Dead in Her Tracks

Chapter 1

As she pushed herself to do another lap on the high school’s running track she could feel the muscles in her legs burn. It was a good burn. It told her she was getting results. She could smell the stench of sweat on her skin; it soaked through her spandex shorts and tank top. Her long, dark auburn ponytail bounced from side to side as she made her way around the quarter-mile track. It was getting dark and she didn’t like being out this late alone. The tall pine trees that surrounded the back half of Hayden High School’s running track were absolutely beautiful during the day, but at dusk they were casting creepy shadows. The wind causing them to move gently back and forth gave her an eerie feeling. One more lap, she thought, and then I’ll quit before it gets too dark. She searched for an upbeat song on her iPod, selected Gloria Estefan’s Conga—an old favorite—and touched play. At the sound of Gloria’s voice she felt an instant lift in energy. She turned the volume up, drowned herself in the music and picked up the pace. She passed the bleachers erected for tomorrow night’s graduation ceremony. Not that many years ago she cheered and danced in front of those very same bleachers, every Friday night as her high school football team played to win. The memory made her smile. Half dressed and freezing in the cheerleading uniform I was so proud to wear. She remembered. With the bleachers behind her, and her mind clear of memories, she rounded the corner to the creepy side of the track. The trees continued to blow in the wind and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Stop it! She mentally scolded herself. You’re being ridiculous! She picked up the pace. In an effort to keep her mind free from creepy thoughts, she sang along with Gloria as she ran past the trees, she refused to look in their direction. Nearing the end of the track, and clear of all taunting shadows, she slowed to a fast walk to cool down. She felt her muscles begin to relax. She swiped at the sweat on her forehead and took a long draw from the water bottle she was carrying. Her mind at ease she pondered a hot shower, and perhaps a half hour, well maybe an hour, of design work.

“Work-a-holic.” She confessed in a voice she couldn’t hear over the headphones. “In bed by nine.” She promised herself. She knew her boss was counting on her to be in early tomorrow, and to be sharp. She reached for the iPod’s volume button; the once motivating, loud music was no longer welcomed.

The blow to the back of her head knocked her to the track’s red, dirt ground in one shot. She tried to get to her feet, unsteady and confused. Her head was spinning. What happened? She thought as she reached up and touched the fresh wound that wet her dark auburn hair with sticky, deep-red blood. She desperately tried to focus. She hadn’t seen anyone; hadn’t heard anyone. Not with the music playing so loud in her headphones. She felt her body, weak and limp, sink back to the ground. She lay on her side, her body too heavy to move, her eyes straining to stay open. She could see the trees in the distance fading in and out of focus as if to torment her one last time before everything went blank.