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I’m almost certain the man I accidentally shot with an arrow is dead. And I’m almost certain I should be having a meltdown. Questioning my morality. Begging forgiveness from a god above. But I’m not.
And, well, he shouldn’t have been there.
I can’t think of a single innocent reason why a man could be sprinting for me, through my backyard, in the dark.
A shiver skitters up my arms.
I’ve never been one for scary movies. And that moment—the light flicking on and revealing him—is going to wake me up at night.
I wrap my arms around myself—this room is shockingly cold—and scan the screens again for Hans.
Nothing.
He should’ve crossed the street by now.
My attention snags on a mostly black screen.
There.
It’s hard to make out dark movement on a dark background, but it looks like—I lean closer to the screen, causing the edge of the counter to dig into my stomach. Hans is running. Through his backyard and into the woods. Literally in the opposite direction of my house.
“What the hell?”
He disappears.
I look around at the other screens, trying to find him again.
Hans isn’t leaving. He wouldn’t bring me down here, then load himself up with weapons just to run away into the forest.
Pretty sure.
Palms on the counter, I push myself up, then cross over to the main door.
One of the screens shows the empty basement beyond the door, so I know no one is lurking there, but I need to know…
I grab the lever handle and depress it.
It moves, and I can hear the heavy sound of the locks disengaging.
Not locked in.
I pull the door open just a few inches, then shut it, and the locks do their automatic thing again.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Trust the process.”
Keeping an eye on the monitors, I cross to the back of the room and open the first door on the back wall. The closet Hans got his clothes from.
The shelves are lined with stacks of clothing. All in shades of black and gray.
I grab a black hooded sweatshirt. Hans doesn’t have much body fat, but he’s tall and built, so when I pull the garment on, it’s spacious enough for my chubby frame. It’s also so long it’s the same length as my shorts.
I snag a pair of socks and stuff them in the hoodie pocket, then shut the closet.
I keep glancing at the monitors, but since I’m already up, I can’t stop myself from checking the other doors.
The second door reveals a closet full of duffel bags and boxes of electronics.
The third door reveals a closet full of nonperishable food. Mostly bland-looking things, packs of stuff I’ve seen in camping stores. But there’s also a half-full case of Skittles, the bright-colored packaging jarring next to everything else.
