Who Do You Trust Now? (A Disappearance Mystery Thriller Book 5) Laura Greene (sad books to read TXT) 📖

Its beady eyes glare at her, but not threateningly. They just don’t move. The fox has a bright orange fur, gray ears and a white mouth and belly. If it wasn’t dark – a time when foxes are looking to eat – she would comment on how stunningly beautiful it looks.

In silence, they stand, staring at each other. Melody feels a drop of rain fall on her forehead and trickle down her nose. It feels cool and a little ticklish, still staring at the fox, she does not wipe it off her nose. She thinks back to her food rations, Did I close my bag all the way? She’s heard of foxes coming close to humans when they smell food and eating out of people’s trash. They do not normally attack humans unless they feel threatened.

Barely moving her hand, she casually lifts her arm from her side and checks the mouth of the bag for an opening. The fox watches, it does not come closer and Melody does not dare to agitate it.

The bag is closed. She pulls her arm down in the same manner she lifted it up. Wondering if she should shout and scream like she would a cougar in America, Melody waits a while longer to see what the fox will do.

The fox turns around like it has been warned off by some unseen protector and walks the other way. Melody breathes another sigh of relief. She waits, with her light still pointing where the fox went, then when she feels it is far enough, she continues her journey.

This time, she walks quickly, with the rain coming, she must move swiftly, trying to beat the rain. But the rain does not let up, it picks up into a small rainfall, then a downpour and a storm ensues. Covering her head and backpack with a raincoat, she progresses to a light jog.

She hears thunder roaring, menacingly commanding her attention. The trees are swaying more heavily, making it harder to see in front of her. She puts one hand over her eyes to shield them and the other holds her raincoat, but it’s useless. Her clothes are wet and her face is even drenched.

Taking long strides of walking and jogging again, the patter of her feet on the damp and nearly flooded ground reminds Melody of Deacon mansion and the drastic change in weather. She knows she should probably stop, but she is determined to make it to her destination, so she treks on.

As the winds close in on her and the water pounds against her raincoat, so do the trees. Melody dodges a branch swinging at her face. Her flashlight brings another swinging branch in her view and she narrowly ducks, escaping its swipe at her head.

This is becoming more dangerous. She wants to turn around. But she has already come a long way that it makes more sense to go forward. Now, the light is the closest shelter in view.

Climbing over a tossed branch, she perseveres on. She can’t afford to get trapped in this or if another sinkhole forms, she may not make it out alive this time. Melody is beginning to understand why the townspeople of Talon’s Point said, “Here in Scotland, ye dress fae all four seasons.”

Suddenly, while reminiscing about Talon’s Point, she is interrupted by a loud cracking noise. Then the wind howls above her as a tree comes tumbling down to the ground.

This can’t be good, she thinks, panicking. The tree is big, it’s heavy and it’s thick. It tumbles flat on the already hard to see trail, its impact with the ground ricochets and the ground trembles from under her.

Latching onto a tree beside her, Melody steadies herself from the shaking. Thankfully, the ground does not cave from under her.

Melody sees the impossible obstacle ahead, but it does not deter her. The tree now sits between her and the light ahead. She tightens the grips of her backpack, puts her flashlight in her mouth, climbs up the now horizontal tree, then slides off. She needs to get to the other side.

Taking a deep breath, she climbs again, resolute she can make it. Her arms hug the tree bark, her hands and grip the ridges, then her fingers dig into the smaller gaps where her hands can’t reach. She dangles in the air with one leg while the other grips on with every muscle in its frame. It hurts.

She tries to swing her free leg, but it’s not gaining momentum. Tightening her grip, she tries to edge along with her arms, the water collecting in the ridges makes it harder for her fingers to hold on.

“Argh!” She cries out, frustrated. Melody is losing strength to keep holding on, but the storm is gaining strength. If she cannot get over this tree now, she will not make it to the light.

Exhausted, yet trying to give it her all, she shuffles along the giant tree trunk, pushing away slippery leaves. Still gripping her flashlight with her mouth, she gets closer to the treetop. She wants to find an area with more grooves or branches that she can cling to and pull herself up on.

Grunting, dangling with her legs, gripping with her arms, she shuffles along the tree trunk. She is making headway and thinking she might actually do it.

All of a sudden, her arm slips off. Melody is hanging on with one arm now. Rainfall drips down this arm, down her collar and chills her back. She swings her arm in towards her, trying to restore it on the tree, but she overcorrects and her other arm slips, releases, then sends her tumbling down.

She lands on her back, her face bitterly staring at the overcast sky, with anger and regret that she did not see the storm coming. The bruise Melody feels tonight though is to her ego because