Chapter 15
15
I hadn’t lied to Michael when I’d said the trail was close to my place. The entrance was located a few feet behind my apartment complex’s leasing office. It was a nice, smooth track of compact dirt, with each mile marked by a numbered post. I liked using it because I felt safer, plus the air was easier to breathe. Unlike sidewalk running along the street, there was zero chance of being hit by a motorist not paying attention and no car exhaust. Ditto on dirtbags who seemed to think women enjoyed being honked at.
The trail was a single straight line that stretched for miles through the hills, so once I started to feel exhausted all I’d need to do was turn around and go back the way I came. It made running on autopilot easy, which was exactly what my brain I needed. I stretched briefly—much less than I normally would have had the sun not been setting—and entered the trail.
My plan was to get a quick two miles under my belt before turning around, which would make a nice four-mile round-trip. Once I was home, I’d call Michael and then have dinner. After so many months of loafing around unemployed, it felt good to have a set goal, regardless of how minor it was. If I kept it up, I might even develop—gasp—a routine.
The path was about as empty as I’d ever seen it, though I typically didn’t go trail running at sundown; I was more of a mid-day runner. I concentrated on the rhythm of my breathing and the sound of my sneakers pounding the ground as I ran beneath colossal redwoods that lined the trail. As my mind began to unwind, Robert floated to the surface of my thoughts.
How it would feel, I wondered, to go running with him by my side? We’d have to do it in the evening, of course, but the activity wasn’t as important as the normality of it, the humanness. Robert was so flawless and otherworldly that it was hard to imagine him doing something as commonplace as exercise. What was his life like on a daily (or, in his case, nightly) basis? Did he brush his teeth— fangs —and clips his nails? Did he even need to? Did he ever get bored, binge-watch TV, or have FOMO?
Unfortunately, such speculations were pointless, since it didn’t seem likely that I’d ever get to ask him all the questions I had. But that was the contradictory nature of life, wasn’t it? There had been a time when I would have given almost anything to speak with Nick for a few minutes, yet I wanted him to go away now that he’d been calling. And Robert? I’d been terrified of the vampire when we’d first met and had believed he was colossal jerk, but now I was dying to see him again, touch his icy flesh. Almost painfully so.
I was so lost in my head that I was at the two-mile mark before I knew it. It had been some time since I’d gone for a run, and my neglected muscles twitched beneath my skin, pleading for prolonged activity. I stopped for a moment and jogged in place. Would it be so bad if I went a little farther?
If I kept going, I’d feel better. However, there was a strong possibility that I’d spend the return portion of the run in partial darkness, since the sun was swiftly fading and the trail lights were staggered and dim. Having no desire to break my ankle, I evaluated the state of the path. It hadn’t stormed in weeks, so hardly any debris was present, barring the occasional twig. If I didn’t stray from the trail, I’d be fine.
I labored on, basking in precious, hushed solitude. In a big city like San Francisco, it was rare to truly be on my own in quietness. There was always some kind of disruption, whether it be a car alarm going off, a neighbor playing the television too loud, or somebody yapping on the phone. You never really understand how chaotic the world is until you’re immersed in stillness. I was glad I’d left my phone behind.
Absorbed in my thoughts of mostly Robert, but also Nick’s pestering and Marlena’s earlier ass chewing, I jogged on. My body felt great, and I was on fire, in the zone. I probably would have kept running all night, had a squirrel not scurried across the path in front of me, breaking me out of my trance. As if I’d suddenly plunged to earth from outer space, I became acutely alert of my surroundings, which I should have been paying attention to all along.
I looked behind my shoulder and squinted at the trail marker I’d just passed. I’d gone a little over four miles, and now the sky was almost black. How could that be? It felt as if I’d only just started. Dumbfounded by my inattention, I turned on my heel and began the jog back. My muscles would be hurting tomorrow after running eight miles roundtrip, I had no doubt.
My solitude morphing into something sinister, I gripped the pepper spray in my sweaty grip, hideously aware that there wasn’t another living soul on the trail in either direction. At least not that I saw. How could I have been so absentminded? One of Liz’s idioms came to mind: This, my friend, is what happens when a smart person does a dumb thing. Stupid, stupid. I knew better.
Such reckless behavior wasn’t like me. Honestly. I’d always thought of myself as a bit of a goody two-shoes. In high school, I’d stayed home and studied while my classmates went out, got drunk, and had unprotected sex. At Dewhurst, it had been pretty much the same. I was the girl who handwashed delicate clothes, drove the speed limit, got drunk of a single glass of wine, and never flirted with other men when I had a boyfriend. I hated loud nightclubs and events like wet T-shirt contests. Snoozefest, right?
