Into the Fire

1. Lilah

1

LILAH

The stinging cold on my feet was the only thing I could feel through my fear. The rest of my body was warm, heated by my run through the snow-covered woods. The moon was hidden by the clouds as more snow fell, the darkness a blessing and a curse that prevented me from seeing where I was going but might — if I was lucky — make it harder for my pursuers to follow my tracks.

I had no idea how long I’d been running but the pain in my chest and the buzzing in my ears told me it had probably been a while. I thought of my medication, left behind in my bag along with my knife, and fought against a surge of panic. I’d left with nothing but the clothes on my back, my phone tucked into the pocket of my jeans (thank god), my bag still in the back room where I stored my stuff while I worked the bar three nights a week.

Shit.

It was one of the only coherent thoughts I’d had since darting into the woods behind the Dive, home of my shitty bartending job.

Now I was lost in the tangle of the Blackwell Preserve with literally no fucking idea what direction I was headed. My jeans offered almost no protection from the biting wind, the long-sleeve T-shirt that had seemed cozy when I’d put it on in my apartment before my shift now a pathetic barrier against the March cold. And then there were my sneakers, soaked through, my socks drenched and plastered to my burning feet.

I gasped for breath, forcing myself to inhale the icy air as I pumped my legs, willing them to keep moving.

Willing my damaged heart to keep beating.

All things considered, I was in good shape, but I wasn’t equipped for distance running. I could manage short bursts of speed, of strength, but I was getting tired, my pace slowing.

Which was bad. Really bad. Because somewhere behind me, I was almost positive I could hear the rumble of a snowmobile or three.

Adrenaline surged through my body, but I had the sense it wasn’t fully reaching my legs, that it wasn’t making me any faster. My body was no longer obeying the commands my mind was trying issue. Both were becoming fuzzy and sluggish, disconnected as the urge to lay down and sleep became overwhelming.

I was on the verge of hypothermia, my body shutting down, my heart struggling to effectively pump.

A low-hanging branch smacked at my face — not the first time that night — and I felt the hot trickle of blood on my cheek.

The snow was falling faster, the snowmobiles getting louder. I’d had a head start, but the longer I ran the closer they got. My mind searched frantically for an escape, but it felt like the gears in my brain were grinding through sludge, all my concentration focused on propelling myself forward through the mind-numbing cold.

Besides, there was no way out. I was in the woods in the middle of nowhere. It was after two a.m. Even if I stumbled on a hiking trail, it wasn’t like I was going to run into a group of hikers.

I looked at the trees, wondered if it was worth trying to scramble up one of the ones with low-hanging branches. If I made it, I might be able to hide until the snowmobiles passed, give my heart time to settle down.

But if I didn’t, I was fucked. The men on my heels weren’t amateurs. I’d seen evidence of that with my own eyes, and I didn’t think they’d take me like they’d taken the other girl either.

Not after what I’d seen.

I pushed on. If I was going to die, I was going to die running.

Fighting.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

The words came to me unbidden.

Unwelcome.

They were words that had been forced on me since I was little, and I had a memory of my mom, looming over me as she closed the door to the coat closet in the hall, shutting me in the dark to pray.

When they found my body — if they found my body — in the woods she’d pray for my soul, tell my little brother Matt that my disappearance was God’s punishment for straying from his path.

Maybe she would even be right.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

My pace had practically slowed to a walk when I stumbled into a clearing.

I’d no sooner stepped away from the tree line when bright light assaulted my eyes.

I stopped cold, reflexively turning my head, shrinking away from the light. Behind me the snowmobiles whined louder. I caught the sound of a man’s voice, shouting above the noise, and turned back toward the clearing as a fresh round of adrenaline surged through my tired body.

Ahead, nestled against the trees on the other side of the clearing, a massive house loomed in the night. I’d tripped the floodlights by stepping into the clearing.

Hope bloomed in my chest. I’d stumbled on the mansion of one of the rich assholes who kept a vacation home on the mountain.

Now I just had to hope someone was home.

It was harder to run now that I’d stopped. I was moving even slower than before, the snow deeper in the clearing without trees to catch some of it on the way down. I felt like I was in one of those dreams where you run and run but don’t get anywhere, except slowly — so slowly — I got closer to the house.

And now I could see that someone was home. Either that or the lights were on a timer, because the rooms beyond the walls of tinted glass glowed with light.

I reached the wide porch and dragged myself up the stairs to the front door of the house. It was even bigger up close, built to look like it belonged in the woods but clearly expensive, and I reached the front door — a monstrosity built of thick, darkened glass — and slammed my hand against it before laying hard on the bell.

“Help!” I screamed. “Please! Help!”

The snowmobiles roared into the clearing behind me as the door opened.

I spilled into a wide cozy hall, the tiles incongruously warm as I fell to my hands and knees.

Three sets of muscular legs surrounded me.

“What the fuck…?” a deep male voice said.

I peered up at the three men who stood over me, then gasped as I registered their features. They were older now — in their twenties instead of teenagers — but their faces were engraved in my memory.

I would know them anywhere.

I glared up at them, the familiar fire of fury — of hatred, of shame — warming my chest as I sputtered the only word I could manage. “You!”