Page 113 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

‘This is lovely,’ I say as we get out of the car and make our way towards the building. ‘And he brought you here? Did you really not see any red flags there at all?’

Lauren gives a sort of half shrug. ‘I don’t know. No. It seemed kinda romantic out here.’ She looks around the barren landscape. ‘Don’t you think it’s like eerily beautiful?’

I do not think this at all.

I think it looks like something out of a low-budget slasher film.

I think it looks like the end of the world.

But I don’t say anything.

Lauren looks like she’s in some sort of trance as she makes her way to the front door, or what’s left of it.

‘There are hundreds of places like this all over the desert,’ she says as she pushes the door open and walks inside. ‘Cort was always fascinated by them.’

A murderer fascinated by murder sheds.

‘Why are they all abandoned?’ I ask her as I step over a rolled-up carpet and follow her inside. ‘Where did everyone go?’

‘Back to civilisation,’ Lauren says but doesn’t elaborate.

It’s dark in the cabin and I feel around on the wall for a light switch. My fingers make contact with something and I flick the switch but nothing happens.

‘There’s no electricity out here,’ Lauren says. ‘Hasn’t been for as long as we’ve been coming out here.’

‘Right,’ I say and reach into my pocket for my phone. But it’s not there. It’s still in the car.

‘Have you got your phone on you?’ I say to Lauren. ‘We can use the torch.’

‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Of course.’

She takes her phone out and turns the torch on. Somehow this makes the whole place even creepier. Now I can clearly see just how rundown it is. There are cobwebs choking every surface, this mixture of sand and dust on the floorboards, a broken-down child’s cot shoved against the back wall. It reminds me of a song my dad used to sing to me at bedtime when I was little.

All the crew has gone ashore,

But the ship sails on forevermore.

That icy finger trails down my back again.

‘Do you think he’s here?’ I whisper to Lauren.

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Wait here. I’m going to look in the other rooms.’

‘Is that safe?’

‘Cort’s not going to do anything to me,’ she says. ‘But I can’t say the same if we both spring him and he feels cornered. Just stay here, okay? I won’t be long.’

She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and heads to one of the darkened doorways guided by the light of her phone.

The only light in the room now is coming from the moon, which is streaming in through the empty window frames. I look around again. Maybe there is something here I can use as a weapon if I need to. There’s an area of the room that looks like it was a little kitchenette and I tiptoe over to it, flinching as the wooden floorboards creak beneath my feet. There’s a rusty stove, some battered old pots spilling out of a cupboard and a half-open drawer. I pull the draw out further, slowly, trying not to make any sudden noises. I’m pleased to see a few pieces of cutlery but my heart drops when I realise it’s just spoons.

Alanis Morissette would have something to say about this.

I can’t believe I came all the way out here with nothing.

I’m about to have another look in the main body of the cabin but when I turn around, I have to clap my hands over my mouth to contain the scream that I almost scream.

Because a figure has appeared in one of the doorways.