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Up, up, up.
More fresh air filtered down and she saw a bit of daylight through a hole in the ceiling high above, no doubt the entrance for the damned bats. It offered some light, enough for her to make out the rough-hewn walls around her.
Around a final bend, she spied the door. Anticipation zipped through her blood. Setting down her flashlight, she climbed the final steps and gripped the door’s metal lever.
God, please, don’t let it be locked. She paused.
Listened.
Mentally geared herself for whatever lay ahead. Then slowly, teeth clenched, she twisted the handle. The door clicked open and swung inward, revealing a wide, interior room much like the one she’d last seen. There was a work area and fireplace here as well, embers cold and dark, but daylight was streaming in through the windows.
Her knees nearly gave way as she looked outside, the white, dazzling snow nearly blinding. She 376
Lisa Jackson
searched the room quickly for a weapon, anything stronger than the poker and she found some tools, a hammer, screwdriver, and pliers. She stuffed them in her pockets and wished like hell for her pistol. Any gun. But there were none in this room. Nor a phone or computer or any means of communication. She found a tiny bathroom and kitchen alcove in this stone and log cabin. There was a bedroom as well. With an old iron-frame bed and sagging mattress. Where he stayed. She could smell him and it made her sick. She thought of him, how he’d attacked her. His size.
His voice.
His walk.
All familiar. She knew that she should recognize him and an image teased at the edges of her mind, but never quite developed.
Keep moving. He could return at any second. She opened another door, one that could be locked with a key.
Her heart dropped as she spied the small bed with its handmade quilt, the table next to it where a plate with remnants of food and a half-full water glass remained.
Elyssa.
This is where he kept her.
Healed her.
Tended to her.
Gave her hope.
And it’s too late.
He’s already taken her.
To leave her in the forest to freeze to death. You failed.
CHOSEN TO DIE
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Despair cut a deep swath through Pescoli’s soul. She told herself that the girl was doomed from the get-go. Didn’t the notes she’d found in his lair prove it? And yet, if she somehow could have saved her . . .
Don’t think of it.
Get out.
Get out now.
Before the bastard returns.
You can nail him.
