Megan could feel the cold sharp gravel piercing her bare feet as it shifted beneath her strides.  Her hair snapped in the wind like a flag and the cold air clawed at her night gown while the darkness of the night grew darker. Her weakened limbs decorated with scars and bruises ached, but even the sting of the cold nipping at the tears dancing down her face wouldn’t make her give up. She was too afraid to look back for fear that he was right behind her.  The same fear that led to the panic fueling her one-woman marathon. 

Her chest burned as all the air in her lungs tried to escape at once, competing with her attempts to catch her breath. She felt like she’d been running for so long when suddenly the nothingness surrounding her gave way to a single orb of light.  She pulled her battered body toward it, screaming, begging for help.

“Somebody, please help me!”

She was so close to the house and porch light that rekindled her hope for deliverance from the hell she’d escaped.  She made it to the bottom step before collapsing as if bowing to royalty under the weight of her world. 

The sound of the screen door hinges whining at the late night disturbance followed by the clunk of footsteps drew her attention up the stairs.  Her eyes were blurry from tears and pure exhaustion.  She couldn’t make out much, but a man stood above her.

 “Please help me!” she pleaded.

A red ring of fire and ash sizzled against the face that was more shadow than features.

“I’ll help you green eyes.  Don’t I always take care of you?”

The voice sent fear through her like a jolt of electricity, igniting her flight instincts.  But her body didn’t possess the same strength that her mind did, and she could only make an unsuccessful attempt to crawl away. The echo of his steps beat against the porch stairs as he came after her. 

She had barely made it from the place where she fell when she felt the familiar feeling of him weaving his fingers through her hair, controlling her and pulling her to him.  She dangled from his grasp like a puppet, her toes hardly touching the ground.  The puppet master’s hand was still entangled in her hair as they stood, her back pushed to his chest, his other arm around her waist and the heat of his cigar hanging from his mouth.

She felt his grip on her hair loosen, but she didn’t feel relief, she wondered what was coming next.  He caressed her hair as she trembled less from the winter night’s chill and more from sheer terror. He took a drag from the cigar that was fastened between his teeth before holding it out in front of her as if doing a demonstration.  Then in an instant he was gripping her neck and her head was locked against his shoulder.

“You know in the old days it was common for a man to brand the animals in his stable.  So if somethin’ happened…say they got lost, or ran away, whoever found them would know who they belonged too.” He taunted, moving the cigar turned instrument of torture closer to her face.

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