“Here, drink this.” Lane handed me a cup of hot chocolate.
I sat on his homemade couch, wrapped in a crocheted quilt, in front of the large fireplace. The fire had already been blazing when he brought me inside.
“Thank you.” I took the mug, but not without noticing the bruise spreading up from his jawline. “Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe I hit you. I don’t even know what to say.”
His eyebrows came together. He didn’t attempt a smile. “It’s okay. You must have had your reasons.”
He turned and went back toward the kitchen area. He poured more hot water from a kettle into a mug and then opened a bag of hot chocolate mix. He dumped it into the water and stirred.
I’d stopped crying shortly after I’d started. Lane had made it clear that it was important for us to get out of the elements. He guided me to the passenger side of my truck and then drove us back to his house. He said he’d found me because he’d heard the truck’s engine. He had waited for the vehicle attached to it to pass his house. When it didn’t and the engine rumble didn’t seem to move away in the other direction, he thought someone might have gotten stuck. He set out on a search.
I’d wiped my cheeks, snorted once, and told him that “stuck” was putting it lightly. He wasn’t much of a talker and didn’t laugh at my poor attempt at dark humor.
His house was warm and comfortable, the fire and lantern light cozy, but primitive beyond anything even in Benedict.
He must have read my mind. “I have a generator and some powered lighting, but I like to save it for when I’m working.”
I took a sip of my hot chocolate. It was very good. “You make a living from animal pelts?”
“It’s not for everyone, I know, but, yes, it’s what I do.”
I took another sip, afraid that if I said anything else, I would sound stupid, patronizing, judgmental, or simply off my rocker.
He brought his own mug over and sat in a chair facing me. He didn’t make small talk, but didn’t seem uncomfortable with the silence. I tried not to be.
“You shop at the mercantile frequently?” I finally asked.
He nodded. “Every few weeks or so. There’s another small shop up in Flynn. Sometimes I go there.”
I had no idea where Flynn was.
He continued, “There’s also a Tlingit village the other way and across the river. There’s a low-water area where you can cross sometimes. Brayn has a small general store if I just need a few essentials.”
I nodded but didn’t mention that I’d just visited Brayn. I hadn’t seen a general store.
“The police chief asked me the same question,” he added. “I don’t make an effort to get to know anyone, but I have talked to the man who runs the mercantile.”
“Did Gril ask you about your property belonging to the State of Alaska?”
“He did, and I told him it didn’t. He’s researching.”
I looked at Lane, wondering if having company was work for him. Had he lived his life so completely alone? “Where were you born?”
“In Brayn.” He looked into his mug for a moment. “I lived there until I was grown.”
“Then you moved out here? Did you build this house?”
“No, it was given to me. My way of life was taught to me.” He took a deep breath. “Where are you from?”
“I moved to Benedict a few months ago, from Colorado. I fell off a horse and wanted to get away. I took over the Benedict Petition. Are you familiar with the newspaper?”
“No,” he said. He looked so pointedly at me that my eyes opened a little wider. He said, “I read a lot of books, though.”
As far as I could tell, there was not one book in the entire place. I nodded and took a drink. Surely I was imagining what I thought I’d seen in his eyes: recognition. I needed to have a firm sit-down with my imagination, rein it back in to where it was just a few days ago, before I knew my abductor’s name. There was no reason for me to have veered off the rails like this. Enough was enough.
“I really feel terrible that I hit you. I’m very sorry,” I said.
“Please don’t worry about it. I’m sure you were scared.”
“I was.”
We looked at each other for another long, uncomfortable moment.
“I should have torn that shed down last year, but I got so sick last summer that I couldn’t leave my house for a month or so,” Lane said.
“What kind of sick?”
“Some sort of virus, a flulike thing.”
“How did you manage out here? Did anyone help you?”
“I was prepared enough. If I’d been stuck inside much longer, I would have struggled, but I got better. I didn’t have enough strength to take down the shed, but I didn’t expect it to be such a problem.” He frowned. “I don’t know the body.”
“I don’t think Gril would have released you if he thought differently,” I said.
“That’s correct.”
The writer in me wanted to ask him more questions about his motivation for wanting to be so alone. But I didn’t know him, and truth be told, I didn’t like being inside his cozy home in the woods, all by ourselves.
