Beneath the Storm

How the hell did I end up here? How did this even happen?

This kind of thing happens to other people—the poor bastards in horror movies, the names you read in true crime stories, the faceless figures in campfire tales. But not to me. Not to anyone I've ever known.

Thunder cracked outside, sharp as a gunshot, rattling the walls. A heartbeat later, lightning slashed across the dimly lit room. For a brief, terrible second, I saw them: the handcuffs, the chain, the bruises already blooming on my wrists.

This can't be happening, I whispered, tasting the lie as it left my lips.

The last few hours unraveled in sharp, disjointed flashes, too vivid to be a dream but too surreal to be accurate.

Where did I mess up? What could I have done differently? How the hell did this creep find me?

And the worst question of all: What happens next?

It was over. It was all over.

A shiver crawled down my spine as my mind dragged me back to earlier in the evening. The moment everything started to go wrong.

***

Dusk had settled in that murky hour when shadows blur, and eyes strain to adjust. The rain hammered down, turning my trek through the woods more treacherous. The storm howled, tearing at the trees.

I was running for my life, consumed by an eerie calm that felt almost unnatural. I was a woman on fire; every sense, muscle, and thought focused on survival as adrenaline surged through me. His deranged face burned itself into my brain—eyes wide, mouth twisted, wild with something I couldn't place. Fear? Rage? Or maybe it was just my imagination, trying to make him into the monster I needed him to be.

The screams echoed—his or mine? I wasn't sure. They had stopped when they had to. And for now, I was still free.

The blood on my sleeves reeked of iron and wouldn't let me forget. My hands were raw, blistering from gripping those crude tools too tightly. They'd done the job too well. They'd been my only way out. My only chance. Hadn't they?

The dilapidated shed loomed in my memory like a shadow I couldn't shake. The tools, the blood, the screams—they all belonged there. But I'd dragged them with me, even as I ran.

I took momentary comfort in one fact: he couldn't hurt anyone else.

The other one, though. He was hunting me now, and I knew he wouldn't be easy to escape.

I was still free for the moment. The storm was closing in, rolling thunder crashing like a warning, urging me to push harder.

I wracked my brain. What had I missed?

I'd planned for everything and covered every track. And yet, here I was—hunted, exposed. My carefully built fortress crumbling to sand.

I heard yelling. Desperate shouts. Instructions.

"Stop!" came the voice of the man I had come to think of as my hunter. I hated calling him that, but it fit.

He never faltered, never hesitated. Every move was deliberate and calculated, like me. The thought hit harder than any branch or stone I'd tripped over. He wasn't just chasing me. He was a force. Unstoppable. Inevitable. Darker. But so was I.

Every breath, every footstep, every shout closed the gap. He wasn't a man—he was something bigger, something unstoppable. He hunted me like I was prey, but deep down, I knew we were the same.

"Stop running, please!" His voice cut through the storm, low and steady—not a plea, but a promise. He wasn't chasing me because he had to. He wanted to. I was his target, his prize, and he wouldn't stop until he had me—my hunter.

Did he really think please would stop me? I might have laughed if I had the breath to spare.

I wasn't the one hunting. That was all him. Right? My breath hitched. He wouldn't stop—not until I was in chains.

A cruel thought slashed through me—was this how they felt? This helplessness? My stomach twisted—no time for doubt.

He needed to win this. Needed to catch me. And me? I wasn't running to escape—I was running to survive. But the worst part of survival is realizing what you're willing to do for it. And I would never return to that shed.

The woods were pitch black now. The storm swallowed the world in chaos, but it couldn't drown the memories. The blood. Screams. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of it. All I wanted was to escape, to leave it behind. But men like him don't let you go.

Branches clawed at me with every step. The chill stole my breath, and the puddles of mud sucked at my shoes like the earth itself was trying to trap me. Even the woods had turned against me. Roots grasped at my ankles. Shadows whispered his name. My hunter was close. Too close. I could feel him gaining ground.

Behind me, shouts grew louder and flashlight beams stretched out like searching fingers. When my shadow appeared ahead of me, I knew I'd been spotted.

No, no, no! I flung myself down a steep bank and off the trail, praying the dense underbrush would hide me. My heart pounded, every second stretching forever.

Mud caked my feet and legs, the chill seeping into my skin as my breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. Every muscle screamed for rest, but I pushed on.

