15

 

SEVENTEEN MILE DRIVE, BIG SUR, MONDAY NIGHT

The girl ran through the darkness. This was like something out of a nightmare, only it was real. Her heel broke on the rough trail. She kicked off the other one and ran on. The man followed. He seemed to have all the time in the world, as if he knew he would catch her. It had started so well.

The flash car shouted money, the crisp shirt and suit murmured class. Some tony husband cheating on his wife, looking for fresh meat, for something quick, and paying well for it. He had paid her straight off, four hundred dollars, told her all he needed was an hour but that he had a thing about the forest, could they park and do it there, make me feel like I’m a teenager again, he had said with a winning smile. And she had stepped into his car and into the nightmare.

He had driven to Seventeen Mile Drive. Ritzy, she had thought. Then, as advertised, he had turned off into a forest, parked. He took out a silk scarf, reached across, kissed her, then tied it round her mouth. Then as she struggled with the locked door, he took another, grabbed her hands, and bound them behind her back.

“Get out,” he’d said as fear exploded in her stomach. His voice was different, his eyes were different. He seemed amused, but didn’t share the joke with her.

“Go on. Run. If you want.”

And run she did. Spurred by terror. She ran as fast as she could with her hands bound behind her. She could hear him, keeping pace. Now he accelerated. In seconds, he caught her, pulled her down. She saw he wore gloves, and she whimpered into her scarf.

He reached his hands around her neck. She pleaded with her eyes, with all the voice she could summon.

He smiled again. “You want to ask why? There’s a time to talk. And a time to stay silent. You didn’t know the difference. Good-bye.”

She struggled, she tried to scream out, but he was too strong, too big. There was nothing she could do. She saw the fireworks as her brain, starved of oxygen, began to shut down; then there was nothing.