Free Blood and Justice by Rayven T. Hill Page A

and pushed them carefully underneath the couch. She eased from her hiding place, and tiptoed towards the front door. Carefully sliding back the chain, she turned the knob and, thank God, the door didn’t squeak. The outside door was a little trickier. It had a slide lock on it she had to ease back.
    The lock opened with a bang, sounding to her like the fourth of July. She stood motionless.
    “Jenny, Jenny, Jenny.” Still mocking, but now frustrated. He hadn’t heard it.
    She pushed gently at the door.
    “There you are!”
    She caught a glimpse of him across the room as the door exploded open. With a mad dash, she stumbled down the steps. She had to get away. If she could only get to the trees, she could be safe. She could hide there. She dashed across the back lawn, through the garden. A look over her shoulder showed he was close behind. She doubled her effort, and headed for the forest. With each step, it seemed further and further away. The hard ground bit into her stocking feet as she ran.
    Seeing a rock the size of her fist on the ground, she dove for it. He was only a few feet away now. Swinging her arm as hard as she could, she threw the rock straight at him. It caught him hard on the right shoulder, and momentarily drove him back.
    “You little witch,” he screamed. “You’re going to be sorry now.”
    His anger may have given him more energy, more determination, because before she could run more than a short distance, she felt a hand on her arm. Trying to grab her. She twisted away and changed direction. He lost a little ground, and then made it up, and was right behind her again. She felt a tugging on her hair, and she was brought to an abrupt stop, yanked backward, landing with a painful thud on the hard-packed ground.
    He was on her. Sitting on her chest. She tried desperately to protect herself as he beat madly at her face and head. “You little witch,” he screamed again and again. His fists were pummeling her. She tasted blood in her mouth. She struggled in vain as he continued his crazed barrage, inflicting more pain.
    As suddenly as the beating started, it stopped. She couldn’t move as he held her hands against the ground, breathing heavily. She looked into his depraved face through her one unswollen eye. The uncontrollable fire she has seen in his eyes a moment ago seemed to be dying down, as if extinguished by a dose of her tears.
    “Now look what you’ve done,” he said.
    Jenny managed to draw some saliva, mixed with blood, together in her mouth. She spit at him with all the strength she had. He sat back and raised his head, laughed, and wiped the mixture away. His face was speckled with blood. Some dripped from his chin.
    Reaching out, he touched her mouth where the blood trickled out. He looked at the dark smear of red on his finger. He closed his eyes and moved his hand toward his mouth, and shuddered. His eyes snapped open. He wiped his finger on her shirt, sighed, and then smiled.
    “I’m sorry I had to hurt you,” he said, his voice almost gentle now. “You shouldn’t have run. Why’d you run? You shouldn’t have run.”
    She was exhausted and weak, not able to offer any resistance as he helped her to her feet. He held her firmly, leading her back through the garden and down a gravel path toward the barn. He swung open the decaying barn door and pushed her inside.
    “Over there,” he ordered, pointing to a spot near the far wall. “Move over there.”
    She stumbled obediently across the rough wooden floor, the dusty straw kicking up clouds as he prodded her along.
    He pointed to a huge beam, far above, running the length of the barn. Tatters of rope still clung to the grizzled wood where he indicated. “See that beam up there,” he said. “That’s where Mother died. They said she hanged herself. Maybe she did. That was awhile ago. She’s buried now.” He looked menacingly at her. “You wouldn’t want to die there, would you?” It was a question, or was it a