The Deepest Red (2 page)

After the wind dies down, his soft footsteps continue on the other side of the room. He must be close to the windows by now. I begin to steady myself to flee, when my left shoe catches a piece of splintered wood, breaking the edge. The sound is soft but in the silence it’s like a scream. The stranger’s light run toward the front of the store results in my heart stopping completely.
I close my eyes in resignation.
Damn it!
He must be at the entrance blocking my escape. My still heart comes back to life with a beat so loud I hear it pulse outside my body.
Tom. I can’t leave him stranded.

“I know you’re in here,” says a deep voice I recognize from my recent nightmares. “The door was open when I passed through not long ago, and now it’s closed,” he says.

I hear a sliding noise then a bang as if he has kicked something on the floor and into the wall.
Making room, maybe? For what?

I’m just as stupid as old Tom. If I live through this encounter I need to be nicer to him. Light fills the store and I’m guessing the stranger has pulled out a lantern of some kind. I listen to the sound of a knife coming out of its sheath.
Great.
I bet he’s holding two weapons. I close my eyes tight and an image of this unseen villain waiting to attack materializes in my imagination. I envision a giant of a man with hateful red eyes outlined with bushy eyebrows, slime dripping from his twisted mouth. My hands start to shake as I try to bite down my fear.

The next words from the voice are calm and steady. He gives the impression that he is unaffected by the possibility of someone hiding within the old gas station- though he doesn’t know me, I’m not a threat. He is in control of this situations.
Lucky me.
 

“Show yourself now, and I won’t kill you,” he inhales a calculating breath, “Waste anymore of my time and I’ll smile as I slice you from end to end.”

Okay, so not many options for me at the moment
. My sheer panic begins to cloud my judgment. I don’t have much of an option as it is- this threatening man is blocking my only exit to the outside. My mind struggles to consider any other possibilities which I might escape. The only other option I can think of is a cracked window in the back. I had noticed it earlier while filling my supply bag. If I throw all of my bodyweight against the weak glass I might be able to flee and disappear inside the woods. I take a instant to gather my courage.
Here goes nothing.

“Wait,” I blurt. My voice sounds foreign and trembling. I take a deep breath and rise on my unsteady feet. I hear a quick shuffle as I try to adjust my eyes to the strange bluish light of the lantern. When I do, I realize the clerk’s desk is all that solidly stands between us. I was right; the stranger is holding two knives but in a fighting stance I’m not familiar with. The blades gleam by the old solar panel lantern, sitting on top of an empty shelf. The odd casting light reflects off of his skin giving an appearance of pure menace. As I look upon him, the details race into my mind and imprint themselves onto the edges of my consciousness.

The young man is partially concealed by one of the empty metal shelves. Through the dimness I decipher he has a tall stature and lean body. His arm muscles draw tight as he grips the weapons and points them directly toward me. The manner in which he stands displays the grace of a predator bird, one that flexes its talons right before snatching its prey. I’ve never seen someone before with an aura that radiates such a clever unpredictability.

The camouflage pants he wears are speckled with many pockets up the side. A dark colored shirt stretches over his broad shoulders, giving me an absurd thought on how I would like to feel the fabric between my fingers. I blush slightly at the idea and hope in the lack of light he won’t be able to notice my flushed face.

My eyes continue to study him observing he’s extremely attractive, a kind of pretty never seen back home- but it’s irrelevant, a stupid notion I bury in the back of my mind. However, I can’t help myself from admitting his facial features are unlike any of the familiar men at the prison. His hair is dark brown almost black, straight and hugs closely to the shape of his neck. He isn’t my age, older by a few years maybe, but it's hard to tell because of the dimness and the fact he’s filthy.

Mud coats him from head to toe. His pants, his shirt, even his hair is layered with it. I can’t make out the color of his eyes but he watches me with the same weariness as what I believe is displayed on my face. Hidden in his expression is the certain lingering of shock. I can glimpse the manner in the slant of his eyebrows though he tries to conceal it.
Strange. Didn’t he just say he knew I was in here?

“Don’t hurt me,” I plead, flexing my fingers. Their constant shaking is distracting. I reach inside myself searching for the confidence I’m positive is hiding in the back corners of my psyche.
I can do this. He’s only one man; I don’t see slime hanging from his mouth.
A tiny slice of courage materializes. All I need to do is slowly make my way around the desk and make a run for it as fast as I can. The window will break and I’ll have my escape. My hand itches for the knife in its sheath on my waist. I had placed the weapon there while putting the first aid in my supply bag. I raise my empty hands above my shoulders displaying how defenseless I am.

With a quiet voice I say to this threatening stranger, “My weapons aren’t out; I don’t mean any harm, please, just let me go on my way.”

“Take off your hat,” his calm voice demands.

Any shock he displayed earlier is gone. He now stares darkly, waiting for me to do as I was told.
Well damn.
Any ill conceived notion of him thinking I was a boy is out of the question once I remove my poor disguise. I place my hand on the old fisherman hat I’ve been wearing for the past few days and slowly remove the worn fabric. My tangled dark red hair tumbles from the hat. The curls land to rest in the middle of my back.

