Why would she want me?

There was absolutely nothing to do but run. The sight of the smoking gun must do that to a man.

I might have charged her, but that was an afterthought; my nerves and my body had made their decision.

When I looked back I saw she was chasing me, hair whipping the wind, mouth was wide with a terrible curse. That gun was trailing behind her as if pulled by some invisible force.

She wanted me. Why would she want me?

People scattered as they saw her, and I bowled them over in my desperate attempt to escape.

In an instant I realised where my legs were taking me. Without thinking I was making for the hill. It was looming ahead, materialising out of the darkness like a bad decision, inevitable and terrifying.

I risked a glance back when the streetlights were ending. Her chin was tucked low now, and her eyes were steady and intent upon me. Her cheeks were working slightly, but whether with rage or fatigue I could not tell.

She was gaining.

A wild ploy loomed in my mind, as dark and intimidating as the moon-stroked hill. My feet slipped from under me, but I was able to keep my footing and race ahead.

All at once I was taken by the shadows. My own spectral shade faded as the final street lamp lost its grip of me. The cold, sweet darkness filled my lungs and I sped with a boundless vigour up the steepest of the slope.

By some primal intuition I found the statue and edged around its perimeter.

The moon passed beneath a cloud and favoured me with a deep and profound darkness.

My heart beat torturously. I tried to listen above the sound, but it was so loud I wondered just who's side it beat for. The suddenly over the drumming, I heard the slap of my hunters feet.

She was slowing, drawing close to the further edge of the statue. I thought she might call for me. I thought she might taunt and terrorise me, but instead I heard the cock of the gun. It made my skin grow cold.

Then I heard a scraping. Two objects fell to the ground. Shoes. She had removed her shoes to stalk me more perfectly.

A dread fixed me.

She would be moving.

The thought came suddenly, yet I seemed to ponder it for an eternity. I gripped the stone beside me.

She would be moving. I need to move.

The warning was mechanical, a clockwork thought that did nothing to activate the machinery of my body parts. My nails sank painfully into the stone.

I need to move, now.

I lurched forward convulsively, but just as the momentum was building, there was movement behind me.

A crash lit the world. It rang and repeated again and again.

Even as I gasped, even as I gaped around me for comprehension, her face was above me.

The moon returned. It was behind her.

What is this, pain?

It was a searing pain, but she was above me. I could not see her face, yet when the shadows shifted, I knew she was smiling.

She wanted me. Why would she want me?

The moon was full behind her. I heard the echoes of another crash, and shut my eyes to the blinding moon.