In a movie, I would be running fearlessly through the trees right now with twigs shattering across my cheeks and drawing blood through too-clean cuts. But I am not in a movie. So I don’t crash through branches, hoping they break before my ribs do. There are better ways to maneuver this forest, and my ankles never twist on the stones that litter its floor.
I tuck my hair behind my ears again, hoping the auburn strands don’t get tangled in the twigs that reach down like dripping icicles made of fragile carbon. I can’t afford to lose time.
They’re coming for me.
I reach out and touch a tree, swinging myself around its circumference and landing behind it. It’s thin, but maybe if I don’t move, they won’t see me this deep in the woods.
They’re coming for me. They know what I’ve become. The only problem is that I don’t. I don’t know what I’m capable of, but I feel pressure swelling in my hands. I brush my hair around the side of my head, running my fingers through its length to release the static, and it leaks down my gunmetal grey puff jacket like a waterfall, glinting scarlet in the cold sun. My long fingers are smooth, thin, bloodless. I don’t think my nails have ever actually been blue. The buildup hasn’t reached a climax yet, but when it happens I don’t know what I’ll be able to do to stop it.
“Carly!” My head shoots up. “Carly, come out!”
“Ugh, dad, no!” I whisper so quietly that even I can hardly hear it.
“Carly, where are you!”
“Mom…” I reach up, smoothing falling hair back from my face.
Carly, it’s their nickname for me. Short for Clarence. They used to always tease me about that dumb Nickelodeon show, I never really forgave them.
But that’s not them. They’ve been missing for eighteen months.
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