CHAPTER 59 HANNAH

59

Hannah

HANNAH BOLTED FROM THE Pickerton house, nearly tripped on the last step as she came down off the porch, then stumbled again as her foot slipped in the mud and pine needles, but she managed to stay on her feet.

Rather than follow the road back down to town, where Malcolm would surely catch her long before she reached help, she went for the trees. She knew that wasn't much better—fifteen years of watching television and movies told her the girl never got out of the woods alive when some psycho was chasing after her—but she had no choice. There was no place else to go.

She could no longer see the house, had put at least a hundred yards between her and Malcolm, when he shouted from somewhere behind her. "I'm glad you did that, Hannah! This will be much more fun! I'll even give you a head start! Wait until you see what I found—way better than my screwdriver! You can keep that if it makes you feel better!"

Hannah's grip tightened around the handle. She knew it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"You'll have to kill me!" he shouted. "Think you have that in you? Think you can stick a blade in another person, give it a good twist, and watch the life leave them? You won't be the first to try, so you better hope you get it right!"

Hannah quickly looked around, tried to get her bearings.

She knew these woods; she'd played in them when she was a kid. If she kept moving, she could outrun him. She'd get to the Saco River, follow the water down the mountain to Route 112. From there, she could flag someone down. It wasn't that far, maybe a mile. Two at the most. She just had to keep moving. Had to be careful. Watch her footing. A twisted ankle, broken foot—it only took one wrong fall. She'd heard enough of those stories over the years. Half the people who died on the mountain were found with some kind of injury—the kind of injury that happened when you rushed.

Hannah rounded a large granite boulder sitting atop a five-foot drop, reached for a tree trunk, and used it to carefully work down the hill, moving as fast as she dared. When she reached somewhat level ground again, she checked her phone. She had a signal, three bars. Quickly keyed in 911. The call rang twice, connected, then dropped.

"I think you busted one of my ribs with the grandfather clock, Hannah! Hurts like a mother!"

He sounded close.

Much closer than Hannah hoped.

His voice echoed off the trees and granite, making it difficult to pinpoint. "Do you remember London Dobson? She was the first girl I brought out here—wow, three years ago already! Crazy how time flies. I slipped her a roofie at the victory party after we creamed Exeter in the state football finals, then brought her out here. Kept her in that house for eight days tied to the bed in back. Had her there for so long, I actually got bored with her, figured I'd try something different, so I cut her ropes and told her to run. I think she thought I was kidding at first, 'cause she just sat there. Then she bolted. She got as far as the waterfalls at Diana's Baths before I caught up with her. She was hysterical at that point, screaming her head off. I guess that added to the fun, seeing the fear in her eyes. I can't tell you how exhilarating it was when I finally ended her!"

Easing further downhill, Hannah kept moving. She thumbed Redial on the phone.

Same thing—two rings, the call connected, then dropped.

"You know the best part?" Malcolm went on. "I didn't have a shovel with me, you know, to bury her body, so I dragged her off into the trees and covered her with some leaves and branches. Figured I'd come back and get her in the ground later. So that's what I did. Got back out there the next morning with a shovel, a pickax, some plastic … everything I needed to do it right. You know what I found? Not much of anything. The animals had gone to town on her overnight. Took her down to her bones, even hauled some of those away. I had my dick in that girl not twenty-four hours earlier, and I couldn't recognize her anymore. You believe that? That's when I realized I didn't have to bury her; it was better if I didn't. The wildlife would make her disappear far faster if I let her be. I kept going back to see what was left. It only took six days for every trace of her to vanish. Mother Nature's awesome. Gotta respect her."

Hannah tried to ignore him, focused on her movement. She dialed 911 again, but the call dropped like before. She flicked through the various screens, loaded the navigation app, and keyed in Gas 'n' Go. The station was at the base of the mountain on 112. The app hung for a moment, the small hourglass spinning, then said unable to connect . She still had three bars, so the signal was strong enough, but it wasn't working.

Her right foot caught the corner of a rock. She nearly fell but managed to grab the trunk of an old oak tree and right herself.

"I'm gonna try something a little different with you, Hannah!" Malcolm shouted. "I'm gonna slice you wide open, scoop your insides out onto your belly. See if that speeds up the process. I bet I can cut that six days down to three if I do that. What do you think?"

Hannah always forgot how much thinner the air was up on the mountain. Each breath she sucked in felt wrong, like taking a drink through a straw that had a hole in it. She didn't realize she was panting until she paused for a second to try to find the compass app on the phone. She got the app open, but it wasn't working, either. The screen was frozen, no matter what direction she pointed the phone.

Doesn't matter. She didn't need it.

She'd been in these woods a million times. She'd find the river, follow it to 112, get help.

Hannah repeated that as she went—river, 112, help—like some kind of mantra, as Malcolm called out her name again, dragging out both syllables, "Hannnnnaaaah …"