Page 19 of Love You To Pieces

“You’re the sheriff,” I go on, my vision wavering in and out, with blackness swimming at the edges of my eyes. “You’re supposed to help me.”

“I’m supposed to help Wolf Lake,” he corrects, and reaches out a hand to cup my jaw. I have just enough left to jerk away from him, though my arms buckle a second later, sending me to my back in the grass, where I’m once again left staring up at the sun.

“Like I said before, little rabbit”—his voice is a tired, overworked sigh, and I can hear his footsteps getting further away—“the excitement here in Wolf Lake can be deadly. You really should’ve hightailed it out of here with your friends when you could.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

He kicks off Pearl faster than I expect him to.

This time, I don’t make it through the door. My hands reach out for the chainsaw, as if some part of me knows that’s how this is supposed to go.

But the man grabs my arm, ripping the blade out of his shoulder as he does, and pulls me back into the cell with Ariana lying lifelessly against the wall.

“Help me!” I scream, looking around wildly. Pearl is on the floor, blood pooling around her, and Ariana might not be here at all anymore, if I’m being honest with myself. “No! Someone help me, please! This isn’t how this is supposed to go!”

Somehow he ties me back up, and after a dizzying movement, I’m back on the meat hook, my feet barely touching the floor as I scramble for purchase on the concrete. “Help! Oh, please, God, anyone!” The man moves closer with a leering grin on his face, and when he opens his mouth, smoke curls upward from his lips.

“You really think you got away from me?” The blade gets closer, shining in the dull light, until I can feel the heavy weight of it on my skin.

“You were never going to make it out of Wolf Lake alive, little rabbit.” He cuts my throat, though in the dream, I don’t feel pain. Instead, my head lolls back, and I can feel the blood pour from my ruined neck, cascading down my body to spatter on the floor below.

My hands flex above me, and I stare upward, strangely disconnected, as the man whistles and continues to cut me, the knife digging in and out. In and out, until finally he grabs the spot on my arm where I was caught by the knife.

This time, the blade does hurt. I gasp and arch upward, feeling like I’m trying to come up through water, and when I break through⁠—

I gasp and jerk upward, my upper arm twinging as I roll off it. My eyes open and I brace myself on my other arm, fully expecting to see the cell from earlier or Ariana against the far wall.

Instead, I’m greeted with the sight of a half-open window, white curtains blowing inward on a breeze that smells like nothing industrial has ever touched this place, and whitewashed shiplap walls on every side of me.

Am I dead?

No, I realize a second later as I look at my bandaged palms that sting when I press down. I’m definitely not dead. I hurt too much to be dead. My whole body aches like I was hit by a truck, and moving makes it worse.

“Pearl?” I call, though the dog doesn’t magically appear from under the bed. Nothing happens at all, except for the breeze picking up outside. It draws my attention to the window, curiosity helping me push off the bed to limp toward it.

“Where am I?” The words leave my mouth in a whisper, and I press my face to the glass to gaze out at the small homestead behind the house I’m in. A distant, detached part of me can’t help admiring the property, with its animal pastures, red barn, and wooden outbuildings. A giant patch of tall, flowering weeds sits close behind the house, surrounded by a white picket fence that’s definitely seen better days and makes me wonder if the weeds used to be a garden.

Maybe I am dead, since I don’t know how else I’d wind up here. While it isn’t exactly somewhere out of my wildest dreams, given that I don’t dream of ending up in rural Texas very often, it’s…nice.

Absently I gaze down at my bandaged hands, my clean wrists, and inspect what I can of the bandage on my upper arm. Clearly someone cared enough to keep me from getting tetanus or going septic, though I definitely need a shower more than I ever have before.

“What the fuck?” I murmur to myself, still getting no answer. Absently, I try the door, only to find it predictably locked. Still, my stomach sinks, churning, and I look around again, finally finding my shoes by the bed.

I need to get out of here.

I need to be anywhere but here. I need to find Pearl, a car, and Ariana⁠—

My thoughts grind to a halt, and whispers of a truth I don’t want to face sing at the edges of my mind.

Ariana is probably⁠—

No. Nope. I’m not going there. Not yet.

With shaking hands, I pull my hair up into a messy bun, using one of the remaining ponytail holders on my wrist to keep it up. It’s hard to ignore the stiffness of blood and gore still in my hair, but I manage, then slip my feet into my shoes.

Fuck, I really need a goddamn shower.

I try the door again, just because, and when it still doesn’t open, I give it a quick glare and huff out a breath. Naturally, the door would be too easy.