I know my hair is a little bit of a shock to anyone not expecting it, like a torch in the darkness but it’s my natural hair color, one of the few things my mom ever gave me. The color is unusual, at least at the prison, but my hair can’t be helped. Hence the hat. Without my trusted fisherman hat you could see me coming a mile away.

Looking back at the unusual man, I can tell from his face he is not surprised I’m a girl. But with the way he keeps staring, the uniqueness of the hair color wasn’t expected- so my head appears to be on fire, so what? I don’t think he is used to having so many surprises in one night. Before the stranger can regain his strict composure, I take the opportunity to step around from behind the splintered counter. With my bag securely adjusted on my shoulders, I place myself carefully where I need to be without looking at the window.

“That’s enough. Don’t move,” he says as he shakes his head a little, his moment of lapse over.

“I did what you said,” I reply, glaring. I’m beginning to get angry about this whole situation, my temper flickering in my eyes.
He’s keeping me from Old Tom. I need to get back.
I attempt to placate my anger but that has never been my speciality.

“Now, let me go on my way,” I state flatly, struggling not to draw my weapon. He doesn’t lower his knives only stands in his fighting stance looking at me like I’m a freak of nature. My temper pushes all patience aside.
I’ve had enough.

I divert my eyes to glance beside him, giving a startled gasp. He can’t help himself but to follow my gaze. When he does, I take off running to the broken window in the back. I hear a muffled curse slip from his mouth but I’m so focused on what I’m doing to pay any more attention to his reaction. My eyes land on the can of black eye peas. As I run by, I grab at the metal and throw it as hard as I can at the already damaged window. Most of the glass shatters outward into the tall grass.

My muscles stiffen for the impact of the remaining glass. On instinct, I cover my face with the fishermen hat and hurl myself at the window. When my body hits the glass, I perceive tiny slices cutting into my arms. With adrenaline coursing, the pain doesn’t last but only a moment. I fly through the glass and roll onto my feet. I‘m thankful that back home the young are required to train on a regular basis. I will never give Mrs. Emerson, our second in command of the scouts, a hard time again for making me participate in extra practice drills.

My legs flex into a run on their own accord. I search the woodline for the path at which I had traveled to the gas station earlier. Once found, I begin to focus on my breathing so I won’t tire so easy.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
I would be grateful to have some distance between me and the stranger. The idea forces me to realize I need to hide before I can go back to Old Tom. I don’t want to lead this pretty boy to him especially with Tom being so weak.

When I hit the woods, I slow my running to my normal pace. The pine cones greet me as I hurry back the way I came. I’m watching my balance trying to be quiet but my heart is beating so fast it’s hard to discern anything else. Every briar reaches to tear into my legs, causing pinpoints of pain. I try to focus on my feet and carefully place them as fast as I can, but I’m not soundless enough. I might as well yell, “look at the redhead running to the old man; this way threatening creepy guy, this way!”

As I continue to jog, I notice I‘m crushing my poor hat in my hand. I swiftly twist my hair up in a practiced motion and hide the strands underneath its wrinkled fabric.

Ducking behind a dead tree, I attempt to disappear into the bushes bordering its decayed bark. Branches slap my face and waist as I venture to blend seamlessly into the darkness. I smell the aroma of upturned dirt and watch as the trees sway in the breeze. I think I‘m well hidden enough, if the unfamiliar man doesn’t have that damn lantern with him.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I lay in wait with my knife, struggling to calm my beating heart.
Breathe in and breathe out.
My breath slows and I feel myself becoming a little more relaxed. As my adrenaline fades, my arm begins to throb painfully. I notice little cuts on my left arm and the ache of my tired legs. My injuries are not as bad as they could have been so I’m grateful. In the stillness, exhaustion weighs heavy on me but I endeavor to stay alert, searching my surroundings.

In the night, woodland animals make distant noises along with something much louder than any small creature. Light footsteps approach in my direction. I had enough of a head start, I don’t think the stranger knows exactly where I am. Since he didn’t come through the window he must have back tracked and came around the side of the gas station.

“Why not let me go?” I ask in a faint whisper before covering my own mouth with a shaking hand.
How many times am I going to be stupid today?

I continue to listen to the vague noises around me. I hear crickets and the shuffle of leaves that I can only regard as a possum or maybe a squirrel. I refuse to think of the bugs which scurry around my feet or on the decay tree trunk. The cool night air has an unforgiving breeze I feel wrap around me like a cool blanket. Fall has just arrived and I must be getting back home to the prison as soon as possible.

The light footsteps suddenly seem to be a lot closer than before.
When did that happen? Focus Millie.
I huddle closer into my thorn filled bush and wait. What I find I can’t quite believe.

Chapter Two

A young girl steps from behind a live oak tree. Her hair is a soft blond. When the moon light catches it, the long fine strands change into a beautiful satin white. She looks to be around eleven years old with a thin frame and delicate stance. There is a kind of hop to her walk like she hates to crush the leaves underneath her feet.

I watch her from my hiding place as she glances around the forest with sharp head turning motions, almost bird like.
What could she be looking for? Is she lost? Scared?
No, she isn’t scared because her pace is too slow for fear- like whatever she is searching for will find her soon enough. I notice she is wearing an aged pale pink cotton dress. It’s ragged on one side and covered in dirt at the hem. She has on a pair of leggings and a pair of leather boots not quite reaching to her little knees.