Being chased by a killer was bad but being chased by a killer who didn't even exist in public records was even worse. My breathing was labored as I jumped over the snaking roots in my path, not looking behind me in fear of tripping. The sun was light and a cool breeze flicked through my hair but I didn't stop.
The murderer's heavy thumps were behind me, trampling through the forest.
I could see the artificial light barely ahead of me, a dim flash of sunlight streaming through exit of the...