Because in that moment, I didn’t just see the man who’d stolen me.
I saw the father who’d lost everything.
And that was even more dangerous.
Chapter Twelve
The sun bled light through the cracks in the cabin. I hadn’t slept a single minute. Didn’t even shut my eyes. I just kept replaying Dawson’s manifesto over and over again. Rehearsing the brief glimpses of the plans that I’d seen so I could tell police exactly what he was planning once I got the chance. He wasn’t keeping me here because he wanted me. Only because he needed me. I didn’t know for what yet, but I was clearly a part of his violent plan.
He’d been restless all night too. After his apology, he’d gotten up from the mattress and made a pallet on the floor in front of the fire with sleeping bags. I was tuned in to every sound from his direction all night. How was I going to stop him? The responsibility of the moment felt bigger than anything I’d ever done in my life.
He obviously trusted me on some level because he’d left me alone to go to the bathroom outside a few minutes ago. Same as he’d done last night. I could’ve easily gotten up and run away in the middle of the night after he’d fallen asleep. Why wasn’t he worried about that? It was possible he had the cabin rigged in some way to wake him up if I left. Either way, how did he know that I wouldn’t be hiding around the corner of the door to crack him over the head with something when he came through?
My ruminating was interrupted by him coming back inside. He strode over to me with the backpack strapped to him. Dread hurtled up my throat and twisted my stomach. His face was tight. All serious. He’d turned into a different man during the night. Back to the one that had grabbed me in the park. The same one that had written that letter in his notebook, justifying hurting other people. Whatever soft side, taking care of me while I was sick, had awakened, he’d turned all those feeling parts off. Those were the ones I needed to get turned back on if I had any chance at stopping him.
“Get up,” he said, kicking the side of the mattress. His voice gruff. “We’re going to go for a drive now that you’re feeling better.”
I stumbled out of the bed. Pulling all over my shirt and shorts to get them adjusted right on my body. I’d been in the same clothes I was wearing when he stole me. I couldn’t imagine how I smelled. I hadn’t had a shower since we’d been here. Hadn’t even washed my hands. There was cold water in the sink but no soap. I smelled like someone that had been living on the streets for weeks.
I followed him outside with my mind reeling and spinning. I quickly glanced into the back of the truck. A black duffel bag sat wedged against the wheel well. The zipper was gaping just enough to show the edge of something metallic. A tangle of wires peeked through like veins, barely visible beneath a blue tarp.
He stopped when we got to the cab and turned to me, dangling the keys from his hand. “You’re driving.”
I stared at him. “What? Why?”
“Because you’re helping me with something really important today,” he said like there was no room for discussion, and tossed me the keys.
I caught them instinctively but didn’t move from my spot. It felt like I was dreaming.
He pointed at the door. “Get in the truck.” This time he said it like he meant business.
For a second, I thought about screaming. But no one would hear me, and even if they did, by the time they got to us, he would’ve shut me up however he saw fit, or taken off. So, I crawled into the truck like someone else was controlling my body. Could I roll down the windows and start yelling for somebody to help? Maybe as soon as we got close enough to a gas station or one of the tiny towns along the way down the mountain. Could I get us pulled over?
But what if he just killed anyone we came into contact with? Shot people that got in our way with reckless abandon. The thought of it was horrifying.
He climbed into the passenger side, still wearing his backpack. He took it off and set it in the space between us. Then shut the door behind him. He placed the gun on his thigh and motioned to the driveway. “Just pull out of the driveway and take a left at the end of the street. We’re going to start driving down the mountain.”
My mouth was instantly so dry I couldn’t breathe at the sight of the gun. I tried to act nonchalant, but he’d put it there on purpose. Obviously. As much of a threat to me as it was to whoever else he planned to use it on. My body was hot like it’d been with my fever, but this wasn’t from a fever. This was raw, unadulterated fear. The kind that shrank your insides and the world down to nothing.
I started the truck and stifled the cries threatening to explode from inside me. I pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. It wound down the mountain in sharp curves and blind turns, forcing me to concentrate. Part of me nevertaking my eyes off the gun on his lap. His finger grazed the trigger.
“Speed up,” he said. “You’re driving like a grandma.”
“I’m not used to these roads,” I muttered. “You want us to crash before we even get there?”
His jaw tightened and he grunted, but he didn’t argue with me.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the speedometer inched up along with my heart rate. He ignored me. My palms sweat against the wheel.
Dawson rolled down his window and lit a cigarette, smoking in front of me for the first time. His hands trembled as he flicked the lighter. He looked like a man unraveling. I had to be careful, but I couldn’t give up trying. What would I do if I couldn’t stop him before we got back to LA?
“The gauge is red. I think something’s wrong with the engine,” I lied as I shoved the gearshift into park without him seeing me do it.
He leaned over and squinted at the dashboard.
“Shit,” he said. “Itisred. Maybe you should pull over, quick.”
I nodded and pulled over to the shoulder. I put the truck in park for real this time.