Part of me wanted to stop running—not because I was tired, but because I wanted the nightmare to be over. If I couldn't keep my freedom, what was the point?

But I had to keep going. I could see the faces of my reasons.

My foot snagged on a fallen tree, but as I scrambled to my feet, I saw it: a rock with a jagged edge lying in the mud. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Why didn't I run with the shovel? I cursed myself. Why didn't I grab one of the spades before escaping the shed? Hindsight was useless now. I'd made do, and it had been enough to finish the job—or so I thought. But right now, even a rock was better than nothing.

That split second of distraction sealed my fate. My ankle twisted as I crashed into the ground with a sickening crunch. The taste of blood mixing with the earthy grime filled my mouth.

That was all it took. They were on me.

Then, a man hit me like a freight train, all of his weight slamming me into the mud before I could even scream. The wind was knocked out of me; my ribs screamed—sharp, mercilessly— something cracked.

Did I deserve this?

A voice, barking orders–deep and guttural–tangled in the storm. I barely caught the words before his weight crushed me into the mud.

Pinned. Prey in a predator's claws. He was heavy and unyielding—a force just as relentless as my hunter but without the same control. The stench of sweat and rain filled my lungs, mingling into something sour.

This was someone new. His partner? Of course, he'd have a backup. People like him always do. To my horror, a flashlight beam sliced through the darkness like a scalpel in the distance. That meant my hunter wasn't far behind either.

Between the two of them, I didn't stand a chance.

In desperation, I bucked and thrashed, but his knee slammed into my back, grinding into the mud. My left arm was yanked behind me with incredible precision, pain searing through my shoulder. Calm flooded in, sharpening my focus even as anger and desperation fought for space in my head. I needed a weapon.

My fingers clawed blindly at the ground, searching. There it was. The rock. The jagged rock that had distracted me.

The surface was slick with rain, fighting my grip. Inch by inch, I coaxed it into my palm and finally wrapped my fingers around it. With every ounce of strength I had, I twisted my upper body, bringing the rock up and over my shoulder in a wild, awkward arc.

No way this should have worked.

But it did.

The jagged edge bit deep into flesh, and the sound of his agonizing howl was lost in the storm. His grip on me faltered as his blood spattered my face.

With gritting teeth and anger rising, I found a new level of determination. They thought they could beat me, but they didn't know me—not really. Not yet.

I planted both hands in the mud and pushed myself up, agony stabbing through my ribs like a knife. Exhaustion coiled around me, trying to drag me down.

I shoved through the pain to my feet and let adrenaline take over.

Run. Run, damn it!

I could hear the other one—my hunter—getting closer. I recognized his voice, that confident, calculating tone, too calm, too assured, as if he already knew how this would end. Did he really think I would break now, after everything?

Footsteps pounded behind me. The rain blurred my vision as I blindly propelled myself forward. Footsteps pounded behind me.

Then—CRACK.

A gunshot, louder than the storm, cut through the chaos like a blade.

The angry shouts were swallowed by the thunder. I didn't need to hear the words; I already knew what they meant.

And I didn't care.

Then, in a brief lull, his voice cut through the wind, shaky. Desperate.

Was that fear?

Good.

"Stop. Enough. You have nowhere else to go."

I didn't stop. Not until rough, dirty hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me down onto the ice-cold ground. I clawed at the earth, grit caking under my nails as if anchoring myself to the ground could keep them from dragging me back.

Another flash of lightning split the sky, revealing silhouettes sliding down the slick rocks from the ridge. More hunters. Closing in. Caging me in.

My body was screaming, but my mind told me to fight. I was so close to the road. So close to finding an escape. I just needed one more break.

One more chance.

But there wasn't.

Is this how it all ends for me?

***

Now, sitting in this cold, damp room that smelled of sweat, vomit, and despair, I stared at my hunter. He sat across from me, his eyes fixed on mine with a look of grim satisfaction. His gaze traveled down to my bound wrists, then back to my tear-streaked, blood-soaked face. He smirked.

He was talking, but I wasn't listening. It didn't matter. It was all over. I wasn't going to give him any satisfaction, and I definitely wasn't going to make any of this easy for him.

Then, that same ghostly calm, almost sinister this time, washed over me again and settled into my bones. A wave of courage and finality surged through me so intensely that I was no longer scared of anything. I met his gaze without flinching, and I couldn't help but see myself in his eyes. The same fire, the same determination.

