He glanced at the other two men and said simply, “Get her.”
I ran.
I screamed for help, but no one was around to hear me, not out there. I beat my way through the woods, the branches drawing blood, the vines tripping me up. Behind me, I heard their footsteps trampling through the underbrush like beasts, like monsters. I ran even faster, to get away, to lose them. Somewhere, I don’t know where, the limb of a tree ripped my camera away from my neck. It dropped; I just kept running. I zigzagged, changing directions when I heard them getting closer. Desperation drove me on. Maybe I would have gotten away, because I was young and fast, but my foot hit the bulge of a tree root, which flipped me into the air. I landed hard, twisting my ankle, and when I got up again, I couldn’t run anymore. I limped for a while until it got too painful to move, and then I squatted down and tried to hide, but they found me.
The men came at me from two sides, and they had me trapped. They tied me up with belts around my wrists and ankles. Gagged me with one of their shirts. Hit me in the face, the first of many blows. And then they carried me, struggling and fighting, on their shoulders like trophy game. The other man was waiting at the trailer.
“Kill her,” he directed them, with a hard, casual glance at my face. “Bury her where no one will find the body.”
But the one holding my legs — later, I’d find out that was Kip — laughed at him. I remember his exact words. “Just like that? Juicy Fruit like this one? No way, man. First we play.”
First we play.
That was what they did, Shelby.
For the next thirty-six hours, they played with me. A day and a half. They played. More than two thousand minutes, each minute making me wish I were dead. They played. I was Juicy Fruit, and they chewed me up. They tied me to the bed, moving me when they wanted to change the game. Faceup. Facedown. On all fours. On my knees. They took turns. Kip. Racer. And the third man. Gordon Brink. He played, too.
I was a virgin when they carried me inside. Soon I wasn’t a virgin or a girl or a woman or even a human being anymore. I became an animal, and I did what animals do. I survived. I distanced myself from the body on the bed. She was not me. She was weak, a victim. I dug a hole for my emotions, and I buried them and shoveled dirt over their grave. The only thing still alive inside me was my brain. The brain of Rebecca Colder, stronger and bolder.
Rebecca Colder, who would watch them, study them, learn from them, find their vulnerabilities. Rebecca Colder, who would figure out how to stay alive.
Racer was the weak link. I realized that quickly. Brink was intelligent, Kip was sly, but Racer was stupid. He drank and drank from the dozens of liquor bottles in the trailer. He smoked weed until the cloud made me choke. He had a hundred pounds on me, so I couldn’t overpower him, but he was impatient and careless. When he was the one who tied me up, he didn’t get the knots right. That didn’t matter if all of them were in the trailer to watch me, but if I had a time when Racer was alone with me, then I had a chance.
Thirty-six hours later, Kip and Brink got ready to leave. Brink was done with me, done with the game. I’d seen something on his face the last time he raped me that made me realize he’d begun to hate himself for what was happening. He wanted out. He wanted to erase me and this whole experience from his memory. Whenever Kip got back, that would be the end. If Rebecca Colder was going to get away, it would have to be while they were gone.
So in the darkness, after they left, it was just me and Racer.
He had his way with me again. I no longer even cared, because I knew that when he was done, he would drink. He always did. He drank and drank and drank and drank, and I waited for him to pass out. But the minutes ticked by in agonized frustration, and somehow he stayed conscious. I was terrified that Kip would return, and my opportunity would be gone for good. If Racer stayed awake much longer, I’d have to slip my wrists out of the loose rope and hope that he was clumsy enough that I could evade him. But the trailer was small, and he was huge. I didn’t like my chances.
Then, at last, his head tilted back, his eyes blinked shut, and he was out cold.
I freed myself quickly. It took only seconds, because Racer had barely even tightened the knots this time. Silently, I got up from the bed, feeling torture in my body from everything they’d done to me. The trailer groaned with each step I made, so I went slowly, trying not to awaken Racer. I didn’t have to worry. I slipped right past him, and he never moved at all. His snores were like blasts from a trumpet.
Ahead of me was the trailer door. Beyond the door was the forest, the night, and my freedom. All I had to do was gather up my clothes and go through it, and I would be gone.
But I didn’t leave.
I’m not sure if I can even explain what happened to me next. There were dirty plates in the sink from their dinner, and among the plates I saw a long, sharp kitchen knife. I took it in my hand. I wanted a weapon, because as soon as they discovered I was gone, they’d lay chase. Or at least, that was what I told myself. But as I held the knife, a sensation came over me that was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. A murderous fury bubbled out of that hole in which I’d buried my soul, like a hot spring. I was not weak. I was not a victim. I would not run away from this man, tail between my legs. Standing there in the trailer, I felt myself grow bigger. Taller. Stronger. My breaths came hot and deep from my chest, and when I exhaled, I recognized the smell of the beast from when I was a girl. When I looked at my fingers, I didn’t see my own tiny hands anymore. I saw giant paws.
And when I looked at Racer, I saw prey.
You may not believe any of this. I don’t know if I believe it myself, except it happened to me, and I know it’s true. I was not Rebecca Colder anymore. I had transformed into a monster, just like the legend said. I had become the Ursulina. And with a fierce growl, I leaped upon Racer with the knife, stabbing and stabbing, his blood spurting and flying, soaking me, covering the walls. He awoke in agony after the first blow and tried to push me away, but this huge man was helpless beneath my body. My paws went up and down, up and down, burying the knife over and over until there wasn’t enough blood left for his heart to beat anymore.
When I was done, I stood over him, drenched in his blood, and I unleashed a savage, primal, aroused scream of joy.
I could have left the trailer then.
I could have escaped.
But there was more prey to be killed. More vengeance to be done. I stood motionless in the darkness behind the trailer door, and I waited patiently. How long did I stand there? An hour? Two? I could have waited for days if I’d needed to. Then, finally, I heard footsteps crunching in the dirt outside. The door opened, and Kip was back. He had only a split second to see the gory scene that was waiting for him before I struck. My knife rained down on him like a hailstorm, and the more blood that drained out of him, the wilder I became. Until he was dead, too. Until all that was left to do was sign my name on the wall.
To let everyone know who I was.
To make them tremble in fear.
Outside, afterward, I marched into the woods. I made my way to the lake and purified myself in the cold water. When I emerged naked onto the shore, I was Rebecca Colder again. The beast had left me. I barely even remembered what I’d done. I found my way back to the place where I’d parked my car, and I drove home. I had no guilt. No regret. There was nothing to tie me to the murder scene. No one had known where I was going. No one had known I was gone.
It was only when I awoke from a dreamless sleep that I remembered my camera.