Page 24 of Van Cort

Nothing broken. But I reveal a nasty gash on my left palm under the twigs. I’ll live.

I look around in the woods, the tall trunks of the trees sprawling as far as I can see, and realise that the obvious and clear path that was there before isn’t so clear now.

My eyes whip around to the left, then the right, and I stand up, spin and then look forward again.

“Okay. Calm down,” I say to myself. “It was here a minute ago.”

I retreat the way I just came, avoiding the branch I tripped over and follow the skinny path I’d been tracking. At some point, I must have lost the main one and diverted onto this smaller one by mistake. But after five minutes of walking back on myself, there’s no sign of the main path.

Panic starts to crawl into my veins as I look around the woods, now darker as the light seems to be draining by the second.

A snap of a branch pulls my attention to my left, and I spin and watch, my eyes scanning the area for any movement.

Nothing.

It’s eerily quiet. Still. And the peaceful run that gave me the freedom to think and dream now seems to be closing in around me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle with anticipation, and I scan around me for anything again.

Still nothing.

But my heartbeat won’t calm down, echoing in my ears, begging me to notice.

And dread sinks to the pit of my stomach.

I turn the way I was running and commit myself to that course.

I wouldn’t have gone off the track – no matter how distracted.

There is a path here, just not a well-used one. There’s still a path.

I step forward, trusting my decision, but another snap of a branch has my heart jumping.

Adrenalin courses through my body, and I bolt back along the path I was on, over the branch that sent me to the ground, and I keep running.

And running.

My eyes track the ground and the trees around me. The trees aren’t getting denser, so I can’t be going too far off course.

I keep running.

Weaving along the skinny path, and hope that I’ve made the right decision. Every minute seems to take ten to pass, but the trail is consistent. Doubt is like an annoying shadow I can’t escape, though. This isn’t a main track, so where will it take me?

After another ten minutes, my pace lessens, and I come to another halt.

Birds flee from the branches they were perched on, giving me a start.

I watch their silhouettes in the branches, and then look back towards the trail.

And see a dark shape a few hundred yards in front of me, just as the path seems to curve.

“Hello?” I call, and then grip my hands into fists at how stupid that was.

Announcing myself and saying hello to some hunting stranger in the trees.

I move forward to get a better look, and as I do, I could swear he looks familiar, the same shape and build as…

“Everett?” I shout, starting to jog again.

The figure seems to vanish as I approach the curve, though, and my eyes lose any sign of anyone amongst the trees. I turn and then twist around in search through the gloom, but there’s nothing.

But movement out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention and I flee in that direction, my heart now stampeding at me. “Everett, wait.” I shout as I run through the undergrowth, towards the shadowy figure. Leaning to get a better look, he disappears again, and I come to a halt.

The skittering of a bird bouncing through the foliage is the only sound.

As I look down, there’s no sign of the path. No sign of anything. I look up at the towering trees reaching up into the sky as if asking for light.

Is there really someone out here, or is it just my imagination?

Despite being outside - in all of this space - the feeling of being confined, of being trapped, starts to push in against my senses. Panic doesn’t just creep, it roars at me, flooding my system.

So I bolt. In the direction I think I came from, cutting past tree branches and over brambles.

I risk looking back, and I swear, there’s movement behind me.

Someone’s behind me.

Faster. I run faster, all my senses in overdrive as I look for a path, or something that might be a trail, anything to follow.

Looking back a second time, I know it’s not my imagination. Someone is in the forest with me. Dark clothing from head to foot.

It only spurs me on. And I stumble, nearly tripping back onto the path that I was on. My sense of direction is all messed up, but I follow it. Not thinking, running on instinct alone.

To my sheer delight, as the path curves, I see the edge of the woods and the shape of the boathouse come into view.

“Oh, thank God.” I dash forward, desperate to get out of here and back to safety.

I rush out of the trees, breaking into a full sprint, and recognise the other side of the house. I don’t stop until I’m inside, running straight into the dining room.

My lungs protest and have me gasping for breath. I bend over, savouring my breathing for a few moments, resting my good hand on my knee. I raise my eyes and see Everett watching me from the doorway.

Here’s here.

The thought wriggles into my mind. So who was out there?

“Where have you been?” he asks, the crisp edge to his voice not concerned by my laboured appearance. “You’re late.”

“You’re here,” I pant.

“Where else would I be?”

“Well, I might have gotten a little lost. Or off course. One minute it was fine.” I start to ramble, my words running into each other as the adrenaline surges again, the panic still in the shadows.

“Then I tripped, and I think I lost the path. And for a crazy moment, I thought I saw you. But it couldn’t have been.

It was just the light. Or my panic. But I was sure there was someone out there. ”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does take a step towards me. “I think they were following me. I found my way back, though.” I breathe, already hoping to forget this. Just like the bathroom.

I wait for him to say something, or let me know there might have been someone from the property in the woods.

He doesn’t.

His eyes glance to my palm that I’ve kept held out at an odd angle to prevent the blood staining anything. And then he heads right for me, grabbing me in his arms to kiss me. It’s hurried and desperate, and I melt into him. The last fizzle of panic is smoothed and calmed by his touch.

His kiss deepens, his tongue claiming my mouth, licking against mine, and I have to hold onto his forearms or risk my knees giving out.

And then he pulls away, gives me an odd smirk, and raises my cut hand to his mouth.

His tongue licks across the blood, and whilst I automatically want to pull away, it’s somehow one of the most intimate things he’s ever done with me.

I swallow, still breathing rapidly from the kiss, and watch his eyes watch mine.

First he fucks my mouth like I’ve been gone a week, and now this moment of… what? Need?

He lowers my hand from his mouth, licking his lips like I was some kind of meal. “Let’s clean that hand of yours.”