Reliving in the Pasts

He was responsible for her ruining a pair of brand-new, white heels. His actions caused her to lose her composure and cause her to cry as he tore the strap off of her sundress and scratched her leg. Anna raked her fingers through her hair, frowning at the unnatural coils that had formed from her brushing. The clip that formerly secured her hair at the nape of her neck was long gone, and now her locks cascaded down her shoulders and to the centre of her back.

A tight fit over her breasts kept the sundress in place on one side, but the night-blue linen dress was ruined. She had aching, scraped feet, and she despised the night. Even as a young child, she had an irrational fear of the nighttime. She wiped her nose as more tears rolled down her cheeks, and she cursed herself for being so terrified.

Anna was exceptionally proud of the fact that she never cried. But here she was, barefoot, angry, and crying on a lonely country road. The reason why was a mystery to her. She certainly did not have any affection for the spoiled brat. Her father, concerned that his little girl didn't like boys, had forced her to go out with him.

A pitiful sniffle escaped her nose. She had a soft spot for male companionship. At least one man. She was picky, and Charlie Austin, a mere pip, was not even close to meeting her criteria. As she hobbled home along the country road, she cursed Charlie, her parents, and all males.

Naturally, there would be nobody there to greet her when she arrived. Her parents had left earlier that day to spend another long weekend in the mountains, leaving her to fend for herself in an empty house. A chill ran down her spine.

What if he followed through on his threat and actually went to find some friends to aid him? I was worried they might get her before she could contact the Sheriff.

Then, a tight ball of fear grew in her stomach. There was nowhere else for her to go. Despite the night's warmth, she felt a cold creep up her arms, and she rubbed them together to stave off the frenzy that was beginning to grow inside of her. The sound of a car approaching from behind her caused her to freeze in fear as pictures of Charlie Austin's cruelty raced through her head.

Perhaps Charlie said it. She cried out, her eyes darting around in the shadows as she frantically tried to find a safe haven. She scrambled desperately off the road as lights swung towards her, falling into the tiny culvert and severely bruising her legs as she crouched among the jagged rocks and hoped she hadn't been noticed.

The country was smothered in oppressive black heat and unsettling weather, and the night was nearly moonless. The impending storm was more than simply the weather, Blake knew. Before leaving on his next mission, he had one final night of freedom. Once the orders came in that morning, he felt nothing but hollow sadness rather than excitement for the impending action. The last seven years of his life had been devoted in training and battling, with little time for actual living.

Perhaps, he reasoned, this was the final assignment. He was feeling fatigued, and he knew it made him less alert and careful. Here, in this cosy little house, was a life he might lead, if only he would take the plunge. And it was something pretty he'd been eyeing for a while. She was too young for his experience, perhaps. But he couldn't get her out of his head or his ego.

As his mind wandered to her, he grimaced. He caught her out with the brazen kid from Austin. With her long red hair falling down her back and her wide green eyes staring Blake with naive hunger, the little girl stood before him in a sundress that pleaded to be torn from her body.

And he knew at that moment that it would be his last trip. The last country he visited was a war zone.

With a heavy sigh, he gave up. No matter what he did, he couldn't get out of this final task. He would be lying if he said he was looking forward to it.

His eyes widened in astonishment as he rounded a sharp bend in the narrow country road, then narrowed when he realised the source of the colour was vanished. It just wasn't doable. The rules of fate prevented this from happening.

When the blue and red light vanished over the shoulder of the road, the movement becoming stealthy, his instincts went into overdrive. He braked and pulled over right before the area, keeping a wary eye on things as he turned off his car's lights. He slid his pistol out from behind the seat and his torch from the back floorboard before stepping easily out of the vehicle.

Off to one side of the road, in a steep ravine, was a little culvert with adequate depth for a person to hide. He crept closer, hiding in the shadows, despite a nagging feeling that the impending threat wasn't so much physical as it was psychological. however, more harmful than a bullet fired by an opponent.

As he got into position, he caught a glimpse of ghostly faces in the night and heard the methodical shuffling of feet amid the rocks. With a burst of rage, he turned on the torch and pointed it down at the small, terrified face.