I’m completely alone.
Of course that reminder only intensifies my panic, and I find myself spiraling all over again. Squeezing my eyes shut, I force the thoughts back.
You can’t fall apart. Not yet. Not without a fighting chance. Not without trying to escape.
I need to stay calm, stay alert, stay ready for when he walks through that door.
With nothing better to do, I peer around the cabin again, searching for a weakness, a hidden opportunity, or a way out. There’s nothing here. No escape. The windows are too small to climb through, even if I could reach them. The door is solid wood with no lock on the inside that I can see. Never mind the fact that I’m chained to a bed frame that’s bolted to the floor. I tested that too, throwing my weight against it until my shoulder ached. It didn’t budge an inch.
I’m trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
The bucket beside the bed mocks me. I’ve managed to avoid using it so far, clinging to whatever shred of dignity I have left, but my bladder is starting to protest. Soon, I won’t have a choice. I hope this isn’t an omen to what my future will look like. A prisoner shackled to a bed unable to use a real bathroom.
Hot tears prick my eyes, the thought of them falling infuriates me so I blink them away.No. I won’t cry. Crying won’t help. Crying won’t get me out of here.
I need a plan. An opportunity.
There’s a small amount of history between Calder and me. I could always beg, try to reason with him. Maybe even fight? To get a chance at escaping he would have to uncuff me and I’m not sure he will do that. Maybe he’s going to kill me? Then again, why keep me alive if he was just going to kill me anyway?
It doesn’t make sense.
Unless he’s not planning to kill me.
That thought should comfort me, but it doesn’t. Because if he’s not planning to kill me, then what is he planning? What does he want from me? My mind immediately goes to the darkest places—the things I’ve heard whispered about, the horrors that happen to women who disappear. I checked myself when I woke up, found no evidence of assault, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Shivering, I wrap my arms tighter around my knees, making myself as small as possible. I wish I could disappear. Wake from this terrible nightmare.
I cling to the hope that my father might be able to help. He doesn’t know I’m missing yet—since he’s still at his retreat, but once he’s home… unless I’m gone, dead and buried in the ground by the time he returns. And even then, what’s he supposed to do? Will the sheriff help? Where do you start looking for someone when there are no clues?
Does anyone know about this cabin? That Calder brought me here?
The despair threatens to overwhelm me and I shake my head violently, forcing it back. No. I can’t think like that. I can’t give up. Momma wouldn’t want me to give up. She always said God had a plan, even when we couldn’t see it. Even when everything seemed darkest.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,” I whisper, the verse coming automatically. “And lean not on your own understanding.”
It’s hard to trust when I’m chained to a bed. Hard to have faith when I’m terrified and alone. Hard to believe there’s a plan when everything has gone so horribly wrong. But prayer is all I have, that and God’s guidance.
I’m seconds from closing my eyes and praying for a solution that will never come when I hear it. Footsteps. Heavy boots on wood. My heart leaps into my throat.
He’s back.
Panic floods my nervous system, adrenaline spiking so hard I feel dizzy. No. It’s too early. I’m not ready. I haven’t figured out how to get myself out of this. The door handle rattles and I press myself harder against the headboard, the chain rattling as I instinctively try to get as far away as possible even though there’s nowhere to go. The heavy wooden door swings open and Calder Bishop’s mammoth frame fills the frame
He’s changed his clothes.Why is that the first thing I notice?He’s wearing clean jeans, a dark flannel shirt, and his brown hair looks damp, like he recently showered. There’s no blood. No knife. No evidence of what he did. He looksnormal. Almost like the man who took me to the hospital when I was seventeen. Almost like the man who paid for Mrs. Wilson’s groceries and changed Mr. Peterson’s tire.
I know better than to believe his good ol’ boy act. I’ve seen the monster hidden beneath the mask. Calder’s blue eyes sweep over my body with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
I can’t read his expression—it’s carefully blank, controlled, giving nothing away.
Suspended in time, we stare at each other. He says nothing. Just stands there in the doorway, watching me like I’m a problem he can’t seem to solve. The second I blink, the moment ends and he’s moving, walking into the cabin and shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Good, you’re awake,” he says, the rumble of his voice is low.
It’s not a question and so I simply nod, unable to trust my voice yet.
When he moves, stepping closer to the bed I find myself pressing harder against the headboard. The bed frame digs into my spine but I barely feel it. All I can focus on is him—the way he moves with predatory grace, the way his eyes never leave mine, the way his presence seems to fill the entire cabin until there’s no room left for air.
“Groggy?” he asks, a hint of concern.
Again, I nod. When I first woke up I was half awake, half asleep. Even now I’ve been fighting to keep my eyes open, the panic and fear being the only things keeping me awake.
