Chapter 26 #2
I’ll wait until he’s been at work for an hour or two. That’ll probably be around the time his surgery starts, so he won’t be able to get back here for at least three hours. I can write the note, wrap it with my tie, and leave it…somewhere.
Fuck, that’s the only issue I’m having, where to leave the letter.
The woods that bracket Ryell’s house has to lead somewhere.
I can search there. I thought about placing the message in Ryell’s mailbox for the postal worker to collect, but law enforcement would just come here, and then they’d discover Ryell’s dungeon and maybe test the blood on his dental chair downstairs and find it belonged to one of his victims. Not to mention all the prints that I’m sure are in his cell.
I also can’t leave it in any of his neighbors’ mailboxes.
They’re too close to Ryell’s house, and the FBI will search in a twenty-mile radius.
So that’s out.
If I go through the front of his house, I risk someone seeing me and calling the cops, which will lead them back to Ryell, which will have them searching his home and uncovering evidence of his crimes.
The only option I have is to find somewhere in the woods, far enough away from his house where I know Brock will find it.
After an hour has passed, I climb out of bed and make my way to the closet.
I grab a pair of Ryell’s sweatpants to slide over my legs and the tie that I had on at the bar.
I stuff it in the pocket of the pants before I step back into the room.
Ryell has a camera in the corner of the room, and I want to avoid it showing me with the tie, in case Ryell’s watching.
I trot downstairs and to the living room where Ryell left his sketch pad. I flip it open to a blank page, grab a pen, and carefully—but not like I’m trying too hard—write a letter to Brock, telling him I left under my own steam, that I’m safe, but I want him to stop looking for him.
Brock,
Thank you so much for not giving up on me, brother. Thank you for continuing to search when I know everyone told you it was useless.
But you can stop now. I’m fine. I left of my own free will. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before I took off, but I was so tired and burned out on the crime, on the bodies, on the death, on the negativity. I’m so tired of it. I needed to get away to clear my mind, to live like a normal person.
I wish I could have told you before I left that I was so exhausted with it all. But I didn’t know how.
I’m happy where I am. You don’t have to search for me anymore. I’m with someone that I’m so deeply in love with that it almost hurts to think about. Don’t look for me anymore.
Lane
I read and reread the letter, hoping it doesn’t sound formal. When I’m satisfied, I fold the paper neatly, then pull out the tie. Carefully, I tuck the letter into the interlining, hoping the note stays put.
Once the letter is tucked away, I pull the expensive crocheted throw blanket from behind the couch and being to unravel it. Since I’ll be venturing into the woods, probably not walking in a straight line, I want to make sure I don’t get lost and end up roaming around for hours.
There’s a large pile of thread at my feet when I’m done about thirty minutes later and I gather it up and cart it with me to the kitchen.
I rustle through the drawers, trying to find a pair of scissors. When I don’t find what I’m looking for, I grab a sharp knife from the block and sit on the floor and start to saw through the ankle monitor. Since it’s not just plastic or rubber, I struggle to get through.
As soon as I hit some kind of fiber optic cable inside, I know it’s only a matter of time before Ryell is alerted. He might still be in surgery, but I want to find somewhere to leave this note and be back before he can worry about me running off.
So I saw faster, cutting through the strap.
I slice my ankle as I finally get through the band, hissing at the pain and the blood running down to my foot. Fuck it, I can’t pay attention to that right now.
Gathering up the yarn and the tie, I hurry out of the house through the back door. Ryell has stopped bolting the doors since I like to eat outside and sit in the sun when he’s at work.
I jog across the lawn toward the woods. From what I could see from the window, I think there’s a road somewhere way in the distance straight ahead but off to the left, so I head in that direction.
Once at the tree line, I tie the end of the thread to the trunk of a tree and, with the thick bundle in hand, I march into the woods.
My feet hurt as I step on sharp rocks and roots and branches.
I curse myself for not grabbing a pair of shoes, but Ryell didn’t give me my loafers back, just the clothes.
I’ll have to explain why my feet are all fucked up, but I’m sure I’m in enough trouble from cutting off my ankle monitor that that’ll be a drop in the bucket.
As I get deeper and deeper into the woods, I start to think of how bad an idea this was. I have no clue where I’m going and no idea if it’ll work. I’ll probably end up going back into the cell until Ryell can trust me, even though I’m only doing this so we’ll be free.
I stop where I am and look left and right. I’m close to running out of yarn, so I have to pick a direction and head that way and not deviate from my path, save to move around trees.
Staring to my right, I think I can just make out something on the other side of the tree line. Is that a road? I listen closely and don’t hear any cars, but I think I can make out some asphalt.
Smiling, I drop the remaining yarn and hurry to the break in the trees. With the tie in hand, I push branches from my face and fight my way through brambles.
Just as I see the road more clearly and even hear the sound of cars in the distance, a hand clamps over my mouth and around my waist, and I’m hauled against a hard body.
Fear seizing my heart, I look up and see Ryell, fire blazing in his gaze. Fuck, he’s pissed.
My stomach drops to my feet as he drags me away from the road.
When we’re covered by woods, he turns me around and slams me against a tree hard enough for my head to knock back against the trunk. Before I can hiss in pain, he puts his hand around my throat, squeezing tightly. My eyes bug out as I plead with him to let me go.
In a voice I barely recognize, he hisses, “Where the fuck were you going?”