. She may be the only one able and willing to provide them.

I notice her eyes shift slightly and observe her the best I can from how we’re positioned. Her grip is strong and sure, but her hands slightly shake as if she’s unsure she’s making the right decision. Her face is gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes. When was the last time she ate or slept? I can sense a bone deep exhaustion emanating from her. Despite it all, she still seems on guard. Like the exhaustion won’t stop her from running at the drop of a hat. Like she’s willing to fight if she must. She’s tired, but she’s a fighter.

She keeps as much of a watchful eye on me as she can while continuously scanning around us and over her shoulders. It almost seems as if she’s expecting someone to approach us. Someone unwelcome who has obviously embedded fear into her.

But no one does.

When she realizes just how alone we are, I watch as her gaze softens with relief. I’m half hoping she’ll ease her grip on me, but that hope falters when her gaze lands back on me and hardens once again. Breaking the silence, she finally speaks her first words. They’re quiet, but raspier and deeper than I would’ve expected.

They chill me to my very core.

“I need you to listen and truly hear what I’m saying. We don’t have time for me to repeat anything, so hear me now. Nothing is as it seems, and someone in that house is lying. You can’t trust them. You can’t trust any of them. You need to run. Get away from this field. It might be the worst place for you right now. Do you understand? They’re hunting you. You can come with me if you want, but if you don’t, that’s fine. But you’re better off dead than with anyone in that house. Staying with the group is practically a death sentence. Run into that field, do what it takes to survive, but you can’t stay here. We have to leave before the hunters find us, they’re the ones th—”

That’s all she gets out before her dark almond eyes bulge open as wide as possible, her brows creasing, and she drops her hands from my body and whispers the word “Run.” She falls onto her knees in front of me. Behind her is a tall and lean, pale man wearing all black fighting clothes, clothes so similar to mine , standing twenty feet away with a sinister smile on his face.

I chance a brief look at the woman that stood paranoid in front of me just seconds ago, now on her knees with a knife through her upper back. Slowly, I back away from both of them, watching the man’s movements with quiet calculation. A calculation that seems practiced enough to be muscle memory, telling me that this isn’t the first time I’ve been in a situation such as this one. God, I hope that my instincts pull me through the version of this that ends with me still alive.

He watches me as if he’s a predator and I’m the prey he’s been hunting for. Watches me like he knows something that I don’t and is waiting for me to put the pieces together, but when I make no sudden movements, a smug smile tugs at his lips. It should piss me off, but there’s something else hidden in his eyes. Such a contradiction to what his body language says, but I recognize it quite well from watching the skittish woman in the house. The one that I hope has remained hidden in the second floor bathroom and hasn’t grown curious enough to investigate why I’ve taken so long.

Fear.

There’s fear in his eyes, and I know he knows me from somewhere. He has to, and what happens next, I assume, is going to be revenge for something that I don’t have any memory of doing to him.

His hand glides up and down the length of a sharp metal staff that’s not quite as tall as him, but definitely taller than me, and I see it for what it is.

A threat.

A warning.

A promise.

I await with bated breath to see if he’ll move closer to attack or if he’ll decide that I’m not worth the effort. I wait to see if he’ll do anything other than tighten his grip on the staff. Will he take the necessary step forward in order to gather enough momentum to launch his weapon from a distance? I wait for any kind of tell to help me determine my next move. I won’t give myself away; but I will wait for him to.

It doesn’t take long for him to grow impatient waiting for me to give him a sign. His foot twitches ever so slightly before he stops again, taking another brief moment to ensure I don’t plan on moving. Hopefully with the belief that my instincts have disappeared along with my memories. Hopefully, he fully believes I’m too scared to do anything other than keep my feet rooted to the ground in shock and paralyzing fear.

I will not die today.

It only takes one second for him to find a solid grip, take a long stride toward me while swinging the staff over his head and letting momentum carry it toward my body. It happens quicker than I thought it would. Quick enough that, had I not been waiting for this moment—anticipating it, even—it would have killed me. In another reality, I would have faced the same fate as William and the woman who lived long enough to warn me before she fell victim to the same end.

But I don’t.

Instead, I throw my body to the side, tucking and rolling, landing on the balls of my feet. I remain crouched down and look at him as the metal spear hits the wall with a loud clunk. A small smile graces my lips before I grab the grounded weapon and test its weight in my hands. Rising to my full height, I rest the bottom of the weapon on the ground and tighten my hold on it. My eyes lock on him. And for the first time, uncertainty crosses his features as he watches me with curiosity, but doesn’t move from where he stands.

Uncertainty, fear, anger, and challenge. They all battle for dominance behind his eyes, and I let him decide which should win while I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck, rubbing the back of it with my free hand to try and ease the discomfort, to no avail. I widen my stance, my left foot slightly in front of my right to keep my balance. I ready myself for a fight, but he makes no move indicating that he wants to close the distance between us. It’s fine, it really is. Because honestly I’d love to swing first. Whether he expects it or not, holds no bearing on the fact that I’m angry . I’m fuming and I have something that this hunter seemingly doesn’t. Patience. Something you need while stalking any prey. Something that turns me into the hunter instead.

