It wasn’t the first time Kennedy had said someone was following him, nor the first time he didn’t show up where he was supposed to be. It came with the territory, with issues like his. Joanie knew not to panic. He’d turn up sooner or later, dirty and skinny and tired. He’d sleep in her guest room for three days, and then they’d talk about rehab. Again.

They’d been down this road before.

At least, that was what Joanie thought. When he didn’t turn up on her doorstep, and he didn’t come to their meeting spot by the benches at the park for his regular check in for the fifth day in a row, she started to worry.

It’s the disease, she told herself. He was unreliable. Unpredictable. He’d frightened her before. None of this was new. It was the cycle. The delusions would come. They’d get louder and louder, rattling his mind and body until he couldnt take it. He’d self medicate with the pills. Then he’d need a little something stronger to keep the voices at bay. Then a little more. Then he’d go AWOL. Joanie never knew where he went when he dropped out of her life. “There are some things about me I don’t want you to know, Jo.” Ominous, Joanie thought, but he’s here now— he’s safe. That’s all that mattered. Until next time.

Joanie dug her phone out of her bag, her cold hands fumbling through the contents of her purse. She checked her texts. She’d send four messages, all unreturned. She dialed his number and waited, feeling foolish as she did so. He never answered, even when he wasn’t on a bender. No surprise, it went to voicemail.

She thought back to the last time they spoke. They’d met by the benches then walked to the little diner around the corner so she could buy him lunch, as was their habit. He picked at his food and kept glancing over his shoulder and out the window.

“Is something bothering you?” she’d asked with trepidation. Something was always bothering him. She cared, but she almost didn’t want to know. What would it be this time? Government conspiracy? Stalker ex that didn’t exist?

“Someone’s been following me,” he said, his voice low.

Ah, thought Joanie.

“Who would be following you?” she asked mildly, stirring her coffee. She’d lost her appetite.

“Dunno,” he grunted, “but he’s always there. A man in a black coat.”

Joanie leaned in. “Are they here now?”

He scanned the restaurant. “No. But he’s close.”

She gripped the napkin in her lap, then released. She needed to be delicate about this. “Have you thought any more about the place I showed you?” She’d folded a pamphlet for a mental health and substance abuse residential treatment center into his hand at their last meeting. He hadn’t acknowledged her, but he took it. She chewed her lip.

“Can’t afford it,” he grunted.

“You know that’s not true. We have that money from mom.”

“That’s for you and the kids.”

“It’s for you, too,” she said, but she knew this was a pointless battle. Kennedy never took anything for himself. He was always thinking of others. He had a good heart. That’s why it hurt so much to see him this way.

He shook his head. “Now’s not a good time. I need to be able to move. To breathe. I can’t be caged.”

“No one is caging you.”

He jumped up suddenly, slamming the table and sloshing their coffees down the side of their mugs. “I have to go, he’s coming.”

Joanie caught him by the sleeve. “Ken, don’t go, I’m—“

“He’ll find me. I’m going. I’m going.”

He hurried to the restaurant door and out onto the street, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Joanie thumbed the clasp on her purse, still seated on the park bench without Kennedy. It couldn’t be true, right? He was just off on another bender, in his dark place he didn’t want her to know about. Right?

But what if she was wrong? What if he’d overdosed? What if something had happened to him?

And there couldn’t really be a man in a black coat.

Could there?

To be continued...

The chilled night air was sharp, stinging her nostrils with each ragged breath. The frosty grass crunched beneath her bare feet like shards of glass. She hurried, pushing up onto her toes and bolting across the lawn. She had to get out of the open. She couldn’t be seen.

Just as she reached the tree line, a light flicked on in one of the upstairs bedrooms of the cabin, bathing the yard in light. Sasha startled and tripped, cutting her foot on a sharp stick. She fell to her knees, then scrabbled through the brush, pulling herself up behind one of the large trees that blocked the house from view. She let out a breath. She’d made it in time. She was pretty sure.

She caught her breath. She examined the wound in her foot as best she could in the moonlight filtered through the wooded canopy above her. She should have grabbed her phone. She’d thought about this moment for so long. She’d planned out every detail of a thousand different escapes before she worked up the nerve to try one. She waited until the last second. The wedding was tomorrow. It was now or never. Get out now, or say “I do” and wind up in the ground.

Sasha did not want to die.

She’d panicked. She’d gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Padding down the hall back to their room, it struck her: this is it. This is your last chance. She heard a loud snore. She froze. Time stretched. How long had she stood there, feet glued to the carpet? She didn’t know. She was outside her body until now, this moment, huddled in the cold October night in her nightgown and bare feet.

The light went out. Sasha pressed her back into the rough bark of the tree, grounding herself. She thought through her terror. She couldn’t sneak back to the car. Jake always slept with his keys in his shorts pocket. There wasn’t a major road for miles to flag somebody down. What could she do?

Think, Sasha. Save yourself.

A loud creak ripped through the icy air.

The front door!

Footsteps.

Run.

She fled, ripping through the forest as fast as her legs could carry her. She forgot about the pain in her foot. She didn’t feel the jagged branches raking the skin of her bare arms. She was an animal now, heart desperately hammering her rib cage, blood soaring through her veins, adrenaline coursing through every cell of her. Run. Escape. Survive. She stumbled, she got up. She ran faster. And faster.

He got closer. And closer.

If she kept running in this direction, eventually she’d hit the front gate of the park. There would be a guard, maybe. There had to be. It was her only chance.

She’d never make it.

It was her only option.

She could hear his breath, feel his fingertips grazing her back.

Run, Sasha. Run.

She tripped and he was on her, his knee pressing into her back, his fingers tangled in her long hair. He yanked, pulling her face up from the mud. Her lungs drank in an icy gulp of air and her eyes tried to focus, to orient. He rolled her onto her back and straddled her hips, grinding his pelvis into hers. Finally her vision sharpened, and she saw it. That shadow behind his eyes, the one she knew so well. In that moment she knew, she knew that they had both always known it would end like this.

He broke off the eye contact, glancing around him. What was he looking for? There are was no one here. No witnesses. No heroes. Sasha wanted to scream, but his weight was so heavy against her, she couldn’t get enough air.

He reached for something. Held it aloft. Sasha squinted to make it out. A rock.

She shut her eyes.

“‘Til death do us part,” he muttered.

And he brought it down.