I’ve moved past the most traumatic experience of my life, and I’ve been able
to reach some semblance of normalcy. I can’t say that it no longer
affects me, but it at least no longer consumes me. I have prosthetic feet
now, and while I can’t feel sensations down there anymore, I can walk just
fine. I don’t even tell people my situation anymore, because it’s not
relevant, and they can’t tell. I’m happy now. I have a better job than
before, with better benefits. My boss calls me her busy bee, so she forced
me to take a vacation, which is why I’ve agreed to this island getaway. I
still find it rather difficult to trust others, which is one reason I’ve
come alone, but I decided that I’m okay with that. This is about recharging
my batteries, and remembering what I want out of life. It goes well at
first, but then I start to get a bad feeling as I’m walking around the
resort, and my excursions. I can’t point to an actual reason for my spidey
senses sounding sirens, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. There is an
evolutionary advantage to detecting the presence of a potential threat even
when you can’t pin it down. Something or someone is out there who doesn’t
want to be seen. They’re watching me, and making me nervous. I keep
telling myself that I might just be paranoid, but the sirens don’t go away.
I really don’t think I’m making this up. I can’t ask for help, of course,
because what is who going to do? The staff isn’t qualified to suss out a
hypothetical stalker, and the police never help. I have no proof, just my
instincts. I try to shrug it off, but the feeling grows worse, and I catch a
glimpse of a shadow every once in a while. Finally, I cancel all of the
activities I had planned for one day, and lock myself in the room. It’s not
enough.
Presumably having decided he’s ready to show himself, my stalker breaks down
the door, and enters my room. I didn’t come with pepper spray, or anything,
so I’m helpless to fight him off. I head for the balcony, but I’m on the
eleventh floor, so I don’t know where I thought I was going with that. It’s
him. It’s the one who abducted me from my own home, and burned my feet so
badly that they had to amputate both of them. They said they caught him, and
he committed suicide by cop. How could they have been so wrong? Did they not
look for evidence after the incident? Did they just assume they shot the
right guy, and let it go? Who did they actually shoot? Obviously I shouldn’t
be worrying about any of this right now; I just need to get away from him. I
don’t know how he found me. I don’t even know what he wants with me, or how
he knows me. But I know it’s the same man, and I know I can’t just run away.
I won’t let him hurt me again, though. I’m going to fight back. I’m going to
fight back hard. Not doing that before has been my greatest regret, and
while I can’t go back in time and change it, I can do better this time.
First, I scream. No one comes running before he manages to cover my mouth
with his gloved hand, but that doesn’t mean they never will. It’s the
off-season, but there are plenty of other guests here, and hopefully they’re
not all at the bonfire. My attacker is stronger, so it’s not hard for him to
overpower me, gag me, and start dragging me down the emergency stairs. My
right foot gets caught on the edge of a step, and falls off, which gives me
an idea. When we’re on a landing, I swing my left leg up, and take hold of
my remaining foot. Hitting him once in the face is enough to get him to let
go. Then I start bashing him over and over again until he stops moving. Only
then does someone come to my rescue, but it’s too late. This time, I’m here
to make sure he’s dead.
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