Chapter 6: A Stone's Throw Away

Chapter 6: A Stone's Throw Away

The quiet contentment Adrian had found settled deep in his bones. The second week at Rainbow Creek passed in a blissful, sun-drenched haze. He had fallen into a rhythm that felt more natural than any he had ever known. Mornings were for painting, his easel set up by the creek’s edge, where he captured the shifting light on the water. Afternoons were for exploring the winding trails that snaked up the mountain, or for sharing stories and laughter with Marco, Dot, and Betty. In the evenings, he often found himself near the main fire pit, listening to the gentle hum of the community, a quiet observer slowly becoming a participant.

His connection with Liam was a silent, steady current running beneath it all. It wasn't spoken, but it was there in the extra logs Liam would leave by his fire pit, the shared smiles across the grounds, and the way Liam’s calm, steady presence seemed to seek him out. It was a fragile, budding thing, something Adrian was too afraid to name, but it warmed him from the inside out. He was beginning to believe this life was real, that his peace was not a temporary reprieve but a new foundation.

He was working on a new canvas, a study of the colossal Douglas fir that shaded his site, when he realized he was nearly out of cerulean blue. The color of the mountain sky just after dusk. The thought of a trip to the small art supply store in the nearby town of Pine Ridge didn't spark the usual anxiety. It felt… normal. A simple errand. A testament to how far he had come.

He was rinsing his brushes in the creek when Dot and Betty appeared on the path, their usual morning walk pace uncharacteristically brisk. The cheerful smiles they always wore were replaced with tight lines of concern.

"Adrian, honey," Betty said, her voice low, "we just walked the outer loop. Someone's moved into the old Heron's Nest cabin for the week."

The Heron's Nest was a privately-owned rental cabin situated just on the other side of the creek, its property line brushing right up against the campground’s. It was visible from the southern edge of the grounds.

"A city man," Dot added, her eyes sharp. "Fancy car, expensive suit that looked ridiculous out here. Smiled at us like he was selling something we couldn't afford."

A cold, familiar dread began to seep into Adrian’s newfound warmth, chilling him to the core. "What… what did he look like?"

"Tall," Betty supplied. "Dark hair, handsome in that way that makes your skin crawl. Looked to be in his late forties."

Adrian didn't need to hear any more. He felt the blood drain from his face. Julian. He was here. Not inside the gates, but just beyond them. A predator circling the sanctuary.

His legs, suddenly weak, carried him towards the southern edge of the campground, Dot and Betty trailing anxiously behind him. He stopped at the property line, marked by a simple split-rail fence. Across the rushing creek, maybe six hundred feet away, was the cabin. And on its wide wooden deck, holding a white ceramic mug, stood Julian Thorne.

He wasn't looking at the majestic mountain view. He was looking directly at the campground. Directly at Adrian. Even from this distance, Adrian could feel the intensity of that cold, possessive gaze. Julian raised his mug in a slow, deliberate motion. It wasn’t a greeting. It was a toast to his own cleverness, a declaration that no wall was high enough, no sanctuary sacred enough to keep him out.

The restraining order stipulated 500 feet. The cabin was just outside that legal limit from Adrian’s campsite. Julian, ever the master of loopholes, had found a way to terrorize him without technically breaking the law. He had turned the very air into a weapon.

Adrian stumbled back from the fence, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The forest, his haven, suddenly felt like a trap. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat. He was a fish in a glass bowl, and Julian was tapping on the glass.

He fled back to the relative safety of his campsite, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm of pure terror. He should call the sheriff. He should call Chloe. He should pack his things and run. He collapsed into his camp chair, his head in his hands, the beautiful, half-finished painting on his easel now seeming like a cruel joke.

A few minutes later, Liam’s sturdy boots appeared in his line of sight. He looked up to see the big man standing there, his face a grim mask of controlled fury. Dot and Betty had clearly found him.

