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Kelsey eyes felt dry as chalk when she opened them, squinting at the bright sunshine coming through the back door. Morning again. Wednesday, she thought.
She sat up, swung her feet to the freezing floor, and tested her left ankle. It still ached, but she could put weight on it. A little.
Yesterday, the first morning she'd woken up here, the ankle had been swollen to three times its normal size. Stupid. She should've kept ice on it all night, and boy, had she paid for that mistake. That day, she'd been careful to ice it all day, twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. At some point, she'd found the water valve beneath the kitchen sink and turned the water on. That made living in this abandoned cabin slightly more tolerable. The automatic ice maker had been a godsend for her poor ankle. The storm had ended Monday night, and the sunshine the rest of the week had warmed the place a little. Maybe into the upper fifties. At least she wouldn't freeze.
She'd have to remember to shut the water off before she left. And tidy up, and leave a note of explanation. She wasn't in the habit of breaking into people's homes, lock-pick set notwithstanding.
She hobbled to the foot of the stairs, then used the handrail to hoist herself to the second floor. She'd done nothing but sleep and cry since she got there. Today, she had to leave this place and finish what she'd started. If it worked, if she managed to bring Carlos down, then she could find Daniel and get him back. Then and only then would she be free. And if Carlos found her first? Well, at least it would be over. But she couldn't do any of that until she made the phone call she'd planned to make on Tuesday. Stupid ankle.
She prayed Daniel would be okay. She'd been doing a lot of that—praying. A habit that had been ingrained in her since childhood, one she'd shoved aside years before. But being trapped, alone, in a silent cabin for three days... There was nobody to talk to but God.
She'd given him an earful.
Not that she really believed anyone was listening. God was a lovely little myth, one she'd given up on the day she'd watched her sister die.
She had no time for morbid thoughts. She'd eaten her last protein bar. She'd raided the pantry on Wednesday and forced down a bowl of rice. The only other ingredients in there were flour, sugar, and spices. She'd spent all of that day trying to figure out what she could make with flour and sugar, but without milk and eggs, she couldn't think of a thing. By dinnertime, she'd been hungry enough to try pancakes. What she'd created had been barely edible, but she'd eaten it. Then she'd turned the TV on for company and fallen asleep.
She'd woken up after dark and cursed herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The light flickering through the windows could have alerted somebody she was here. She'd shut off the TV, then barely slept all night, waiting for the sound of a car door, anything that would tell her she'd been discovered. The world had remained blissfully silent. She'd survived that one foolish mistake, survived the first when she'd sprained her ankle. She wouldn't survive a third.
Her stomach growled, and it occurred to her that today couldn't be Wednesday. Had she really been here three days?
The days all bled together. But the nights...yes, there'd been three. The nights each held its own exquisite pain.
She closed her eyes against the onslaught of images. Daniel. Her Daniel. Cowering in the woods. Afraid. She'd watched, far enough away that he was barely a speck between the trees. She'd heard the dog barking. Seen the man.
Her stomach filled with acid, churned the emptiness until she thought she'd be sick.
Nothing worse than throwing up stomach acid. She forced the images away. She'd had no choice. Daniel would never be safe with her, never again. Neither of them would ever be truly safe until Carlos was in prison. Or dead. Preferably dead.
She started the shower, thankful beyond words when steam filled the small room. This was the only time she'd be truly warm all day. She stepped inside.
Thirty minutes later, she'd collected all her things from the upstairs bathroom and hobbled back down. She still hurt, but it didn't matter. She needed to make her phone call. She'd considered emailing the police instead of calling, but she feared somebody might be able to track that, might be able to find her or know who'd sent the email. It was absolutely imperative that she stay anonymous.
She needed a public phone. Her plan had been to take her stolen car back to Manchester and make the call from there. The most important thing on Monday, the most important thing still today, was to make sure she wasn't seen or, even worse, arrested. She could survive just about anything but that.
The very thought of it sent terror through her veins.
No. She'd rest until dark, shut off the water, and lock the door behind her. She'd walk to the little country store on the main road, make her phone call, and then hitchhike to Manchester. From there, she'd begin her quest.
She forced herself to drink a glass of water, settled back on the sofa beneath the blankets, and ignored her rumbling stomach. Seven more hours, and she'd leave.
She allowed the images of Daniel to overtake her again. Her sweet boy. Would she ever see him again?
#
A car door slamming woke Kelsey from her nap.
Forgetting her ankle, she stood, then cursed when a sharp pain shot up her leg. Four days of healing ruined in one careless moment.
She hobbled to the window, saw the police car in the driveway, another car behind it.
No, no, no!
She dropped to the floor, crawled to the sofa, and pulled the blankets down. She hooked her arm through the backpack straps and backed herself and all the stuff against the wall, out of view of the front windows and the back door.
With her eyes squeezed shut, she prayed to the God who'd only ever let her down that this time, this time he would help her.
She thought of her things hidden in the closet and thanked God at least she hadn't put those in her backpack yet. Maybe, somehow, she could come back for them.
The banging on the front door sent jolts of fear down her spine.
Anything but this. Please.
A moment later, she heard more banging, this time from the back. Not that she could have made a run for it, but the cops had cut off the possibility.
The question was, would they enter? Would they give up and leave? Surely, they didn't have keys to the cabin.
Her gun! She yanked it out of her bag, scooted to the sofa, and shoved it beneath the cushions. As she scooted back to the corner, she cursed her stupidity.
A muffled voice, a shout, and the pounding of footsteps across the front porch steps.
Then, the unmistakable jingle of keys. The sound had her blood running cold.
The lock turning.
The door opened, and it was over.