But recently? I’d taken a job with vampires and had apparently developed a penchant for jogging alone in the dark. And don’t forget the brooding immortal Robert Bramson, who I was certain was the only man for me despite him being unattainable. What was going on with me?
I picked up the pace. My legs, unaccustomed to running so many miles on end, soon ran out of steam. I was thirsty, too, and the joints in my knees were starting to ache. I reduced my stride, hoping to regenerate some energy. I knew my body better than that, though. I’d hit the dreaded runner’s wall.
My footsteps, which I’d found comfort in earlier, sounded like thunderous booms broadcasting to every axe murderer within a fifty-mile radius that an exhausted woman was on her own on a dark trail, where nobody was around to hear her screams. It occurred to me, then, that I hadn’t sent a text to Liz to tell her that I was going jogging. I’d assumed it would take an hour maximum, but that had been before I’d idiotically run four miles before stopping to turn around. If some axe-wielding maniac did jump out from behind the trees and hack me up into a million pieces, it was very likely I’d never be found.
Stop it, Olivia. You’re only going to panic yourself. Fine. Maybe a little panic would do me some good and make me think twice before doing something else reckless in the future.
A twig cracked behind me, and I nearly gave myself whiplash whirling around to listen. I held my breath and waited for my psycho killer friend to make an appearance. Thankfully, none showed.
I limp-walked faster, enveloped in darkness as I traveled between one trail light to the next. As I neared a new mile marker—just five miles left—another twig snapped, then another. The snapping was getting louder . . . which meant closer. There was also rustling in the trees.
I paused to listen. The movement stopped the moment I did. “H-hello? Is there somebody there?” I received no answer, which was both terrifying and reassuring.
My joints screaming in protest as I broke into a hitching run. The noise from the trees started up again. I wheeled around, keyed up on terror. “If somebody is out there, you need to make yourself known!”
Though I’d failed miserably, I’d tried to sound nonchalant, as if the person hiding in the woods and I were having a misunderstanding. Oh, you didn’t realize that it’s socially unacceptable to hide behind trees and spy on women running on isolated trails? No worries, now you know for next time! I’ll just be on my way, you silly weirdo.
Eyes trained on the hazy silhouette of trees at the edge of the trail, I took a step forward. I cocked my head and listened. Was that . . . whispering ? Another twig snapped.
Holding the paper spay out in front of me, I shrieked, “Listen, dickwad! I’m armed, you hear? You come anywhere near me, and I’ll spray your ass into blind oblivion!”
My hand was shaking so badly that the target would have needed to be the size of a Greyhound bus for me to hit it. I felt like a complete moron, screaming threats like I was some kind of trained assassin. I was about as tough as any 120-pound woman in skimpy neon-pink jogging shorts could be while clutching a fifteen-dollar canister of nonlethal pepper spray. Yep, a regular badass.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Olivia.
Did someone . . . Was that my name being whispered?
Oh, hell no, I thought, breaking into a knees-hitting-the-chest sprint. I could feel my attacker closing in, but I didn’t dare turn around. Not until I could see the lights of the apartment complex illuminating the path to safety.
With the end of the trail a few yards away, I peeked behind my shoulder. I let out a confused yelp when I spotted a monstrous figure, then blinked and saw that the path was empty. My imagination had gotten the better of me. Had I really been so convinced I was being stalked that I’d hallucinated an attacker?
I shook my head, embarrassed over not only being so dramatic but also the terrible choices I’d made that evening. The sounds I’d heard had probably been caused by a deer and not some deranged killer. I slowed to a trot and then stopped, figuring I could rest my throbbing joints now that I knew I wasn’t going to be hacked apart.
I was gearing up the final sprint home when I heard a sound below, like dry beans shaking in an empty can. A rattlesnake was coiled a few inches from my shoe. Worse, its head was reared back to strike.
I staggered backward, losing not only my pepper spray but also my balance as I toppled off the edge of the trial and then plummeted ass over teakettle into the trees. Like loose change in a dryer, I tumbled-tumbled-tumbled into darkness, my limbs bouncing and scraping against rocks and who the hell knew what else. Whatever it was, it hurt . I came to an abrupt stop in a tangle of thorniness.
Howling, I fought against the spiky branches— or were they fingers —slicing into my flesh and ripping at my hair. I was helpless against the rattlesnake slithering down to bite me and the axe murdered coming to lop off my head. I had two choices: I could calmly extract myself from the branches and hike back up the embankment, or I could, as Nick had said about himself earlier, lose my shit. I chose the latter.
I ripped free from my splintery restraints and scrambled up the embankment, breaking into jagged sobs as I stumbled onto the trail. Thankfully, Mr. Rattlesnake was MIA. Though I was dragging broken pieces of branches that had attached to my shorts, I didn’t stop running until I reached my apartment. Had it not been for the lights of the complex, I might have spent the night lost down in the dark.