Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I’ve already drunk half of the bottle of water he left me. When I first woke up my mouth was dry, like someone stuffed a bunch of cotton in it. The only way to alleviate that was to drink something. But what if I don’t get any more water? Did I waste it?
What if he doesn’t return for me? Worse, what if he does?
The words from his note loop through my mind like a scratched record, wearing grooves deeper with each repetition. I don’t understand. What does he want from me? I’m of no value to him. Sure, I witnessed what happened, but I’m not stupid. I won’t say anything. The lack of answers and my constant worry only makes me spiral closer and closer to the edge. I need to calm down. He could show up at any minute and then what? I won’t be prepared.
I force myself to breathe. In through the nose, and out through the mouth. The way Mom taught me. The very first time I had a panic attack I didn’t even know I was having one. I actually thought I was dying. Mom helped me, taught me different coping mechanisms. Thinking about her makes me want to cry so I banish the thoughts away before I sink too deeply into them.
It’s difficult not to get lost inside my head out here. The cabin is so quiet it’s oppressive. There’s no hum of electricity, no noise of distant traffic, no chatter of neighbors.
Instead, there’s the occasional creak of wood settling, the whisper of wind through the pines outside, and the thunderous beat of my own heart. The isolation is suffocating and eerie.
If I wanted to, I could scream until my voice was nothing more than a whisper, and no one would hear me. It’s a terrible reality that no one is coming to save me.
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.