JOSIE
“You are a monster,” I whisper, unable to hold back a sob.
“Aw, are you crying?” the psycho taunts me.
I never knew my mom. She was a mean girl. Cruel even. But killing her, watching her die is monstrous. This woman killed her. She took away my chance at having a mother.
“Your mom was a bully,” Mallory Blain drawls.
“I was bullied,” I say sharply, jerking in the chair, pulling at the ropes.
I’m angry, and I need to use this anger to strike back.
“You’re not the only person who’s been bullied.
I grew up with it. Thanks to you. To the lies you told.
To all the people you hurt. But that doesn’t make me go around hurting others. ”
“Except for your daddy.” She smiles broadly, her teeth gleaming in the dim light, morphing her smile into a scowl.
“You are crazy!” I shout in desperation.
“That’s subjective.”
“You are not a victim!” I shout at her, leaning closer, pulling harder at the ropes that start to give way. “You are a monster!” I snarl.
The ropes feel loose enough, but if this doesn’t work, then I’ll have blown my only chance. But I have to try.
“Calm down,” she says. “What I am is a survivor,” she argues proudly.
“You are a killer,” I grit out, sliding toward the edge of the flimsy chair, curling my fingers around the plastic backrest.
“I brought justice.”
“You are a criminal.” I grip the chair tightly and push into the heels of my feet, finding balance, and tilting the chair slightly forward on its front legs.
“That’s not what—”
With all the determination I can manage, I push to my feet, my legs bent, swing in my spot as hard as I can, and send the chair crashing against the woman.
She yelps and falls. The flashlight on the ground tilts, the light disappearing in the hay, sending the barn into almost complete darkness.
I shake off the loose ropes, getting rid of the plastic chair, which tumbles to the ground, and dart toward the door.
“You bitch!” the woman shouts behind me.
As soon as I run out the door, a gunshot echoes in the air.
I don’t stop. She might shoot me, but she’ll do that whether I run or not.
I can’t see where I’m going in the dark, but I can’t go toward the road—she’ll catch up. She knows the area. She’ll hop in a car and run me over.
My best bet is the darkest areas, and I dart toward the black piles of trash and abandoned machinery. I only have a chance of getting away if she doesn’t find me. That means I have to keep going.
“Jo-sie!” a shout comes from outside the barn door. “You little bitch! You can’t run far!”
Another shot echoes behind me and ricochets off a metal structure to my left.
I can hear her footsteps. She’s following me. I pass the pile of metal scraps and run farther into the dark. I can see the forest in the moonlight, just a hundred or so feet ahead. If I’m in the forest, she won’t find me so easily.
I dart toward the darkness.
“You can’t get too far!” the voice sings in the distance behind me.
I look over my shoulder and see the bright dot of her flashlight. That’s my clue to keep going.
I run, trying to be careful.
There’s no path. It’s impossible to move fast. I can’t see. My wrists are still tied behind me, making it harder to move.
Just then, I trip on something hard and tumble onto the cold ground. My thigh, shoulder, and cheek connect with such force that it knocks the air out of me for a second.
The pain makes me gasp, but right away, I clench my teeth, trying not to shout.
I can’t do that.
I can’t feel bad for myself.
I can’t lie around, trying to figure out if I’ve just broken something in my body.
I can’t have broken anything. If I did, I’m dead.
I can’t stop to take a breather, despite my lungs burning from cold air and my heart pounding in my chest.
Because I have to keep going. I have to try to survive.
“Joooo-siiiiiie!”
Fighting through the pain, I wiggle on the ground, trying to get to my feet. The ties around my wrists cut into my flesh so hard that I think my hands will fall off. But I manage to get up.
And I run again.
The forest is a bad idea, I realize as soon as I step into it.
Panting, I fight through the bushes. The branches whip me in the face.
These are not clear woods. These are brush forests.
No paths. The forest floor is uneven. I’m fighting through the debris, making noise as I step on dry branches and old leafage.
“Joooo-siiiiiie!” the psycho sings much closer behind me.
I turn to see the flashlight flickering among the bushes. Suddenly, it whips in a different direction.
I freeze. All sounds disappear, except one—the distant sound of the police sirens.
My heart leaps in hope. The police are coming! I should’ve run toward the road! I would’ve gotten away! But I didn’t, and there’s no turning back now.
I keep fighting through the brush, going forward. Razor-sharp branches whip my face and jam their stubby ends into my body. But I close my eyes and keep fighting through, praying that the psycho doesn’t catch up.
Her deranged singing gets closer.
“Booooot-siiiiie! You little bitch! I can’t have you getting away with all that I’ve told you!”
I keep pushing through the debris. My life depends on it. The sirens get closer, the dark forest slowly acquiring the reddish-blueish overtones from the police lights in the distance behind us.
Suddenly, my foot dips into a hole, and I fall forward. Sharp pain fires through my ankle. I land face down, the needles piercing my cheek.
I scream in pain, gasping and holding my breath, knowing that she just heard me. But the pain is unbearable, making me whimper.
I pull my foot out of the hole and fight to get back to my knees, but when I step on my foot, the pain is so bad that it knocks me down.
Pain is everywhere. In my ankle, in my shoulder that I must’ve injured, in my face cut up by branches, and my wrists cut up by the ties. I crawl, moving forward, but it’s close to impossible.
“Boooot-siiiiiie!”
The voice is nearer. The dim cone of the flashlight shines on me, illuminating the forest.
“I seeeeeee youuuuuuu!” the voice calls from behind.
More voices come from afar, shouts somewhere by the barn. A dog barks loudly.
I try to crawl, but the pain is too much. Help is coming, but the psycho coming for me is faster. I push myself forward, but something stabs my hand, and I yelp in pain.
“Heeeeelp!” I shout. “Heeeeelp!” I rasp with what little I have left in me.
“Too late, Bootsie!” The voice is at my feet, right behind me. “Your little escapade is over.” The flashlight shines directly on me again.
“Heeeeelp!” I shout. But I know there’s no escaping this monster. I sob, knowing that I screwed up. That I failed. Like my grandmother. Like my mother.
“You are even more pathetic than your mom,” the woman says.
“Please,” I beg, pleading for the dog barking in the distance to catch up with us, for the shouts of the police officers to get closer.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, turning around and staring at her dark silhouette as her flashlight blinds me.
“I will tell you where the body is,” I lie, trying to stop her.
“Too late, Bootsie. I have to change my plan. I want to say it was a pleasure, but you ruined this for me. And now you have to go.”
I don’t beg for myself. There’s a pulsating thought in my head that if Grandma survives this and I don’t, this will kill her. Losing two children in a lifetime is an unthinkable tragedy.
“Please, don’t,” I whisper as tears spill down my face. “I can help.”
But the monster from the past has finally caught up with me.
She raises the gun at me. “Bye.”
And then she fires.