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For Natalie, who told me she missed my writing.

Excuse any mistakes

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There's blood under my fingernails.

It's been caked there for days, hardening into a dark brown crust. There are spots of blood on my body as well, staining the skin between the bruises in different stages of healing. I used to scratch it away, scraping until the flesh underneath prickled and shone bright pink. It didn't take long for me to stop. I learned cuts and blood were constant, and sensitive skin was a disadvantage. I learned the hard way.

I used to tremble, cramps and fear destabilizing my limbs. Now, I'm numb, body still as I hunch in my cage. My head bowed against the low ceiling, my spine almost permanently curled. My bones, some having been broken and inexpertly reset, ache. My ribs feel hollow now. I'm tired.

The cage they keep me in used to be my dog's. They killed him first, when he barked at the door as they asked my mother to use the phone. It used to smell like him, a security blanket, but that faded quickly.

The front door clicked as they unlocked it.

No, it's too soon. The sun wasn't fully set; they don't get here until the sun has vanished to the other side of the earth. I'm supposed to have more time. It's too soon. I could feel it already; sticks and roots stabbing the bottoms of my feet as I ran, skin splitting on my arms and face, the blood hot in my pores.

And the fear. The fear was renewed every time they unlocked the door.

They came in, boots thundering against the floor, and I instinctively backed up in the cage until the thin, metal bars pressed into my flesh. My fingers formed fists, but I wasn't going to fight back. I stopped fighting back after the first days of their game. I hated myself for giving in, but I couldn't keep it up.

"Evening, Angel."

The man who spoke, the one with the dagger tattoo under his eye, grinned at me as they stood in front of my cage. His teeth were too white. The other man, the one who wore the glasses, kept his expression stony. He didn't talk much, but he was faster than Dagger. He caught me first almost every time they played their game.

"Don't call me that," I whispered, but my voice wasn't loud enough for them to care.

Dagger reached down and opened my cage, motioning for me to come out. I didn't move. He snorted and motioned towards Glasses, who stepped forward and reached into the cage. He dug a hand into my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he yanked me out. I couldn't keep the cries of pain inside my lips.

Glasses didn't let go of my hair as he hauled me towards the back door of the cabin. I tried reaching up a hand to lessen his grip, but his other hand gripped my wrist and squeezed. He knew this was the wrist he'd broken a couple weeks ago. He knew how much it hurt, how it wasn't completely healed.

Dagger had followed us, and he opened the back door. Turning his attention back to me, he stepped close and traced a finger along the scar on my collarbone. This one was his, and he loved it like a trophy.

"You'll get a three-minute head start, Angel."

Glasses threw me out the back door, and as soon as I had some semblance of balance, I was sprinting into the woods.

*

Blood seeped through my fingers as I attempted to apply pressure to the wound. The bullet was still in there, lodged in my lower abdomen. I didn't stop, though, stumbling through the woods as fast as I could muster. Glasses and Dagger were anywhere.

This part of the woods wasn't familiar, but I was dizzy from the blood loss. Maybe I was going in circles. Maybe I was walking right back to my captors. My vision was starting to go. I could feel warmth trickling over my hip and down my thigh.

Suddenly, I was falling. My body collapsed as the momentum and gravity pushed me, rolling down a hill as rocks and roots ripped at my body. I couldn't make a sound; my breath caught in my throat and my eyes bulged. Seconds later, I was still, my body pulsing with agony. What if I just let myself die?

Then, I heard it.

Cars.

"Get up," I grunted, gritting my teeth.

I rolled over and pushed myself up with one hand, my other one back on the gunshot wound. Clenching my teeth to keep from crying out, I stood on numb legs and looked around, squinting in the dark. For a moment, I thought I'd just imagined the cars, and my shoulders sagged under the weight of grief. But then, I heard them again and tears sprung to the corners of my eyes.

I started running in the direction of the sound, fighting against the euphoria of unconsciousness. Adrenaline pumped through my body, keeping me upright, and my breath came out in short, choked pants. The sound of cars got closer; tires crunching against pavement, air reverberating off the vehicles as they sped along. Someone would stop if she could just get to the road. Someone had to stop.

"Oh, Angel!"

Dagger's voice echoed through the woods, horribly playful, and I started to panic. He couldn't be close when I was almost there. I pushed myself further, faster, harder. God, I was losing so much blood. I needed to make it. The woods were starting to thin out. Was I closer to the cars? I was losing places to hide.

"I see you, Angel!"

I could see the road. I could see it! I sprinted, taking my hand off my wound to move faster. I could make it. I could escape.

"Don't you dare!"

He was angry, infuriated, but I didn't care. I burst through the tree line and scrambled up an incline to a road. The pavement was unfamiliar under my feet, so different from the terrain I'd grown accustomed to.

Suddenly, I was blinded by a light, and I stumbled backwards. I couldn't see anything but pure illumination.

"Angel!"

"Hey, Step back!"

My vision went black, and I collapsed.

*

"How long were you in captivity, Miss Price?"

"A couple months," I replied, leaning into the microphone on the stand.

"Is the person who kept you captive in this room?"

"Yes." I was shaking.

"Can you please identify them to the jury?"

This was the question I hated. The lawyers told me it was going to happen; it was necessary for a conviction, they said. But I didn't want to look at him. I already had to identify him in a lineup, why did I have to do it here, without one-way glass. I could feel his eyes on me as soon as I walked into the courtroom to take the stand.

Slowly, I raised my eyes from my shoes and looked at the table where he sat. He was smiling at me, distorting the dagger inked on his face, the one etched into my nightmares.

"He's sitting there," I stated, pointing at him. He winked at me.

"Let the records show Miss Price has identified Jared Shipman."

Dagger—no, Jared Shipman— laughs out loud, drawing the attention of the court room. He keeps laughing, eventually dissolving into hysterics. My hands knot into the hem of my dress, but I can't look away from him now. He stands up and ignores his lawyer, who hisses at him to sit down and shut up. He looks me in the eye and smirks.

"Oh, Angel," he says, taking a step towards me, "You haven't seen the last of us."

"Sit down, Mr. Shipman!" the judge ordered, banging his gavel. "Sit down or you will be restrained."

"We're hunters," Jared Shipman snarled, "and we always catch our prey."

Then, in the blink of an eye, he was jumping over the table and running at me. I felt myself get up, but I couldn't move, couldn't even take a step away. Jared Shipman bared his teeth like a predator, but a moment later, he was on the ground, tackled by the bailiff. The courtroom was in uproar, but it sounded like I was underwater. I could vaguely hear the judge pounding his gavel, and the head prosecutor appeared in front of me. I didn't realize she was speaking for a moment.

"Haley?"

"Please," I murmured, "Please, get me out of here."

I let the prosecutor lead me from the bench, and I looked away as we passed the chaos in the middle of the courtroom. As she led me towards the door and out of this part of my nightmare, I heard Jared Shipman yell one final thing:

"You only got one of us, Angel! Remember that!"

"Don't listen to him," the prosecutor said gently, "we'll find Derek Whittaker, and until then, we'll keep you safe."

I didn't say anything because I simply didn't believe her. Yes, they'd caught Jared Shipman, but Glasses, Derek Whittaker, was still out there. He got away, and he was angry. I was his prey, and he'd made it clear that he never lost prey before. Derek Whittaker always caught me, and I didn't think he'd let go this time.

~~~

My best friend, Natalie, is in London this semester. She told me she missed my writing, so I sent her this. I thought I'd share it with you, too.

You'll meet Owen in the next chapter.

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