What had I gotten myself into? Even if I’d thought through the possible consequences of exploring the shed, I wouldn’t have predicted this outcome.
I nodded and couldn’t stop myself. “Who’s buried out by the shed, Lane? I saw the gravestones.”
“Family,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Who were the baby clothes for? The ones inside the shed?”
Sadness spilled over his face. I bit back the apology that made its way up my throat. I really wanted an answer, but it was clear that I’d asked a painful question.
Lane only shook his head. “You hungry?”
“Oh. No. I should get going. Thank you for rescuing me, and for the hot chocolate. I think my clothes are dry.” I moved the blanket off my shoulders. I hadn’t taken my clothes off, but the dampness seemed to have dissipated. The fire was very warm.
“No, not tonight. You’ll probably be able to get out of here in the morning, but not tonight. Too dangerous.”
“People will be worried.”
“Yes, but then they’ll be relieved that you’re still alive and didn’t try driving through something you shouldn’t have. That’s how it works out here.”
“No way for me to call anyone?”
Lane laughed once. “No, no signals at all. It’ll be okay. Seriously, it’s the right thing to do. I have extra beds. I have plenty of food.”
I tamped down a good wave of anxiety.
“I have books,” Lane said.
He set his mug down on the coffee table and made his way to what I would have thought was the kitchen pantry. A long, narrow door covered some shelves at the end of the short countertop. He pulled the door open; the inside was well packed with books.
“This is my disorganized library. I take some books on trade, I visit the Benedict library book sale every year, some people just give them to me. You might find something to read.”
He closed the door and looked at me seriously.
“If you had hit your head, I would have gotten you back to town. You’re okay, though, so just wait until the morning. Relax, get some rest.”
“If I did anything to make the shed collapse, I’m very sorry.”
Lane hesitated. “You shouldn’t have been there, Ms. Rivers. You were trespassing, and behaving ignorantly considering the landscape, terrain, and weather, but you didn’t destroy the shed. Like I said, I should have taken care of it last year. The police might be angrier with you than I am.”
I swallowed. “Yes, I am truly sorry.”
I held the mug in between my hands as I sent him an uncomfortable blink. I didn’t like the idea of staying here with him, but he was correct; it was the safe thing to do.
He stood and walked toward one of the bedroom doors. “There are twin beds in here. Make yourself comfortable.”
He walked to his bedroom door, opened it, and went inside without another word.
I sat there a moment, listening to all the quiet. It was quieter even than snow falling. No television, no music, no other voices. The fire popped and I could hear small whooshes from the flames, but there was nothing else. If this was what he was used to, I could understand how even from a quarter mile away, he had heard my truck engine. I was grateful he had.
I stood and walked to the hidden library, pulling the door open. At first it seemed disorganized, but I saw a pattern soon enough. Stacks and rows of thrillers and mysteries. I’d read many of them. I’d written six of them.
Front and center on the top shelf, my books’ spines faced me. “Damn,” I said quietly. I looked toward his bedroom door, but it was shut tightly. Had he read them all? Was he a fan? Had he recognized me?
There was simply no way I was sleeping overnight in this house out in the middle of nowhere. No way at all. I would rather die in my truck somewhere on the way back to Benedict than be there a moment longer.
Lane was a stranger, but Travis Walker was in that house, too; sure, he was in my head, but he was there. He wouldn’t be in my truck. I wouldn’t let him in. I would have some control. I didn’t care one bit if I was making another unsafe decision. I didn’t care in the least if I was being stupid.
I closed the cabinet door. I grabbed my coat and gloves from a hook by the front door, fished my keys from my pocket, silently grateful Lane hadn’t kept them, and let myself quietly outside.
It was still snowing, and an inch had accumulated on my truck, but he hadn’t reset his trap, so I wouldn’t set off that noise. He’d hear the truck again, but I didn’t care. I got in, pushed down the old locks on the doors, and turned the key. It started right up. Thank goodness for the tires, I thought for the millionth time as I steered without much slippage. There were no snowplows out here. But again, I simply didn’t care. I turned onto the road and inched my way back toward Benedict without one glance in my rearview mirror. But I knew he was watching me go. He and Travis were both watching. I had to rid myself of both, and thankfully, they got farther and farther away as I drove.