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)
“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 looks normal. 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.
I don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw or the flickering of something in his eyes. Is it guilt or annoyance? I can’t tell. He’s too good at hiding his emotions.
“That’ll pass,” he says, and continues forward.
I can’t help it—a small sound that’s a half whimper, half plea, escapes my throat. The noise makes him pause and his eyes narrow, almost confused.
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, but the words ring hollow.
“If that’s true then let me go,” I manage to force the words out, my voice hoarse and cracked. “I won’t tell anyone what I saw. Not a soul. I promise. I’ll even swear on the Bible.”
Darkness flashes across his face—brief, but deep enough to make my pulse stutter—as if something he’s been holding back finally slips through. “Can’t do that.”
“What? Why not? I won’t tell. I promise. You can trust me. Please, Calder, just let me go home. I want to go home.” I’m not above begging if that’s what it takes.
“Home?” His harsh laugh is humorless. “Do you think this is a joke? A game?”
“Of course not—-”
“You can’t go home, Saint. You try to go home and you’re dead. My father will kill you himself, and he won’t even bat an eye.”
The casual way he says it, like my death is inevitable, a mere matter of who and when, sends cold dread slithering down my spine.
“Then… then what… ?” My voice breaks. “What are you going to do with me? Why am I here?”
Sighing, he drags a hand through his dark hair and I catch a glimpse of the man beneath the mask. Worry and frustration are etched into the lines of his face. “I’m still figuring that part out.”
“Figuring it out?” Hysteria bubbles up in my chest. “What does that mean?” I need an answer before I explode. “Please tell me.”
He doesn’t tell me though. All I get is a head shake in response. That’s not good enough for me. I want to know what the hell is going to happen next. I’ve been sitting here all day. Consumed with fear. I have a right to know what’s going to happen.