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Standing stock still, I dared not move.
I knew where I was.
Rosewood Lake.
“Now be a good girl and stay put.”
That motherfucker.
I was stuck, because if I moved, I could inadvertently crack the ice and fall into the icy waters below. If that happened, I’d only have minutes to get myself to safety before hypothermia kicked in, rendering my body useless. I’d read stories of people dying within minutes after sinking into frigid water. The shock alone could stop even the healthiest hearts in a heartbeat.
“Please, just go away!” I screamed. “I don’t even know you!”
“Imagine my surprise when I heard who you really were, when you and those other bitches were at the Irish Rose Tavern gabbing like a bunch of sluts. I couldn’t believe my luck. The shy, stuck-up Henley Never is none other than my Myst3ry_R3ader.”
Oh shit.
It was Hangman493!
“Then you fuck that hippie biker. You owe me, bitch!”
“It was you,” I gasped. “You were the one who filmed me and put it live on the internet! Why?”
“Because the world needed to know what a slut you were. You belong to me!”
This guy was fucking delusional!
I knew I should have blocked his ass.
Carefully taking another step back, I tried not to cringe when I heard another crack, followed quickly by a loud roar, some grunting, then total silence.
It was odd, considering I was smackdab in the middle of a damn blizzard, standing on a frozen lake that could barely hold my weight, and I swear I could hear my heart beating. Unsure of what was happening, I stayed rooted in my spot when I heard the most beautiful voice on the planet.
“Henley!” I heard Scribe clearly say as a gust of wind blew against me, knocking me back a few steps. “Baby, try not to move!”
Doing as he said, the crunch of the ice breaking under my weight echoed loudly in my ears. I knew what was going to happen. I wasn’t stupid. I was on borrowed time. While it was winter in the Shenandoah Valley, it took months to freeze the lake.
“Scribe,” I whispered, looking down at my feet, not needing to see to know what was happening.
“I know, baby. Just don’t move.”
“Fuck,” someone else said. “Priest, grab the cold water rescue gear.”
Another crack.
“We don’t have time!” Scribe yelled as the ice crackled again.
“Scribe. Stop!” Pyro shouted.
Something in his voice stilled my movements as reality reared its ugly head and I heard the loud, constant cracking of the ice.
It sounded like Pop Rocks.
Never ending.
Lifting my head, I didn’t need to see him to know he was coming for me.
“Scribe,” I whispered again, as I felt myself falling, as a coldness I had never experienced before engulfed me.
