Dark Side of the Mountain

Dark Side of the Mountain

by D.S. Sanders

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Excerpt:

She’s not screaming like the others. 

In fact, the woman barely moved at all.

Thin lips lifted at the corners as the man’s grip tightened around her slender throat, turning the creamy flesh purple beneath his fingertips. He was either very good at strangulation or this woman had accepted her fate without contest.  He preferred the first option.

A gurgle escaped her blue lips. He ignored it, choosing to concentrate on the stillness of the night air. Not even the bullfrogs from a nearby creek dared interrupt his brutal task. It was as if the entire world had come to a standstill on the lonely stretch of ​road where he ​ ended the woman’s life.

She twitched twice more before her hand fell away from his wrist. Easing back on his heels, he stared into vacant eyes. Blue eyes. But not the same blue as her eyes. He’d never seen that color on anyone – a deep sapphire with flecks of green and gold.  When she smiled, it was like gazing into tropical pools kissed by the sun. He’d loved her eyes. Loved her. She’d always made him feel . . . special.

Glancing down at the lifeless form, the man unzipped his pants and quickly spilled his seed between her thighs, pretending he was with her. The moment of release passed and he began to fidget. Rage boiled inside him like hot molten lava on the verge of eruption. It wasn’t her. It would never be her.

Grasping the leather bound handle of his hunting knife, he plunged the sharpened ​blade deep into the woman’s chest, ignoring the splatter of blood against his hands. He repeated the process over and over, until at last he fell back, spent with exhaustion.

It took several minutes to quiet his breathing. Staggering to his feet, he straightened his clothes and slicked back his hair before launching a hard kick to side of the corpse. It rolled down the steep grade of the ravine, past tangled brush until coming to a stop in a small puddle. Perhaps a hiker would find her tomorrow.

Not that he cared. Remnants of gentler emotions had long since been consumed by the fury within him.

A tiny muscle twitched at his jaw, filling the man with a strange sense of ​longing . . . ​anticipation. And he thought about the blue eyed woman who served him coffee at the diner.

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