Every time. When this is all said and done, how many kills will she have racked up?
Soon, a clearing reveals the freeway overpass. Not a rotter in sight, but she figures the ones that showed up at their house must have come from here. There’s an eerie quality to places like this that reminds her how quickly the world is decaying. It’s easier to pretend it’s not a lost cause when they’re hidden in the woods. Seeing a once-busy freeway now clogged with abandoned cars is a harsh reality check.
They search glove boxes and consoles for supplies, finding a few snacks and bottles of pain pills. Addison would stay out allday and night if she could, but the skies open up to soak them right before they reach the thicker forest boundary.
“We’ve gotta go back,” he tells her reluctantly.
“We can’t, she’s still out here.”
“It’ll be dark soon. With all the mud on the way home, it’s easy to slide down one of these hills. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”
She wants to refuse. Can’t imagine how scared Emma must be alone in this weather and with night falling. Doesn’t care if she slides down a fucking riverbank herself while searching, but what he said earlier still holds true. They can’t help anyone if something happens to them.
It’s a long walk back, one they’ll be doing every day until they find her, and Addison spends all of it trying to keep herself together.
Her success rate on that front is slowly dwindling.
A little cat waits for them on the front porch, seeking shelter from the rain. She expects it to run when they get close, but it only makes a tiny chirping noise and rushes to rub against their legs.
“Gonna draw the wrong attention if you keep fussing like that,” Wyatt growls.
Vincent would kick the poor thing down the steps. Wyatt’s scowl of annoyance worries her, and she’s ready to grab up the cat in case he decides he hates animals after all. She doesn’t expect him to be cruel, not really. He’s already proven he isn’t the type, but she also doesn’t trust her own judgment very much either.
“Well, get in here. Come on,” he frowns, holding the door open for the cat after they’ve gone inside.
It trots in with its tail in the air, meowing in victory.
“You keep surprising me.” She bends to pet the cat, but directs her words to Wyatt.
“It’s just to keep the noise down outside,” he protests.
“Yes, of course. The noise.”
“Not like it’s staying.”
“Never.”
If there’s one thing she knows about cats, it’s that they’re the ones who decide where they belong.
* * *
Sleep is elusive. She only makes it half an hour before giving up to head to the kitchen for tea. She’s only half as surprised to find Wyatt already there as she was the first time.
He’s petting that brown cat behind the ears while it sits on the kitchen table.
“He’s happy to be inside,” she says softly.
“Knows we’re suckers. All he had to do was cry about it, and in he comes.”
She smirks, remembering that Wyatt was the one who left the door wide open for the cat to walk through. “He must have belonged to someone to be this friendly. The neighbors, you think?”
“Mhmm. Looks old. I bet they had him for a long time.”
She puts water on the stove for tea and sets out two cups, assuming he’ll want one.
It’s no secret she’d been crying again. Dried tracks still stain her cheeks red, and he notices the moment she sits across from him, though he makes no comment.
“When you were lost out there in the park, what did you do when you were alone?” She needs reassurance so her brain stops searching for worst-case scenarios.
