THE ESCAPE

Danelle Forester ran along the forest floor, dodging low-hanging branches and roots that threatened to trip her with every step. It was dusk, twilight, that in-between shadowy time; halfway between daylight and darkness where shadows deepen and one's heart starts to palpitate just a little faster, for no apparent reason. As the Shadows grow longer, objects seem to merge, forming an endless sea of darkness.

In Danelle's case, the dusk only compounded the issue. 

In the distance, she could hear the baying of the hounds, drawing ever closer. It would be impossible to outrun them. Clive’s dogs were hunting dogs, trained to track their prey and bring them down. To show no mercy. The very fact that he used his dogs tonight to follow her showed to what extent he would go to prevent her escape. The dogs would kill upon his command. She would be doomed if she didn't reach the river before the dogs.

A protruding tree root tripped her and sent her sprawling. She wasted no time brushing the dried leaves from her cloak, but rather, righted herself and pressed on. She could hear the river now. The sounds of rushing waters were the incentive she needed to increase her speed. That and the deepening bay of the hounds, closer now. Ever closer and gaining.

Danelle fought for purchase on the slippery banks but ended up, arms and legs flailing, falling down the slippery embankment to the water's edge. She ended up spreadeagled and winded, half in and half out of the river. Rising to her knees, she crawled further into the river and when she was able; she waded to where the water was deeper. She knew, from Clive’s never-ending talk of his hounds and hunting, that the dogs would lose her scent in the water. If she made it across to the other side, they may not track her. But Clive had personally trained his dogs, and she knew from her own experience how thorough he was in all things. She should take no chance that the dogs, once they had forded the river, would pick up her scent on the other side. No, she had to outsmart the dogs and outsmart Clive, her husband. She waded out further, where the current picked up midstream; but rather than fighting the current to reach the other shore, she let the current take her. The waters were dark, and she could barely discern the rocks scattered throughout the river. Moments later, the water was at chest level and she simply let the current take her and floated along with the water.

 She had often watched as her older brothers were swimming in the pond on their estate back home. Several times she had evaded her nanny and her governess’s restrictive clutches and sought out her brother's favourite swimming hole. Both caregivers had, of course, repeatedly reminded her that swimming was not a ladylike pursuit, and she had paid dearly for her escapades. However, every moment of her punishment was worth it just to have her brothers teach her to swim like a fish. Her punishment was usually extra time to be spent working on a dreaded sampler or a tapestry, both of which she loathed. Needlework was not her forte, she would much rather be riding her horse Molly, or roughhousing with her brothers. She suffered for her childlike hoyden behaviour and boyish indiscretions. To compensate for her behaviour, they often made her learn and recite long passages. After a time, her caregivers; old before their time from trying to care for a hoyden and finding their efforts fruitless; turned a blind eye, relaxed their vigilance, and used Danelle’s escape time for a well-deserved nap.

How she hated embroidery or needlework of any kind. She had absolutely no skill with a needle and, in this particular case, the roughhousing and forbidden swimming lessons taught by her brothers stood her in good stead. Had she not had this experience, she would already be dead. But she was no misssish debutante.

 The current swept her further down the river, and the sound of the hounds receded until they were a distant reminder of the impending doom that had once threatened her only moments before. The early autumn night temperature meant that the water temperature was also cool, but she knew her body temperature would adjust soon. She would be chilled, yes, but it was little enough to bear compared to the reprisal that she would face if captured by Clive and his dogs. Her teeth began to chatter, but she did not contemplate the alternative. She knew that she would soon have to leave the relative safety of the river because, in several leagues, there was a waterfall that she would have to circumnavigate. The drop, although not overly long, had treacherous rocks lining the bottom before the water reached the quieter section of the river. Surviving a trip over the falls was risky at best. A gamble that she was reluctant to face. However, right before the drop, there was a small sandy area partially protected by a small outcrop of rock. It was here that she meant to make her way towards. Once she landed, Danelle could cross the small beach and find the game trail that led to the road to the village.