"You want me to admit it, don't you?" I cut him off mid-sentence of whatever soap box he was on, my voice low but steady and my eyes ablaze with rage. "Fine. Yes, Officer Halloway. I killed him." I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a whisper, "And I took my time with him."

There it was. The truth was out. Saying it aloud was like ripping off a bandage, the sting sharp but fleeting, and a chilling peace and justified pride started to swell… and then abruptly halted as Halloway spoke his next words in disgust.

"You relished hunting your own prey. I saw the body. We have the evidence. You weren't as masterful as you thought you were."

I wanted to argue, but the words tangled in my throat because I had seen his eyes. The moment his satisfaction turned to helplessness. And maybe… just for a second… it was the same way mine had widened when I felt the weight of hands pinning me down. I clenched my jaw and crushed the thought before it could fester. My jaw locked, and I spat my following words as vehemently as I could.

"I wanted him to feel what they felt. I hunted him down like the vermin he was and gave him the same mercy he gave to my family and all the others—none." The words rang out, stark and final. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my voice didn't shake as I continued. "And yes, I made him hurt. I made him a mess," I said smugly as I sat back in the cold metal chair.

"You're a monster for what you did to him," he stated coldly and shoved his phone with the gory evidence glowing in the dark. When this yielded no response from me, he continued, "You enjoyed stalking him, hunting him, causing pain."

A slow smile curled at the edges of his mouth as he saw me stiffen, and his gaze turned ice cold, knowing.

"And how you attacked my partner? He will be lucky if he lives through the night. You're sick."

Now, my fists clenched in anger, with what was left of my bloody nails digging into my palms.

"You weren't done yet, were you?" His voice was quiet. Knowing. "That's why you're mad you’re escape through the woods didn’t…."

How dare he? He wasn't able to finish as I cut off his lecture, spitting across the table like a rabid animal. "He was already a killer. I just made sure he didn't do it again."

"I saw the shadows he left behind," I screamed. "The people he broke, the lives he ruined. My life ruined." My voice raised and cracked with emotion, my composure fraying at the edges as I uselessly tried to stand up but was halted by the cuffs. "And you know he wasn't working alone; you know there are more!"

The words should have been liberating. They should have been the final, triumphant confession of justice served. But they weren't.

"He was the monster." My voice was quieter now as I looked down at my shaking hands. "And monsters need to be put down."

Halloway just stared at me, rain dripping from his soaked uniform, his bloodshot eyes searching mine with no response.

"And when he looked at me, he knew," I continued, my voice faltering. "Not fear. No surprise. Just... recognition." My stomach was clenched, but I forced the words out. "He understood. He knew he deserved it."

Now, the officer exhaled, exhaustion softening the edge of his stare. Understanding? Condemnation? Maybe both. Did it matter now?

"Someone had to stop him," I muttered after an uncomfortable silence. "Someone had to make him pay. You wouldn't understand."

A bitter laugh slipped from Halloway's lips at that accusation. He shook his head, but I didn't know if it was disbelief or something else entirely.

Then, at last, he sighed, a slow, deliberate sound that didn't match the words that came next.

"I know." His voice was quiet and almost resigned. "I probably would have done the same."

The breath I hadn't realized I was holding shuddered out of me. But relief didn't come as I expected. It didn't feel like water dousing a fire. It felt like gasoline feeding the flames of something darker.

I glanced at the crime scene photos still up on his phone and remembered the others still out there. A smile twitched at the corners of my lips before I could stop it.

At this, Halloway's jaw tightened as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, cutting murmur. "It was never about making things right, was it? That's why you'll never be free.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating, their weight pressing against my chest.

I wanted to deny it. I wanted to snarl at him, tell him he was wrong, that I had done what no one else had the nerve to do.

But deep down, I already knew the answer.

And so did he.

"They're waiting for you now." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but I could also hear the quiet satisfaction.

His smile mirrored mine. Heavy. Knowing. It wasn't justice that drove us. It was the hunt.

As he led me out of the room and down the hallway, I felt something small and metallic slip into my still-bloody palm.

A gift? Promise? A test?

I curled my fingers around it.

The hunt was far from over.

And somewhere out in the dark, I swear I heard someone laughing.