He reaches for something behind him, and I hear the sound of metal sliding against leather as he slowly pulls a machete out of a holster strapped tightly around his chest and back. His dark, sinister smile matches my own. Though his is full of hunger as well. He swiftly rolls his neck, the sound of each pop echoes through the stillness around us. Then, he begins his approach.

Fucking finally, is my only thought before I grip the long staff, and I step forward, steady in my approach towards him. I don’t remember much, but my body does. My instincts are screaming at me in glee and my smile grows wider as the distance between us closes.

He gives himself away when he tightens his grip on the machete, his knuckles whitening with the pressure. His steps seemingly stutter as he bends his dominant arm slightly while walking toward me. They were small things, but I notice them enough to know he is preparing to throw his arm straight for a clean stab while also trying to protect his weaker side. Maybe someone else would find this smart. Swing swiftly and guard your weak side, but I find it to be nothing short of predictable. Boring, even.

I grip the staff with both hands, my arms slightly bent to my chest, keeping the staff parallel to the ground yet still close to me, and then swiftly lunge my upper body to the right, watching him and the world tilt as I straighten my arms. The sound of metal hitting metal rings out around us, and once the staff makes contact with the machete, I release the staff from my left hand and use my right arm to push the machete up and away from me, but to also swing the butt end of the spear in a circular motion until it hits the ground again.

The man begins to circle me warily, lightly tapping the hilt of the rusted and, now, damaged blade in his hand. A blade that gives the impression of having killed plenty of people before me. I decide to do the same as him. Circle and wait.

Watch.

Fear is what gets you killed, don’t just watch him. Observe , I tell myself, and it feels as if icy water rushes over every inch of my skin, washing away any doubt that had knotted in my body, even if only momentarily, and untying it in one swift tug. You do not die today.

Whatever moment of clarity I was having, I think he may have had one too. But instead of a similar icy calm washing over him like it had me, his realization seems to have lit him up. His clarity set him on fire and ignited his rage into an inferno behind his eyes. It’s then that he grabs the weapon with both hands, brings it above his head, and then slams it down in a quick, choppy movement. A blow that surely would have been deadly if it weren’t for my sidestep at the last second causing him to lose purchase. It wasn’t a lot, but it was just enough. He stumbles, and I use this opportunity to crouch down, brace my hands on the pillowy grass, and stretch my leg enough to swipe his feet out from underneath him.

His body slams into the ground with a loud thump. I see the way his chest puffs out. I hear his sharp intake of breath as the wind gets knocked from his lungs and decide to throw my body on top of his. Straddling his waist, I bring the staff to his neck and push down, constricting his airway. Call me sick or twisted but…

I kind of like the sight of a man at my mercy.

His eyes bulge as he lays there and stares at me, desperately fighting for the breath I won’t allow him to take. I push down harder. His eyes shift to the left in panic, and I see something else cross his face. Relief. It was so brief, it could’ve been nothing, but I don’t leave it to chance, pushing down harder and following his gaze. I see another man running toward us. Fuck . I need to think quickly and figure out how to escape this situation alive, chanting in my head once again, You do not die today,’ before remembering the dagger in my pocket. The one that had been coated in familiarity.

Seconds.

I have seconds to make a move, and so when I reach into my pocket for the blade, I also shift my body closer to the man underneath me, laying my whole forearm against the staff, adding more pressure to his neck, while deftly flicking the blade towards the man running at us. I hit him square in his chest. I dart my eyes back to the man beneath me. His face has changed from flushed red to one underlined in a shade of purple. I could be cruel and drag this out, but instead decide I can’t waste any more time if I’m to do as I was advised and run. So instead, I readjust my position to its original one, ensuring both my hands are gripped on the cool metal on either side of his neck. Then I push. As hard as I possibly can, I force as much weight down onto the staff and watch.

His eyes go wide, his mouth gapes open, and a sharp intake of breath tries to enter his body. But it can’t. As his eyes flutter shut, I press my pointer finger to the side of his neck and feel as his heartbeat slows and slows and slows—and stops.

I slowly stand and give myself only five seconds to fully process the situation. To process the warning and the implications. I only give myself five seconds before I’m grabbing every weapon that has been thrown with the exception of the shitty, rusted and bent machete.

I may not trust everyone, but if only one person is guilty in that house…the others don’t deserve to die for one human being. They just don’t deserve it, and I will not allow myself to be the reason every single one of them is defenseless, and with that last thought, I’m walking.

I’m walking and deciding that I can’t look back. That I can’t risk waiting or sifting out the good from the bad. “ You don’t have to come with me but you’re better off alone than with anyone in the house.”

That was the warning I was given.

That is what I will choose to believe.

I have to, even if it doesn’t feel wholly right. Even if it feels like a mistake leaving alone right now.

Three steps.

