You should know from the beginning that I'm not into bullshit. I'm not so much a writer as a doer. I can express myself elegantly enough when the situation calls for it, but mostly I don't think it's worth the time it takes. So what you're about to read is going to be largely simple and straightforward, without lots of fancy phrases or figures of speech.
My name is Diane. I'm 35 years old, single, childless, without living relatives and just a handful of ex-boyfriends that are just as happy to be that way. It's mutual. I have a passionate nature, which means I throw myself wholly into anything I'm doing, sometimes without looking to see where the edge is. Give me a good reason and I can be a good and careful planner, but most of the time I just fly by the seat of my pants and trust to my luck to make things work out all right.
Let's see, what else? I'm reasonably good-looking if you like the athletic type. I'm tall - 5'10" - and my weight is none of your damn business, but I've never been overweight. I must have the metabolism of a blast furnace. I'm very physical - I like to run and swim and sometimes I can actually be persuaded to dance - but I'm not a fitness nut, and my diet would horrify you. I eat what I want, when I want, as much as I want, but I don't gain much weight, and I lose it faster than I gain it. It that makes you hate me, so be it.
I have light brown hair and brown eyes and a good tan that's pretty much year-round. Long and lean would be a good way to describe me. I'm in shape, as I say, but I don't look like Arnold with tits. Mine are all me - maybe just a bit more than a handful, if you care about that kind of thing.
I'm strong-willed and hardnosed and stubborn and I don't do well in relationships - maybe you can see why. That doesn't bother me - I'm pretty much of a loner anyway. When I find the right kind of guy and the sparks fly, I make up for lost time.
Okay, that should give you a pretty clear idea of who I am. On with the story.
* * * * *
I like to run. It puts me in a good headspace where I can forget the past and not concern myself about the future - just concentrate to the here and now. I get into a state that some people used to call
flow
- a state of body and mind where everything's working together in harmony, the way it was designed to - muscles and mind synchronized, senses tuned to their highest pitch. At times like that, I feel like I could just run forever....
That afternoon I got off the road - there's a faint, almost undetectable path that goes down a hill and into the woods. I like a challenge, and running in the woods is definitely that - skirting vines and creepers that can trip you, avoiding rocks and depressions and holes that can turn an ankle, ducking under low-hanging branches that slap at you, dodging briars and thorns that seem determined to chew you up and spit you back out in bite-size pieces. I must have radar or sonar or something; I always emerge from the forest unscathed.
Anyway... I'd been jogging for maybe forty minutes, maybe ten of that in the forest, and suddenly every danger signal I had went "RED ALERT!" all at once. Don't ask me why. I didn't see anything, didn't hear anything, didn't even
smell
anything; but I knew, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that someone else was there.
I kept running. What else could I do? To do anything else would have tipped off the unknown that I knew he (or she, or it) was there. How dumb would
that
have been? Instead, I gradually changed course to take us into the roughest part of the woods - chock-full of briars and potholes and low-hanging branches - stuff I was confident
I
could avoid, but which would give my pursuer such a hard time that he'd - hopefully - drop out of the race.
It worked - for just about three minutes. Just as I was congratulating myself on having brushed the stalker off, the feeling was back, as strong as before. Still nothing to see, though
maybe
I heard him running alongside me.
Maybe. But if that were the case, where the hell
was
the sonofabitch?
I paced myself, knowing I might need to put on a sudden burst of speed if it came to that, but the feeling of "company" never left me. It was creepy as all fuck, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out "
Where are you?
".
Then - shit! - I hit a clearing. No briars, no rocks, no trees - just smooth, level, hard-packed dirt.
On the plus side, it flushed the stalker out of hiding, too, and I had no freaking
clue
where he'd been all this time! He was an average-looking guy in running gear, reddish-brown hair with maybe a three-day growth of stubble. His tanned face wore a sly grin as he pulled even with me. Dammit, he didn't even look winded!
I slowed to a trot. Let him think I was running out of steam. "Why are you following me?"
He gave me a half-incredulous look as he slowed to match me, but the grin was still there. "What? You own these woods or something? Nobody else can run here?"
"You didn't answer the question."
"Lady, I'm not following you. I run here all the time. You just happened to be here today."
I gave him a quick once-over as we rounded a curve. He had a lean runner's body, so maybe that part was the truth. But I still got a sense of something off-kilter and my guard wasn't going down just yet.
He spoke again. "Look, race me to the lake and we'll talk this out when we get there."
The lake was just another mile or so away. It gave some semblance of truth to his explanation. The lake was well-hidden in these woods; you wouldn't know about it unless you went here frequently - or unless you just happened to get lucky.
I put on a burst of speed. He matched me easily.
* * * * *
We got to the lake too close together to call either one a clear winner. I uncapped my water bottle and drank gratefully, then offered it to him. Let the claws come out later if I had to; for now I'd be wary but courteous.
