The night swallowed Samantha as soon as she pushed through the broken door of the abandoned house. Cold air slammed into her lungs like icy knives. Her legs burned with exertion, her chest heaving, but she didn't stop. She had to get away. Every step counted, every second mattered. Behind her, the faint echo of footsteps fast, purposeful, predatory reminded her that the men were still on her trail.
Mud clung to her shoes, roots and debris tangled underfoot, and branches clawed at her jacket and hair. She hissed under her breath. Great. Just what I needed. Forest traps, muddy shoes, and murderers. Fantastic night.
The envelope pressed tightly against her chest felt heavier than ever. The photograph of her mother, the note, the key, the burned paper… it was as though the weight of all her mother's secrets had become physical, dragging her down, demanding that she survive.
She stumbled onto the edge of the forest. The street lay ahead, empty, silent except for the distant hum of the city and the whisper of wind threading through the trees.
No cars. No lights. No sound of life.
"Wonderful," she muttered, voice bitter and low. Perfect. Just perfect. No escape, no cab, nothing. And somewhere out there, death is walking toward me.
She flattened herself against a rusted trash bin, trying to slow her panicked breathing. Her hands shook violently. Every instinct screamed: run, hide, scream anything but she didn't dare make noise. Every sound could give her away.
Footsteps approached closer. Fast, precise. One voice, sharp and clipped
"She couldn't have gone far."
Another voice, annoyed
"Spread out. She has the envelope."
They split up.
Her stomach dropped. If they searched this side first, she might get lucky. If they didn't… she didn't want to think about it. Every second stretched like an eternity.
Then a faint glow down the street. Headlights.
A cab.
Old, rattling, barely illuminated, but moving. Hope surged through her chest, but panic pushed just as fast.
She bolted from her hiding spot, waving frantically. "Stop! Please! Stop!"
The cab slowed but almost drove past. Its engine growled, sputtered. The driver squinted at her.
"Are you high or something? What's going on?" he shouted.
"Just drive! Go! Now!" she yelled, throwing herself inside before he could ask anything else.
The cab jolted forward. Tires squealed on loose gravel. Samantha pressed herself to the seat, heart hammering. Two dark figures appeared at the edge of the road. One sprinted toward them, hand raised. She looked back through the rear window.
The man stopped at the road's edge, staring at the cab as if memorizing every inch. Her pulse raced. The envelope felt like a lifeline against her chest.
"Are you high or something? You sure you're okay?" the driver repeated, more cautiously this time.
"No time. Just drive!" she snapped, voice harsh, tense. Don't ask questions. Don't make me explain the horror you'll never understand.
---
The cab rattled on, tires splashing through puddles. Samantha's eyes darted constantly, scanning every shadow. Somewhere in the distance, footsteps echoed. She froze for a split second. Too close. Way too close.
The driver noticed her stiff posture.
"Something's following you?"
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to laugh quietly. Yes. My life is being chased by murderers. Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Captain Obvious.
"Just… drive," she muttered.
The streetlights thinned. The night seemed darker, heavier, pressing down on the cab like a weight. Every flicker of shadow made her heart jump. Every stray sound the distant howl of a dog, the creak of a signpost in the wind felt like a threat.
She pressed herself tighter to the seat, muttering under her breath. If I survive this, I swear I'll never trust a stranger in a mask again. Ever. Especially not someone who looks like they'd eat me for breakfast.
---
Time stretched. The cab turned down side streets, rattling over potholes and debris. Samantha's eyes caught every glimmer of movement in the dark, every shadow flicker. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. Her chest was tight. Every step, every bump, reminded her she had barely escaped death.
The envelope was clutched like a talisman. She could feel the weight of the photograph and note pressed against her chest. She couldn't drop it. Couldn't lose it. Couldn't afford a single mistake.
Finally, the faint outline of her house appeared through the darkness. Relief and fear collided violently in her chest. She signaled the driver. "Stop! Stop here!"
The cab slowed and pulled to a halt. She tossed him some cash, barely looking at the total. Every second she lingered outside felt like an eternity. Then she bolted up the steps, barely noticing the chill in the night air.
Inside, the house was dark. Silent. Too silent. She pressed the envelope to her chest, panting, trembling, exhausted. Her body ached in every direction. Her mind screamed: I'm alive. For now. But it's not over.
Her phone vibrated Unknown Number.
She ignored it, not trusting it. For now, she needed a moment to breathe.
Every creak of the old wooden floor made her flinch. Every shadow in the house seemed to stretch, waiting. But for the first time that night, she let herself sink into the floor, envelope tight against her chest, knowing she had survived… for now she took a deep breath