"He can't do this," Adrian said, his voice a broken whisper. "I have to call the police."

Liam squatted down to Adrian’s level, his presence a solid bulwark against the tide of panic. "We can call them," he said, his voice calm and even, "but Adrian, you need to be prepared for what they'll say. His cabin is on private land. As long as he doesn't step foot on campground property or come within 500 feet of your person, he's legally in the clear. He knows that. This is psychological. He’s baiting you, trying to make you look like the 'erratic' one from his posts."

The cruel genius of it was suffocating. Julian was turning Adrian's own legal shield into a cage. He couldn’t leave his campsite without the risk of crossing that 500-foot line himself, of being in a public place where Julian could approach him. Every trip to the bathhouse, every walk along the creek, would be fraught with the terror of a potential encounter. The trip to town for his paint was now an impossible fantasy.

"So I'm a prisoner," Adrian said, the despair in his voice absolute. "He's won."

"The hell he has," a new voice cut in. Marco had appeared, his usual carefree grin replaced by a fierce scowl. "No slick-suited creep is boxing in one of our own. You need art supplies, right? We're going to town."

"I can't," Adrian protested. "What if I see him?"

"Then you'll see him with us," Liam said, rising to his full, imposing height. His eyes, fixed on the distant cabin, held a look of cold, hard resolve. "We all need things from town. Betty needs baking soda. Marco needs turpentine. I need a new filter for the water pump."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A plan. A protective bubble forming around him.

An hour later, Adrian was in the passenger seat of Liam’s large pickup truck. Marco was squeezed in the middle, and Dot and Betty were in the back seat, maintaining a steady stream of chatter about gardening and gossip that was both absurdly normal and deeply comforting. As they drove down the gravel road towards the main highway, they had to pass the entrance to the Heron’s Nest.

And there he was. Julian stood at the end of the driveway, leaning against his polished black sedan, arms crossed. He watched their truck approach, and as they passed, a slow, condescending smirk spread across his face. He didn't wave, didn't speak, didn't move a muscle. He just watched, his cold eyes promising a reckoning.

The air in the truck grew thick and silent. Adrian felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Don't look at him," Liam said, his voice a low growl, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "He's nothing. He's just a shadow on the side of the road."

But he wasn't just a shadow. He was a constant, menacing presence. In town, Adrian found himself jumping at every passing car, flinching at every tall, dark-haired man. The simple errand was a gauntlet of anxiety. But his friends stuck to him like glue, a phalanx of fierce loyalty, flanking him in the art store, making jokes, and refusing to let the fear win.

Back at the campground, the weight of Julian’s proximity settled over everything. But something had shifted. The community, far from being pushed away by the drama, rallied closer. People went out of their way to stop by Adrian’s site, to invite him to share their campfires. An unspoken network of sentinels was formed; someone was always watching the path, always aware of who was coming and going.

That night, as the last light faded from the sky, Liam came to his campsite with two bottles of beer. He handed one to Adrian and sat in the other camp chair, the two of them watching the fire dance in silence for a long time. Across the creek, a single, cold light shone from the window of the Heron’s Nest.

"He wants to break this," Adrian said quietly, nodding towards the light. "He can't stand seeing me have this… this peace."

"I know," Liam said, his voice soft. He looked from the cold light of the cabin to the warm glow of the many campfires dotting the grounds. "He thinks he's laying a siege. What he doesn't realize is that he's not trapping you in here with him. He's trapping himself out there, alone, while you're in here with all of us." Liam met his gaze, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "We're not going to let his darkness put out our light, Adrian. He'll get tired of waiting. He'll make a mistake."

Adrian looked at the strong, kind profile of the man beside him, at the unwavering loyalty of the community that had embraced him, and at the single, hateful light across the water. The fear was still there, a cold stone in his gut. But for the first time, he felt that the walls of his fortress were stronger than the will of the man trying to tear them down. Julian would have to make a move. And they would be ready.