——————–————
*THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THEMES THAT MAY NOT BE IDEAL FOR ALL READERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*
——————–————
The crying stops. Suddenly, the lack of crying or screams is scarier than when they sounded like they were only fifty yards away. I feel all alone in the woods. Why did the crying stop? Who made it stop and how did they do it? I begin to feel sick to my stomach.
That's when I see her through a clearing up ahead. A young girl, no older than six, I imagine. She's lying on the ground. Her hands and feet are bound together and a dirty rag is stuffed in her mouth. Even from half a football field away, I can see that her face is slick with tears.
She locks eyes with me and I've never seen someone so afraid in my life. Someone has planned something awful for this poor, innocent little girl and I run towards her in the hopes that maybe I can do something to stop it in time.
Kneeling down, I begin tearing at the knots. The rope is thick and these are not traditional knots. I can't tell which piece is tied to what and begin just pulling at them at random, desperately hoping some of them, any of them, will begin to loosen up.
The little girl's crying has stopped. I think for a moment that maybe she's just all cried out and look up to reassure her. Her eyes are looking past me, I notice, a brief moment before I feel intense, sharp pain in my back and the warmth of my own blood beginning to soak my shirt.
I can't see who did this. He must have hit a major organ, or artery because the world begins closing itself off to me fast. My vision becomes a tunnel and sounds are now far away, deep down that tunnel. I slump over and feel a moment of temporary relief.
At least the knife isn't inside me any more. In another moment, I feel the blood around me. Wet and sticky at the same time. A thought occurs: this much blood cannot be outside my body.
Even if someone found me now, even if they stopped the bleeding, there's no way my body could keep functioning with this much blood outside of it. I'm dying and there's nothing that can be done.
Joe. Oh no. Poor Joe. He'll never forgive himself for this. When Mom and Dad died, he swore he'd look after me. Keep me safe. He's already so close to the edge, so affected by their deaths, that he may never come back from this. I'm sorry Joe, I apologize as tears begin streaming down my face, pooling together with the growing puddle of blood forming under my body.
And that poor, little girl. I failed. I can't hear her cries any more. I'm not sure if it's my losing consciousness, or if that monster used the knife he killed me with on her. I stop even caring about the fact that I'm dying, all that matters in my mind right now, is that I couldn't save her. I gather my last bit of strength and lift my head. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and the rest of me feels paralyzed.
Slowly, my dying body begins to cooperate, and I can see past myself. The little girl is no longer there. Maybe she ran. Maybe, somehow I did manage to untie one of those knots, and she took the opportunity to make a break for it. It's almost impossible, but I can hope.
Everything is becoming very dark now, but I'm no longer scared. I begin to close my eyes as I see my father standing over me. He looks just as I remember him all those years ago. There's blood in the back of my throat as I say three words before I close my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
He smiles at me and says, "it's okay, son. You did good."