prolog part 2

Jessymyn’s feet pounded the concrete as she ran, putting precious distance between herself and them. She had no idea for how long she ran, or how far, but it didn’t matter. It only mattered that they didn’t find her. Her lungs felt close to bursting, breath coming in pants, and she kept on. Shadows enveloped her on the streets, concealing her from the rest of the world, protecting her from searching eyes. The rush of adrenaline that had been spurring her on slowly subsided and she felt the ache shooting through her legs. She had to stop, but where? She knew there was no hiding, but she couldn’t press much further or she’d collapse. A darkened doorway came into sight and it took her but a split-second to duck into its confines.

Jessymyn leaned against the wall, hands resting on her knees as she struggled for breath. Jesus, they had almost caught her tonight!! She didn’t want to think of what would have happened after that. There was no knowing exactly what they might do to her if they ever caught her and kept her. She’d been in their clutches twice before, felt their cold hands touching her face as the whispers echoed in her ears. Jessymyn closed her eyes against the memories. Those two had been taken care of, her blade had made sure of that. Crimson had ran in rivulets down their black garb to stain the ground, but the others had continued the chase. She still had no clue why she was being pursued so mercilessly, only that it had become worse as she grew older.

Her first memory of the whispers was when she was eight years old. She had lain quietly in her bed, curled beneath her blanket, and the whisper had drifted out of her closet. "Jessy," it had said, "We hope you’re not sleeping, my sweet. We have a game we want to play. We know you’ll enjoy playing with us." Then the laughter she knew so well, laced with that edge of cruelty, had speared through her. She had screamed for her mother, frantically crying that there was someone in her closet. Her mother, having been roused from sleep, had testily thrown open the door to reveal nothing but hanging clothing and a few dolls scattered on the floor.

"But, Momma, I heard it," she had cried. "He said they wanted to play with me."

"Jessy, there’s nothing there." And her mother had turned to leave and shut the door behind her. The laughter had followed in the silence...

Jessymyn snapped out of her memories at the sound of a familiar tap-tap-tap on the pavement. Fear seized her again, stilling the breath in her chest as her hand unconsiously drifted to the knife in her belt. So fast, they had caught up to her so fast. The steps came closer, the sound magnified by the intense silence of the night. Jessymyn stood with bated breath as the whispers came to her in her haven.

"Jessy, come on out, sweet. We’ve found you again. You’re not getting away from us this time."

Jessymyn closed her eyes, trying to shut out the whispers, trying to stop the well of panic that was building up in her throat. Not this time, please not this time. She slipped the knife from her belt, bringing it to chest level as she waited for the steps to get close enough for her to make a move. Tap-tap-tap. Her breathing slowed from its frantic pace as she assumed the role of the hunter, patiently waiting for her prey to draw closer. Tap-tap-tap. She sank further into the darkness of the doorway, listening to her pursuer come to her.

"Jessy, I know you’re in there." The whisper came from just outside her doorway. "Come on out and end this game."

Jessymyn drew a deep breath and sprang from the doorway. A man stood there, dressed in black, and the shocked look on his face told her that he had been bluffing about knowing her whereabouts. Her weapon reflected the pale moonlight back into her persuer’s eyes, which rounded at the site of the blade grasped in her fingers. The man looked from the blade back to Jessymyn, then back to the blade, awareness of his inevitable demise washing across his face before he had time to react.

She lunged at him, the knife sinking between his ribs to pierce his heart. He struggled for a moment on his feet, before his heart stopped beating and brought him to his knees. A gasp of air blew through Jessymyn’s hair as she knelt with him, pressing the blade deeper into his chest. The blood ran in warm, sticky streams down her hand and arm to pool on the pavement below his body. He fought for air, chest heaving as his lungs filled with blood, lips turning deathly blue at the lack of oxygen. Then he stilled, the hands on her arms slackened and fell to rest on the pavement. In the blood.

When the last glimmer of life faded from his eyes, Jessymyn stood, pulling the knife from the corpse at her feet. Wiping it on the man’s shirt, Jessymyn removed the blood that clung to the blade. Tucking it back into her belt, she turned to start the journey back home. There would be no more whispers tonight; hopefully they would be absent for a few more days at least. She had won this match, but she had no way of knowing when the whispers would start again.