Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Rolling the tension out of my neck, I made my way out of my building, bouncing on my toes at the crosswalk, then making my way across the street toward Central Park.
I’d been running the paths since I was a somewhat chunky pre-teen getting relentlessly teased by the skinny girls at school. In those early days—red-faced, chest aching, legs screaming—I hated every step of my daily run.
But as my body got accustomed to the movement, stamina increasing, muscles forming, it became one of the favorite parts of my day.
It cleared my head.
It chased away the stagnant energy in my body.
I’d been running a lot since I’d gotten married.
More so the past few months.
I could run every path blindfolded after all these years.
Having no work to do, I went for an already ambitious run of the full “loop” around the whole park. Six point one miles of mind-clearing cardio with fellow early risers: runners, cyclists, people walking their dogs before work.
But by the time I was done with that, my mind was still racing in dizzying circles.
With a sigh, I made my way toward the 110th entrance to the North Woods.
It wasn’t an area I ran often. There was something both exotic and eerie about it. It wasn’t long before you no longer felt like you were in the city. Before the lush greenery swallowed you up completely, pulling you into a world that felt more fae than human.
But I figured maybe what I really needed was a change of environment to get out of my head.
What better change in scenery than cobblestone steps, footbridges, and waterfalls?
It was one of the few places in the city where you could feel—and be—completely alone.
I felt my shoulders lowering, my muscles loosening as I was transported into a whole different world.
Up above, there was a heavy canopy of trees, making sunlight dapple through, cooling the space by a solid ten degrees.
My pace slowed as gravel paths gave way to packed dirt and stone steps, large roots and rocky outcrops making a rolled ankle more of a possibility.
Besides, this was the kind of place that begged you to slow down, to take it all in.
Somewhere off the side of the path, I could hear the babbling of a stream and, further still, the rush of a waterfall.
It was as I was approaching the Glen Span Arch—an underpass of pure gothic gorgeous creepiness—that I heard it.
A crunch behind me.
My heart leapt as my stomach plummeted.
My hand went immediately for my phone, toggling off my music. But my chest felt tight when I saw the little red X over my service reception.
I pushed myself a little faster, ignoring the impulse to slow down as I moved through the narrow space under the arch where one wrong step could have you falling off the path and into the murky water.
It was probably just a squirrel, for goodness’ sakes. There weren’t a lot of places in the city for the wildlife to live their little lives. The parks were full of critters.
But there was no reasoning with my panic as I heard another sound. Not a crack.
No.
That sounded like a set of footfalls.
Adrenaline surged, a shaky sensation taking over my whole body as I emerged from the arch.
Steeling myself, I glanced back over my shoulder.
And there he was.
Just a few paces behind me. Tall, wearing basic running gear, a baseball cap pulled down low so his whole face was in shadow.
He could just be a runner.
But, generally, male runners in the city knew not to creep up on solo female runners. There was just, I don’t know, some unspoken etiquette.
Besides, when he saw me spot him, he ducked low and charged forward.
A strangled yip escaped me as I flew into a full-blown sprint.
The path sloped upward as the tree branches slapped my arms and the side of my face.
Beneath my feet, roots threatened to twist my ankle; the rocky ground made my steps sloppy and slow.
I heard nothing.
But I didn’t trust nothing.
Not with the way my pulse was whooshing in my ears.
Steeling my stomach, I whipped my head over my shoulder.
And there he was.
Close.
Almost close enough to grab me.
And, surely, that was his plan.
You didn’t, as a woman, run in secluded places without knowing what risks you were taking. That at any turn on your path, you could come across a man with bad intentions.
Aside from one small incident when I’d been a teenager, though, I’d never had an issue.
I turned back.
But too late to see it.
A giant tree limb in the path.
I didn’t know it was there until I was tripping over it, flying forward, throwing out my hands to brace the fall.
I went down hard, palms landing on rough gravel and twigs, the pain of the impact ricocheting up to my shoulders.
I scrambled forward, trying to keep moving, trying to push up, trying to…