Chapter 5: Prey and Predator
I hadn't even realized how far I'd walked. As I moved forward, memories of everything that bastard had put me through since childhood flashed before my eyes. Once, because I'd accidentally popped my friend's ball and he came demanding money, he beat me with a belt for what felt like an eternity. And still—I found myself pitying him. Why would a person turn into such a monster? Why would someone spend on other women instead of taking care of his own family?
I was standing in the middle of the field when I noticed a bush trembling in the distance. Could it be dealers? I wondered, but the bush went still. I sped up my pace. When a nearer rustle began, I broke into a run. I kept scanning my surroundings—nothing was clear in the weak moonlight. My pupils were wide, my lips going dry; with every step a cold shiver crawled through me.
I was breathless. The instant I stopped to draw air I heard footsteps behind me and spun around. A man lunged at me from nearly three metres away—like a tiger pouncing on its prey. We hit the ground, but he recovered instantly and threw his weight on top of me. His nails were claws, trying to tear into my skin. What set him apart were those red, inhuman eyes—monster eyes. When our gazes met I felt like prey; fear washed across my face, my jaw clenched, my hands trembled uncontrollably.
He opened his mouth to sink his teeth into my neck; my hand shot up and he bit my hand instead. No matter how hard I pulled, he wouldn't let go—it felt like he was sucking the life out of me. I shoved at his jaw with my right arm, but it did nothing. I was tiring. Pain and rage twisted my features; I ground my teeth, a vein throbbed at my temple. With everything I had I drove my right thumb into the eye my hand was blocking. The creature released me at once, clutching at the blood gushing from the socket. My hand shook; my palms were wet and bloody.
I searched the ground for something—anything—to hit him with and saw a fist-sized stone to my left. With him still on top of me I dragged it closer with my fingertips. Just as I gripped it he pulled his hand from his eye; the bleeding had slowed. The moment he lunged again I smashed the rock into the side of his head. It was a blow that would have killed a normal man, but this thing only staggered. I scooped a handful of dirt with my right hand and hurled it into his face to blind him.
The soil stuck to his skin; his breath hitched, and a harsh rasp filled the air. Every breath felt like my chest would split open. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might explode. Blinded by grit, he missed the strike from my left hand and took another blow on the same spot. This time I felt his skull crack—like a walnut breaking. With a roar of pain he writhed, and with the last of my strength I shoved him off me. The pressure on my chest left my lips going numb and blue.
He writhed beside me, clutching his head. I scrambled up, ran at him, and kicked him in the head. We tumbled across the dirt; then I pounced back on him and began raining blows. I was no longer the prey. My left hand fell again and again, each strike aimed at his head. My fists came down as I ground my teeth; sweat stung my eyes. After the second heavy hit he let out a long, pained groan and went still. His body trembled, gave one final convulsion, and then lay in silence.
When I pushed myself off him the world spun. My vision dimmed, my head throbbed. I wanted to run. One, two, three—on the fourth step my legs gave out and I collapsed. The last thing I saw was that lifeless creature lying before me. I tried to count my breaths, but each number stuck in my throat.
My head pounded. What kind of dream was this? Nightmare—that's what it was. I clung to the hope that I'd open my eyes in my bed, but a cold wind blew and the smell of blood hit my nose and smothered that hope. In that moment I knew my consolations were useless—I would not wake in my bed. My lips were cracked; as I blinked I felt the place's reality with every beat of my heart.
When I slowly opened my eyes, the thing lay only two steps away. Had it all really happened? My body refused to obey. Before me was a man reduced to skin and bone—one eye gouged out, his skull crushed. Could such brutality have been the work of a monster? My hands were empty, fingers trembling. What would become of me now? Would I spend my life in prison? A shudder ran through my shoulders; a scream rose in my throat.
Then a voice inside me said, "You fool. You only defended yourself. What happened here is known only to you and to the dead one. If we slip away unseen, maybe we won't get caught. If you have any luck left, you must try." It was right. There were no cameras, no witnesses. If I could somehow get home undetected, I might survive. "Come on… pull yourself together. You can do this," I whispered. My voice was hoarse, my lips trembled, but my eyes hardened with resolve.
After a few minutes I found the strength to stand. I reached into my pocket—my phone was gone. If I didn't find it I was finished. I had to find it, fast. By the faint moonlight I spotted it a few metres off; when I picked it up it was shattered. I'd saved so long for that phone. The shards bit into my palm like knives; my fingers bled, but I couldn't let it go.
Keeping calm was everything. I'd watched enough detective shows to know one mistake could bury me behind bars. Scanning the ground where we'd struggled, I found the wallet I'd dropped—its contents intact. My key lay near the lifeless thing; I shoved it into my pocket while my hands still shook. Could I leave now? No—I'd forgotten something crucial: the rock. My prints would be on it. It could get me caught. So I took it with me too.
My clothes were ripped and soaked in blood. Blood still ran from the wound on my arm. I tore off my shirt and pulled it over my face. There was no warmth; the cold numbed my hands. I mapped the quietest streets—the fastest, safest route home. If anyone saw me on the way, it was over. At last I settled on a path. It was longer, but I knew these alleys like the back of my hand. My heart still hammered in my ribs.
By the time I reached the field's edge I'd regained a sliver of strength. I adjusted the shirt over my face, took a deep breath, and broke into a run. I'd never run like that in my life. My knees burned; my lungs burned—but I couldn't stop. I vaulted garden wall after garden wall, dashed through yards, then climbed onto a two-storey roof and crossed from rooftop to rooftop. To a stranger these would be death traps, but as kids we used to hop roofs for fun; those reflexes lived on—my feet moved on their own.
I was almost home—two streets away. I meant to jump to a single-storey roof and slip through the alley. As I leapt the stone beneath my foot gave way and I fell backward onto the lower roof. The wind was knocked from me, but I'd landed on soil. Pain lanced through me; I gritted my teeth and forced myself up.
The noise must have woken the homeowner—the lights came on. I couldn't be caught. I dragged myself into the flowerbed and hid among the plants. Leaves clung to me; thorns pricked my skin—but I felt nothing. A man peered out. A woman's voice called: "Do you see anything?" "No one… probably a cat," he replied. They closed the curtains. Relief washed through me—every second now was precious.
"One last push," I whispered. I don't know how I reached the door, but suddenly I was there. My hand shook on the key; my fingers were numb. I hesitated for a heartbeat, then threw myself inside, shut the door softly, and locked it.
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