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I’ll make it.
I’ll make it, I’ll make it.
There’s a large fallen log ahead and I jump up on it, leaping off without a second thought, until I’m falling and falling, the drop so much steeper than I thought it would be.
But I land on my feet and I keep going, trying to make sense of how I could have jumped down the length of a two-story building and have it not even break my stride. Something tells me I’ll be sore tomorrow.
As long as I’m alive, I don’t fucking care how I feel.
And then up ahead I see a light through the trees, maybe a house, maybe a road, but it’s something and my heart is singing. I’m grinning like an idiot, feeling like the girl at the end of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre when she gets picked up by the truck, pure relief that I’m going to make it after all.
“Lenore.”
My name.
Coming from in front of me.
I scream, coming to a halt, dirt flying around me and then he appears, stepping out from behind the trees, his silhouette backlit by the far-off light.
How can it be him? How can he be here so fast?
“You have no idea, do you?” he asks me, that voice so smooth and low that I feel it coil around my heart like a snake. “But you will.”
Then he reaches for me, and before I can feel his touch, I crumple to my knees and the whole world goes black.
Chapter Five
A full moon rising over the ocean.
Rustling branches.
A dark forest of cedar and fir.
I’m safe inside a house, a fire burning on the hearth.
Sitting on the floor, on a woolen rug.
I hear hushed voices, panicked voices.
A woman crouches down to my level. A beautiful woman, porcelain skinned, with a sweet smile, eyes filled with tears.
“My baby,” she says to me, her smile shaking. “Remember what we practiced? I need you to hide now.”
I stare at her, not wanting to hide, not wanting her to cry.
I love this woman like I love my own mother.
I try to grab onto her, to hug her, but then she disappears through my fingers like blackened sand.
The last thing I see are flames, a growing fire that consumes me alive.
I open my eyes, awake.
It takes me a minute to realize what I’m looking at.
A ceiling of dark wood, edged with gold filigree, the paint flaking.
I stare up at it, trying to gather my thoughts, but they’re scattering about in my mind like leaves in the wind. I don’t know where I am, all I know is that I’m alive.
And not alone.
I know that without even having to look.
I can feel him.
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath before turning my head to the side.
The room comes into focus.
I’m lying on my back on a thin mattress on a floor made of splintering wood. The room has no windows and is empty except for a wooden chair beside me, and a red velvet armchair by the door.
In the armchair, leaning back, ankle casually resting on his knee, is my stalker, who is now officially my kidnapper.
Dressed in a tuxedo.
Reading an old paperback of Watership Down, the cover ripped in half.
The fuck?
He’s not even looking at me, eyes on the page. Actually reading.
I take a moment, trying to make sense of it all, trying to learn as much about my surroundings as possible. But there’s not much to learn. He’s by a door. There’s another door on the other wall, a small crate beside it.
And cold air at my back.
I slowly, carefully, sit up, my head swimming, my vision blurry. Look behind me.
What I assumed was a solid wall is actually a row of wooden slats, darkness behind them. There’s a single door leading into it, a lock on it. There’s something about the darkness that makes me want to run to the other side of the room.
But that’s where he is.
And he’s the real danger here.
I lick my lips, my mouth painfully dry. “Where am I?”
What I really want to ask for is water.
The man flips a page of the book, meeting my eyes for a moment, holding me steady in his gaze. For that moment I can’t breathe. His eyes are so blue, so cold.
Then he looks back down at the book. “You’re in my basement,” he says idly.
I look around again, my head still heavy. There’s nothing here to defend myself with, but at least I’m not restrained. I’m free to move.
I look down at my clothes. My jean jacket is gone, as are my socks and boots. I’m just in the body suit and the skirt.
My stomach turns.
“Where are my socks and shoes?” I ask, my voice coming out in a hush. Then I run my hands back over my hair, realizing now it’s pulled back into a braid.
