Page 33 of Hollow Forest

I needed to run.

The blinding panic consumed me. I staggered through the crowd. He was here. He saw me. But he didn’t know me. Ferretti was alive and well, enjoying a night on the town. The last surviving rapist, who’d fed my sister drugs so she crashed fleeing the hell he’d imposed on her.

What I was doing now wasn’t honoring her memory. I was partying like a wild child, free of the constraints of my oath. How could I be so cruel? No wonder her spectral presence was conjured in my mind.

“I haven’t forgotten you,” I sobbed, stumbling to the edge of the crowd.

And then, I ran.

It was the most graceless, epileptic lope. But my lungs refused to fill with the night air. My limbs were numb, and body disjointed. Colors slashed across the night sky. Gold bloomed from the streetlights. Red-white blurs from the food trucks jarred to the left.

Black.

I needed black.

The shadows were safety. If I could only reach them….

I ran until I no longer smelled the sizzle of kettle corn. As the panic eased its hold on me, I realized I was on the road. My steps slowed. I was able to walk a straight line.

Huh, maybe I’m not as drunk as I thought.

There had been plenty of shots, but now that oxygen filled my body, I missed the distinct warmth of the booze. I should be seeing double. I wasn’t swaying. The only logical answer I could come up with was that the panic diffused the alcohol as it hit my bloodstream. Streetlights were mercifully few here, and when I passed the last one, I gulped a desperate breath.

Only to trip and stumble.

Pain lanced up my ankle as the pavement rose to meet me.

But I was too broken to cry out. This was what a traitor like me deserved. I failed Dezzy in life, and this stabbing pain was a reminder not to fail her with the rest of my life. I needed to kill Ferretti before he discovered me and get the hell out of—

A blinding light glared behind me, preceding the roar of an engine.

I screamed.

The motorcycle stopped, bathing me in a harsh beam as I tried to scramble off the road. The moment I put weight on my right ankle, it twisted. I pitched forward onto the rumble strip on the shoulder.

“Sam!”

The voice broke the spell. It was the sound of death, and never had there been a sweeter roar.

I flopped to sit on my ass, peering through the headlamp. And what a sight! A figure cut from the inky swell of night hopped off the bike. Those chunky boots thundered on the pavement as he raced to my side.

A choked, manic laugh clawed from my throat. He wore the skeletal half mask. Just like the other night. Ironic? Sweet? No…insane.

Dropping to a crouch in front of me, he reached out but then curled his fingers into fists. Such a small gesture, but it made my overexerted heart thud against my ribs.

He won’t touch me.

Not until I invited him to.

The words were on the tip of my tongue. I was scared. I hurt! But his rough question cut me off.

“Why did you run like that?”

I faltered, glancing behind him. The festival was far away. The terror was gone. Or maybe it was this man. His presence made it vanish.

“Just a small panic attack,” I said carefully. “It was overstimulated.”

That wasn’t a lie.