 The moon came out through the clouds, and she continued to float down the river. Her body had acclimated to the cold water by now and was quite comfortable. She could no longer hear the dogs, so she knew that Clive and the dogs were far behind her. She floated, almost weightless, through the water, stroking occasionally to maintain her position. Her body and mind were more relaxed now that the imminent danger had passed. She was free from Clive, free from his authoritarian ways, his penchant to control every aspect of her life, what gown to wear, how her maid should dress her hair. That she could have lived with. She shivered, thinking of that last beating he had given her the last time she had tried to run away. The threats that had ensued, and she knew he was very capable of carrying those threats out. He had threatened her with her very existence. Her life. There was more… so much more to the story.

The man was a maniac. Her parents had no idea the type of monster they had married her to. No idea of his deviant furies, his insane behaviours, or his evil practices.

 Out for a ride one day, she had stumbled upon Clive’s cottage retreat deep in the woods. A place forbidden to all the servants but his henchman Otto. Otto was an ugly toad of a man., he cared for Clive and Clive’s dogs. Danelle never imagined that Clive would not allow her entrance to the cottage. To her horror, she soon learned the monster her husband truly was. Opening the door and entering the cottage, she beheld sights that no lady, nay, no living being, should ever have to witness. Running outside, she fled to the back of the cottage to relieve the heaving contents of her stomach. There she was met by numerous long mounds in the yard. She prayed for the poor souls in the cottage and for those who were probably buried behind it.

 Danelle now knew why the servants were forbidden to go to the cabin. The gruesome discovery that she made that day tortured her both day and night. She had previously not known just how deep his penchant for macabre tastes ran. She had witnessed his cruelty to the servants, and his cold and sometimes slightly ruthless behaviour towards her, his constant desire for total control; but this … Machiavellian twist was horrifying. She would never get the gruesome and grisly sights that she had seen in the cottage out of her brain. 

 The first time she had run away, he had merely blackened her eye and locked her in her room. After escaping the second time, he had brutally abused her with his whip and imprisoned her in the keep's dungeon without food for days. She knew that this time she would just become another mound of dirt behind his cottage retreat,

She could feel the water washing away her abrasions, her aches and pains, washing anew… her soul. Through the darkness, she recognized the last bend in the river, just before the falls. It was time to get out lest she tarry too long and miscalculate the distance to the exit from the river, and go over the falls and get smashed on the rocks below.

She made her way to the side of the river, stroking strongly as the current gathered strength before it dropped. On either side of the river were steep embankments, and she had to watch carefully for the small beach. From there she could hopefully cadge a lift from a farmer headed to market in the next town or maybe, if her luck held, a ride beyond the market town right into the city where she could lose herself in a larger population.

She swam to the very edge and waded carefully to the shoreline, feeling the strong tug of the river. She was almost at the beach, standing chest-high in the water when she heard the loud snort of a horse. Looking up, she beheld her husband Clive on his black stallion. Unbeknownst to her, he must have gone to the stable for the horse upon hearing of her escape. It was the only way he could have possibly reached this position before her. Lucifer, his horse, its flanks heaving with the strain of his midnight gallop; reared on its hind legs and then pawed at the sand. His sweat glistened in the moonlight. With Clive's black cloak and hood, he blended in with the horse, giving the appearance of one being. Melded together. They blended into the shadows of the night as the clouds passed back and forth in front of the moon. Then, the thick clouds lifted for an instant and she could see him clearly. The moonlight reflected on her husband's evil countenance. Teeth barred in an evil leer. Moonlight flashed on the horse's silver bridle and something glinted in Clive’s hand. The whip. The dreaded whip. She remembered all too clearly the feel of that whip laying the flesh bare on her back. She could not endure another session with the whip. Nay, she would not.

The silver handle shone as Clive snapped the whip, snaking it out over the water towards her. Her pale white face shone like a beacon in the dark for him to see. A target for his merciless hand. The whip cracked beside her ear. She felt an instant of raw pain, a grim foretaste of things to come when she stood in his evil clutches.

 As he drew back the whip for another assault, she stepped backward into the stronger current, and let the rushing waters take her away. Over the falls. Life or death, she knew not which. All she knew was, better in God's merciful hands than in Clive's deadly hands.