I make it all of three steps into the field when I hear a small thump and then a high pitched scream. A scream I’m already familiar with, yes, but one that neither of us can afford right now.

Run or save her from herself? Those are the two options that are running through my mind on repeat. Run ? Or save her from herself ? Run…that option sounds extremely appealing. More than it should, yet I still find myself throwing my head up to the sky wondering why I’m okay with killing people but can’t bring myself to leave this woman I know nothing about.

Fuck, I can’t leave her here.

I run over to where she is and promptly do what the strong woman with the crazy eyes had done to me earlier. What was done to me no more than ten minutes ago—slam my hand against her mouth and push her against the wall. Practical, considering she’s maybe four inches taller than me? No. But is it necessary? Absolutely.

She’s hyperventilating, and her sweaty hands are grabbing my wrist trying to remove it from her mouth, but I don’t let her go. I shake my head no quickly and make a few harsh shushing sounds to get her to shut up. It’s only once she’s quiet that I remove my hands from her body and let out a deep worrying breath of my own, hoping that I didn’t make a mistake by coming back for her.

“We have to leave,” I say quickly and matter-of-factly, leaving absolutely no room for questions and then checking our surroundings quickly.

“We have to…to leave,” she repeats slowly while pinching her brows together in confusion. “But the others that are inside?”

“No. We leave. Me and you, or I leave and you stay. But I was warned not to trust them, and I will not ignore that warning. I’m running into that forest. I’m not looking back. You can do as you wish.”

Her glazed eyes dance over at the scene around us. First to the tall and lean man who was ready for his revenge and ended up with a crushed windpipe instead. Then, her gaze drifts toward the stockier man, closer to my height. Next, they land on the woman whose last actions were to try and save me. How she could tell I wasn’t a traitor or how she thought I was possibly worth saving, I’ll have to think on later. There’s no time now.

Still shaking, Carmen looks at me and nods once. Then nods a second time with a little more conviction. And then she’s walking, shaking out her hands like that will erase any nerves or unease, and we walk in silence for a moment. I’m well aware that we should pick up the pace. That the others in the house were bound to hear the screaming, and I’m sure will investigate here soon. Even if they didn’t hear it, it’s been too long since they’ve heard from us. I chance a look at the second story bathroom window, but it’s hard to say if there’s anyone in there for sure with Ol’ Bobby Kebab up there blocking the view, but just the thought that the wrong someone could see where we’re going gives me all the worst feelings imaginable. I lightly tap on Carmen’s shoulder, and when she angles her head to peer at me, her eyes are glistening. She fiercely rubs the unshed tears away, nods her head again, and starts jogging.

I quickly follow behind her, turning my head every which way as we go, ensuring that we’re not being followed while also getting a better look at our surroundings. It’s all so green. A monochromatic scene with shades of brown peeking through leaves and trees. As we approach the treeline, the fog is thicker closer to the ground and thins out the higher it gets, and I allow myself to briefly wonder how we got so lucky and ended up in the scene of a Silent Hill movie.

I leave that thought behind with each passing step and take one last look around as we leave the open field and house behind.

Stepping into the forest of evergreens, vines, fallen logs and, more importantly, the cover we need to stay hidden from whatever or whoever may still be out here, I move my eyes ahead and realize I need to stay aware of my steps if I want to stay unharmed and alive. Then, I turn my focus back to the mousy girl that’s running with me and how she’s slowing her steps. She’s panting heavily, using each passing tree for support until she finally stops about fifty feet into the forest. I stop alongside her, making sure to remain cautious of our surroundings. Possibly more so now that our long distance visibility has decreased so much, that I almost feel like I shouldn’t just keep my guard up at all times, but also keep at least one weapon on the ready as well.

“What now?” she asks in deep, panting breaths, forehead resting heavily on the thick trunk she’s using for support. In her day-to-day life, cardio definitely did not play a role if she’s already this exhausted from running no more than a quarter mile.

“Now…now we keep running. We don’t stop to look over our shoulders. We take turns to be on guard during breaks. We find a way out. And most importantly, we only trust each other until our memories start to return. But not a second before we have a better grasp on what got us here. Understood?”

I stop checking our surroundings long enough to mark her expression and the way that her chest is still rapidly rising and falling with each breath she takes. She’s holding onto the tree as if it’s a lifeline right now, knuckles and fingertips turning white in contrast to her deep tan complexion. Her mouth is still slightly open and eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and I decide to keep watching the area around us while she processes the information and breathes.

“We really just left them,” she says between breaths, and I just nod my head hoping that she can see me but decide to respond anyway just in case.

“Yeah. We did. And it’ll have to be something you’re okay with now. That woman gave her life to warn me, and I refuse to let it be for nothing. You can turn back at any point, but I’m not. I’ll keep going as long as I have to, but I won’t become someone else’s prey.”

Then I lightly tap her shoulder to get her attention, and once I have it, I just nod my head towards the thickening fog deeper into the forest before stepping in front of her and leading the way.

I will not die today.