The truth seems harmless, but if the secretive mass murderer learns I’m not a local, it may be more reason to hurt me. Like, he’s figuring out the possibilities of being caught.
But what other reason could I give him besides the truth?
“Vacationing. I rented a cabin to get away for the holidays. See the mountains and all that.” I manage a weak smile, hoping he’ll pity me because his blank expression is unsettling.
Months of saving went into that car, and it’s gone. Months of saving went into this vacation, too, and it’s completely gone to hell. Even if he lets me walk free, how am I supposed to reach the rental—and then eventually home? At this point, gifting it to Mom for drugs would have saved my life.
Oh, the irony.
Hopefully my saviour has a vehicle and a phone. And possibly a bank loan so I can sell him my soul in exchange for funding my return home.
“You’re sad.”
He’s close again, kneeling in front of me, but not as near as before. There’s another head tilt as he slowly reaches for me, index finger landing on my cheek, catching the single tear. He holds it up to the dim light and then abruptly brings his finger to his mouth.
Um.
If the mountain man is eating my tears, there’s no telling what else he’ll do.
For now, I keep him talking while pretending I didn’t witness that. “I’m sad because a lot of time and money went into this trip, and it’s wasted. I’m not from here and have no way to get home without my car.” My tongue sweeps across my bottom lip as I try to ignore his intense scrutiny. “Do you have a phone I could borrow?”
“No.”
“No, you’re not letting me borrow it?”
“No, I don’t have one.”
Who doesn’t have a phone these days?
“Alright. How close are we to a town?”
“At your pace? An hour.”
In this weather, my body will curl up and die before reaching anywhere. Somewhere in the woods, my bag is trapped within a smashed vehicle, possessing thicker clothing a walk like that would call for.
Maybe he could lend me a parka.
Another tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away before he makes it a midnight snack. “Sorry. Life sucks, you know? I’m sitting in a stranger’s house, which obviously wasn’t supposed to happen.” When he doesn’t move or reply, I’m resigned to the fact that this potential trap is getting nearer and nearer. “What’s your name?”
Knowing my killer’s name allows me to imagine it on a possible suspects list. Once my body is discovered beaten, mauled, cut up—however he decides this will go. My fears over this future are concealed beneath my mental satire.
“Lucian.”
“Lucian,”I can’t help but repeat with bitchy derision, though it’s actually a pretty cool name. “That’s unique. Very old-fashioned.”
At this, he smirks, but the flash of his teeth appears more predator than friendly. “I’m an old-fashioned person, so the name fits. What do I call you, miss?”
Old-fashioned indeed.“Sawyer.”
“Beautiful.”
“Thanks. Uh, Lucian, do you have a bathroom I could use?” If there’s no phone, then finding a place to wash up, stretch my legs, and get some distance from the handsome maybe-murderer intent on sitting too close seems like the next smart move. I need to continue playing nice and determine how to handle what’s coming.
Without looking away from my face, he points to the door across the room, which gives me leave to study the rest of the place. It’s a small cabin, probably similar in size to my rental,with a low roof and carvings in the ceiling. A small kitchen area sits to my right—just a tiny stretch of counter. There’s a slim fridge, but no stove…or other appliances? Or anything that indicates he uses this place at all.
Maybe this isn’t where he lives, but a place he got us to for warmth.
A faded couch slumps in the far corner beside an old, clunky TV that isn’t even plugged in. No coffee table. No décor. Just an antique armoire beside the bed.
