Hunted
by Jameson Wolf

There is a passion for hunting something deeply implanted in the human breast

Charles Dickens

June 1st, 2005

7:30 PM

He watched her while she slept.

She was peaceful, her chest rising and falling with her breathing. Her brown hair shone like spun gold as the moonlight hit it from different angles. It came in through her blinds, slanting down across her face, creating shadows on her cheeks.

He looked at her pretty lips, imagined putting his own there, pressing against the soft flesh, flicking his tongue into the depths of her mouth.

Such a little girl, such a small girl. She was like a doll really; he wanted to take her into his arms and rock her slowly, singing soothing songs to her. A soft lullaby for her little ears. He wanted to see the moonlight touch her naked body. But there was so much to do first, so much to do.

Humming to himself, he flipped open a black leather case that rested in front of him. He took out a hypodermic needle and a small bottle of clear liquid. Filling the needle, he watched as the liquid sparkled in the moonlight. He longed to see the girls eyes sparkle that way, like jewels in the moonlight.

The liquid in the needle would help her stay in a sleep of sorts. Her eyes would be open, she would sense everything, but she would not be able to make a sound; would not be able to move, cry out or push him away. But she could watch everything. She would be able to see everything that he did to her. It would be a waking sleep.

Quietly, he moved over to the bed, the moonlight showing his face for the first time. Softly, he took a hold of the girls arm and slipped the thin needle underneath the skin. Her eyes snapped open, a bright, blinding blue that looked beautiful in the darkness. She made one small sound, almost a whimper, before the drug took hold.

He reached out and ran a gloved hand along her hair, touching her cheek with the lightest touch.  Only her eyes could move. She looked at him wide eyed with terror. Tears began to slide down her cheeks and he lifted one to his lips, tasting it. He leaned in closer and smelled her hair, breathing in her scent of fear.

“Oh, my darling girl.” He said, huskily. “I have such plans for you.”

Chapter 1

June 3rd, 2005

Pine Valley

7:50 PM

“Susan Halliway?”

Susan looked up from the Anne Tyler book she had been reading. The sun blinded her for a moment and she had to shade her eyes with her hand. The rest of the patio was empty but standing in front of her was a silhouette of a woman. Her coffee sat forgotten.

“Yes?” Susan replied.

“Susan Halliway from the soap opera Hope Falls?”

Susan grimaced. Would that show ever let her go? “Yes,” she said.

“Oh, I just knew it!” the woman squealed, coming into the light. She was of medium height and had a large build. It looked like she could lose a couple of pounds. Perhaps twenty. Long brown hair hung in limp curls around her face; but the woman’s smile was blinding. Susan couldn’t tell her to go away when she saw that face.

The truth was, this woman was indistinguishable from the thousands of other woman who watched the show every day; day in, day out, without fail. These people lived right along with them. Susan had even dealt with one fan that couldn’t tell fiction from reality. He kept insisting that Susan was really the character she had played on the show: Carrie Jones, feisty CEO of Global Spire Communications. He kept asking her for a job, telling her that he had a good head for business, that he understood communication systems.

No matter how many times Susan had informed the man that she only played a character, that Global Spire Communications and Hope Falls didn’t really exist, he wouldn’t believe her. She had finally resorted to getting a restraining order and temporary protection in the form of a bodyguard.  

She hated feeling like a trapped bird in a cage; hated feeling watched in order to do what she did. Hated having to rely on a bodyguard to make sure the crazies didn’t get to her. Susan had started to become paranoid about her safety as other fans tried to contact her and even more tried to follow her. One had even tried to kill her.

That was when things changed for her.

That was when she had decided to leave the show. Fame, she decided, was not worth her life.

The woman sat down across from her, her smile bright and blinding. “I just knew it was you, I just knew it. I was walking by and saw you and thought to myself: That looks like Susan Halliway! Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Sure.” Susan said. She knew from experience that it was best to let it get everything out of their system.

“I couldn’t believe it when you left the show.” The woman said. Susan noticed that she talked with her hands.  “I mean, you’ve been on Hope Falls for, what, thirty years?  When they said in all those ads that someone was going to die, I didn’t even think it was going to be you! I thought it was going to be your husband, Marcus Jones; he deserved to die after he fooled around with his young intern at Global Spire, don’t you think?’

“You’ll have to keep watching the show to find out what happens.” Susan smiled. It was nice to meet people who got so caught up in her work. But she was careful to avoid the ones who were caught up in her. This woman just seemed to genuinely love the show.

“I just can’t believe that you won’t be on it anymore. I mean, they buried you in a coffin. You know what they say about soaps: if you see a coffin on the show, then the character is actually dead.” The woman tilted her head to the right. “But then again, they had that whole lost island for all those serial killer victims on Days of Our Lives and all those people came back.”

Susan laughed softly and took a sip of her coffee. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m never going to be back on Hope Falls.”

“But why did you leave?” The woman asked.

“I wanted to do something different. I wanted something different than soap opera’s.” I wanted to live my own life, as opposed to a characters, Susan thought.

“It’s just not going to be the same with you gone. Would you mind signing something for me?”

Susan took a napkin and signed her signature on it with a black felt tip pen. The woman thanked her repeatedly and Susan wished her well. She watched her go as she took one more sip of her now tepid coffee and slipped a bookmark in the pages of her Anne Tyler novel.

She laid a five-dollar bill on the table for her bill and collected her purse. Looking at the setting sun, just turning pink in the pre-evening twilight, Susan smiled to herself. For the first time, things felt good. They felt right.

“I’m living my own life.” Susan said.