Page 21 of Love You To Pieces

But finding her here waiting for me with a bow wrapped around her neck would’ve been just way too easy.

And lately, nothing in my life has been easy.

“It’s fine,” I whisper, glancing back at the house. Movement in a window on the first floor catches my eye, but when I whirl around to look more closely, all I see is a dark curtain partially covering the open space. The air conditioner kicks on somewhere, making me levitate, and I cast one more fearful look across every window I can see before I’m satisfied I imagined the movement to scare myself.

It’s fine. Or it’s going to be fine as soon as I find Pearl and a weapon comparable to Sally. Not that I can easily replace my emotional support chainsaw anytime soon.

Leaving the shed, I carefully make my way across the yard, my steps quiet on the springy green grass that’s probably celebrating the storms from the last few days, given how parts of it are a vibrant green and standing proud while other patches are dry, brown, and sad about their lack of water.

Staying in the shadows of the house, I look around from ground level, remapping the property now that I don’t have a higher-up view. It was easier when I did, and I’m able to identify the barn and two wooden outbuildings; all of them requiring at least a sprint through open ground to reach them.

“No time like the present,” I whisper to myself, trying not to look back at the house just in case. There’s no point in that, after all. If I stare long enough, I’m sure I’ll find someone staring back at me, and I’d rather get out of here now, rather than wait around for fate to find me.

But…they helped me, didn’t they?

I nearly trip over my feet as I run, my legs protesting the effort.

The two men drugged me, kidnapped me, sure. But they also bandaged my wounds and took me somewhere that’s at least visually a ton better than where I came from.

They kidnapped me. That’s the part I force myself to get stuck on. The fucking sheriff and his really attractive accomplice kidnapped me instead of saving me, taking me into town, and helping me get home.

Though the sudden thought of going home, of having to face Ariana’s sister, Scotty’s mom, and whoever might give a damn about Tyler feels terrifying.

Would they believe me?

Would they blame me?

A pang of discomfort surges through me, and I press my hands flat on the wood of the outbuilding I reached, hating that I had to come to a complete stop as my fingers tremble against the rough surface.

I don’t want to be alone again, but that’s what awaits me back in Nashville.

No friends.

No job.

No place other than my shitty little apartment on West Third, which probably saw its prime back in the seventies. At least I used to have Ariana to make it seem a little less lonely. But now, the idea of going back and sorting through the things she kept there once she started spending two nights a week at my place instead of all seven at hers, makes me want to vomit.

“Fuck.” Reaching up, I swipe my bandaged palm across my face to catch the tears threatening to fall. All of this is overwhelming, and if I let it, I’m going to drown in my emotional debts. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but the culmination of everything hits me hard, clawing at my throat like a physical manifestation that’s going to Hilll free from my mouth to show the world my fucked-up shame.

“Fuck!” I snarl again, and I hit the wood hard with both hands, sending a jolt of pain through my palms. I only realize I was at a door when it swings inward from my unprovoked attack, creaking open to reveal a workshop with all the normal things I’d think to find in a farm shed.

A riding mower sitting at the far side in front of a large, latched barn door makes me stop and stare. Its shiny orange finish, with matte black handles sticking up like two ends of an upside-down ‘U’, just looks so…normal.

Like these are normal, everyday people instead of the monsters I’ve made them out to be in my head.

No, I correct, walking toward the mower to run my fingers over the handles. No, I haven’t made them out to be anything. They are monsters. Apparently, Wolf Lake is rife with them, and I need to get out of here as soon as fucking possible.

“I want to go home,” I whisper, but the words don’t taste believable on my tongue.

I don’t want to be alone.

I can’t say it, but that feels far more truthful than anything I’ll admit out loud. With Pearl as my only lifeline still—hopefully—living, I won’t leave this place until I find her, in one condition or another. Maybe I’ve trauma-bonded to the dog, and a therapist would probably have words for me about that, but I don’t care.

She saved my life, so I’ll save hers, if there’s any way possible for me to do so.

A sound coming from the direction of the house makes me look up, though I can’t see through the wooden walls of the workshop. It’s just the closing of a door, I think, and even as I stand there listening, nothing else happens. No other sounds, no yelling.

Just that.