Chapter 16
KENNA
S omehow, despite the terror, Kenna slept—and dreamed familiar nightmares. About seeing fires, things burning, losing her family, and part of herself—then when the road beneath them changed, and tires crunched gravel, she startled herself awake.
It was still dark outside—and even more oppressive than it had been. There were tall redwood trees on either side of them.
“Where are we?”
“We need to stop,” he—Tarian, he’d told her—said, his voice rough.
“Why?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking. The obvious answer was that they were at his serial-killer house now, and horrible-er things would start happening at any minute.
“Because,” he said, and it wasn’t an answer—although now that Kenna could look at him, she had a guess.
The entire front of his dress shirt was covered in blood that looked black by the moonlight.
“We will be safe enough here for a while,” he panted as they passed a sign for a Rivermist Lodge, and beneath it “vacancy.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. Of course. They were down in Big Sur somewhere. It was desolate, but there were pockets of civilization, and if he thought she was going to play Miss Susie Homemaker with him in some rustic cabin, he had another think coming.
Except the foliage on either side of the road was thick—like no cars had passed through in months. And the buildings ahead? Their sagging rooflines made it clear; they’d been abandoned for even longer.
Which meant she was trapped, in the middle of nowhere, with a bleeding insane man.
He put the van into park and got outside, coming around to gallantly open her door for her.
The dog zoomed out and into the darkness, but she thought about jerking it closed and locking herself inside the van.
But then what? Sit alone in the dark, miles from anywhere, while he bled out—or worse, broke through the windows and came back angry?
“Come on,” he urged her. “We can rest.”
“Can we now?” she said sarcastically, but still stepped out. She was glad she’d put sensible boots on with her dress earlier in the night, even though Sarah had tried to talk her out of them.
Sarah wouldn’t be expecting her home till morning, and she’d cut her a few hours slack just in case she was getting some , or having brunch at Zachary’s diner.
Maybe Cliff had called the cops. She was sure he would—but after tonight? He’d never want to see her again.
And what would he tell the police? That a girl he’d tried to get with had been absconded by a hulking stranger?
That sounded like a one-way ticket to jail for him, assuming anyone ever came out here and found her body.
And of course she’d left her purse behind, with her phone and her wallet.
The dog returned and barked something up at Tarian, and he responded with a grunt. “This way.”
“To the murder-a-torium,” she muttered, but she followed.
There were boards up across the door to the main building, but he yanked them off—either the wood they were nailed into was rotted, or he still possessed far too much strength, despite being down a few pints.
“Wait here,” he commanded. She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the dog—either way, they both obeyed. He disappeared into the darkness, then returned moments later. “We’re alone,” he announced.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she said, hugging herself with her arms.
It was cold, and there was fog pouring off of the crooked roof above.
He took his coat off and offered it to her—and while she knew taking it would only encourage him, she also didn’t want to make him mad, so she put it on.
The jacket was almost as long as her dress’s skirt—and looking at him in the misty dark made her realize it’d been hiding even more of his bloodstain.
“Something is wrong with you, mister,” she whispered.
“Believe me, I know,” he said, gesturing for her to come in.
The moonlight barely pierced the grimy windowpanes, casting long shadows over what had once been a lobby. A fireplace loomed at one end, a dust-covered couch at the other.
“Sit here,” he told her, pointing to a spot in front of the fireplace, and she did as she was told, while twisting her head back to keep him in sight.
He picked up the wood he’d pried off the door, then brought it over, tossing it into the fireplace, and knelt down, blocking her view for a moment—before the wood erupted into strong flames.
Kenna tried to make sense of things. He just so happened to have matches? In his pants’ pockets?
And maybe a flask of gasoline?
“You were cold,” he explained, like it helped. Then he reached out, like he was holding himself up by the stones over the fire.
“Mister?” she asked, watching him breathe roughly. “Tarian?” she tried next, when he didn’t respond. “Are you okay?”
He turned just enough for her to see his profile, his expression unreadable—until a small, sad half-smile flickered across his lips.
“No,” he admitted. Then he let go—and fell.
The dog started panicking before she did.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, scrambling back. Then her hands flew to the pockets of her borrowed coat.
There were car keys in them.
Halle-fucking-lujah!
She stood up at once, while the dog nuzzled Tarian’s side, barking frantically.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call nine-one-one,” she said, backing away. Then she leaned over, shouting, “And they’ll be sure to take you to the hospital before they arrest your ass!”
She whirled and raced outside, the little dog hot on her heels.
She reached the van, yanked the door open—only for sharp teeth to nip at her boot. She stumbled back, staring down. The dog glared up at her.
“What?” she snapped. “You can come with me!” She patted the driver’s seat. “Did he kidnap you too? Because no one normal cut your hair like that.”
The dog huffed, sitting on its haunches before glancing back toward the dilapidated lobby. It whined softly, the sound cutting through the cold night air.
“He’s going to be fine,” she said, though her voice faltered.
She didn’t know that. And worse? A stupid part of her—one she’d been perfectly fine ignoring—cared.
“No,” she muttered, both to herself and the dog. “I’m out of here.”
She climbed into the van, only to lose sight of the dog—until she realized it had flopped over in front of the van’s tires.
“Move!” she yelled, leaning out the window. “C’mon!”
The dog didn’t budge. And she hadn’t even pulled the keys out of her pocket yet.
“Fine!” she shouted, throwing open the van door and stomping forward. “Dramatic much?”
It leapt to its feet, tail wagging as it darted back toward the building, barking eagerly.
Kenna leaned against the van’s hood, staring after it. This was stupid. She wasn’t a doctor yet. She was just pre-med, and she’d never sworn a damn thing to Hippocrates.
But her legs were already moving.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered, stomping back into the building.