20. Ani
Ani
T hree days pass without incident.
Nothing bad happens. But the anticipation seems to be getting to everyone. There’s a kind of tension that surrounds the cabin now. Everyone remains on edge—ready to strike when necessary.
No one says anything aloud, but I know they’re worried.
They won’t tell me what happened when they went to L.A. I’ve asked but I’ve been told “not to worry about it.” So, naturally, that makes me worry more.
We keep the curtains drawn and the doors locked. I stay close to Mae during the day and don’t argue when one of the guys insists on staying behind while the others go to the fire station. But today is different.
Today, they all have to go.
Finn is the first one to bring it up. He mentions it like it’s not a big deal—just a scheduling thing, unavoidable. Boone doesn’t say much. Jonah is the one who finally lays it out.
He crosses his arms and leans against the counter while I finish drying a bowl. “We’ll be gone until tomorrow. It’s a 24-hour shift. We don’t like it. But there’s no way around it. Two of our guys are on vacation and there’s no one else to fill the shift. We have to go.”
“I’ll be fine, Jonah.”
He doesn’t acknowledge what I said. Just keeps going.
“Doors stay locked. Do not go outside for any reason. If something feels wrong, you call. You do not wait. You do not check it out yourself.”
I nod.
Boone appears in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across his chest. “You listen to him.”
“I said I would.”
I don’t like being treated like a child. But I’m also terrified and have no intention of going against their rules.
Finn steps in and brushes a kiss to the top of my head. “We’re back by ten tomorrow, okay? Just keep Mae close and don’t open the door to anyone.”
Mae is still in her pajamas, curled on the couch with her stuffed fox pressed to her chest. She watches the three of them without speaking, but her eyes are on them, flicking from one face to the next.
“I’ll keep her safe,” I say, voice lower this time.
“We know you will,” Jonah says.
Then he steps forward, cups my face in both hands, and tilts my chin until I meet his eyes.
He doesn’t kiss me right away. He just stares, like he’s memorizing every detail.
Then he leans in and kisses me slowly before whispering, “Don’t wait to call.
I don’t care if it’s nothing. I want to hear your voice. ”
My throat tightens, and I nod.
Finn moves in next, arms sliding around my waist. He pulls me close until my chest presses against his. “We’ll be back before you know it.” His mouth brushes mine and he sighs like it physically pains him to pull away.
Boone is the last to move. He’s already halfway to the door before he stops and turns back. He hesitates, watching me with an unnerving intensity.
Then, in three long strides, he’s in front of me. His eyes search mine for a moment. Then he leans in, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath. “Stay inside,” he says, voice low.
He kisses me hard. Just once. Then he lets go and steps back.
The door clicks behind them, and they’re gone.
At first, everything is fine.
Mae colors at the kitchen table while I sit nearby with a book I’ve been trying to get through for days. She hums as she draws, quiet little sounds. Her silence used to fill entire days, and now she’s making noise on purpose.
Occasionally, she holds up a picture for me to see. I tell her it’s beautiful every time. Because it is. The clock ticks. The sun moves across the floor in slow stripes. Hours pass, and everything is good.
I keep the doors locked. I glance at the windows often, but everything stays still outside. Mae’s content. I’m safe. And it stays that way until just after three.
I hear a sound that startles me.
A crunch of gravel. Then a light brush across the porch, softer than footsteps but too heavy to be wind.
I don’t move at first. Just sit there with my hand frozen on the page and my ears straining to listen.
Mae doesn’t react. She’s focused on her coloring, her tongue caught between her teeth.
Another sound follows. A low thump. Then silence again.
I slide my bookmark into place and stand slowly, careful not to alarm Mae. My eyes flick to the front window. The curtains are drawn, but not completely. There’s just enough space to see the porch.
Something is there.
Not someone. Something. I edge closer, heart thudding harder with each step. I stop at the corner of the window and peer out through the gap. What I see sends chills down my spine.
There’s a small animal lying on the welcome mat.
I can’t tell what it is at first. A rabbit maybe. Or a squirrel. It’s curled tightly on its side, unmoving. There’s no visible blood. No obvious injury. Just a limp body placed in the center of the mat.
I stare at it for too long.
It could be a coincidence. We’re in the woods. Things happen. A coyote might’ve dropped it. Maybe a hawk. Maybe it was sick. Maybe it died where it fell and it means nothing.
But the placement?—
It doesn’t feel like nothing.
I stand there, frozen, cataloging every possible explanation that doesn’t involve someone hunting me down. I try to convince myself I’m overreacting. Still, the unease builds.
I turn from the window and go to the door. My fingers hesitate over the lock, but I flip it open anyway and ease the door a few inches.
It’s a rabbit. Its eyes are open but it’s dead. Its position is too staged. Someone placed it there.
I close the door quickly and lock it again with shaking hands.
Mae hasn’t moved from the table. Her shoulders are relaxed, and her fingers are smudged with crayon wax. She’s safe.
I sit back down and pick up my book again, but I don’t turn the page.
I don’t call the guys either.
They’re on call. They can’t leave without cause. And what would I even say? That there’s a rabbit on the porch and I don’t like the way it’s lying there?
I don’t want to be the girl who jumps at shadows.
But all night, I watch the windows.
I check the locks multiple times before bed.
And even hours after Mae has fallen asleep, I’m still awake, listening for noises.
By morning, I’m even more convinced that I’m just being paranoid and it was just a strange but natural occurrence.
It happens just before they’re supposed to come home.
Mae is in her room playing with her stuffed animals. I’m standing at the sink rinsing a glass when I hear the distinct sound of glass breaking. It cuts through the stillness and sends panic straight into my bloodstream.
I don’t move for a full ten seconds. My hand is frozen mid-air, water still running from the faucet. Then I turn off the water and listen.
Nothing.
Just silence.
I dry my hands without looking down and step into the hallway. Mae’s door is cracked just the way she likes it. I can see her happily playing with her animals on her bed.
I backtrack into the kitchen and scan every window looking for broken glass. The view outside hasn’t changed. The porch is empty. The trees are still. But I know what I heard.
I grab the phone from the counter. My finger hovers over the screen, over Finn’s name. But I don't press it. I pace instead.
My feet move in a tight loop between the living room and the front door. I don’t open it. I don’t even peek out. I’m too scared of what I’ll find out there this time. I just keep walking, my fingers tight around the phone.
Tears sting behind my eyes.
Name five things I can see. Four I can feel. Three I can hear.
But all I can see is the locked door.
All I can feel is the shake in my hands.
All I can hear is silence.
I check the front window again. This time I pull back the curtain half an inch and scan the porch, the steps, the gravel beyond it. There’s nothing there.
I release the curtain and begin pacing again.
I go to the front door and my hand lifts to the lock. It’s secure. I know it’s secure. I checked it two minutes ago. But I check it again anyway.
My stomach churns.
I check Mae’s door again. She’s still on her bed talking to her toys in a voice too soft to hear. She’s in her own little world and doesn’t realize anything is wrong.
Fuck. What should I do?
I swipe at my eyes, then press my back to the wall and slide down until I’m crouched low to the floor. I grip the phone tighter and press it against my chest.
I count to calm myself.
One, two, three. Breathe.
One, two, three. Don’t fall apart.
Five more minutes pass. Then I hear the low rumble of a truck pulling into the drive. I’m on my feet immediately. Panic sinks in for a moment before I realize I know that sound. Boone’s truck has a distinct rumble.
The engine cuts, and doors slam shut. Then footsteps on the porch. I hear a quiet “what the fuck is that.” The lock turns. The door swings open.
Finn is the first inside. His eyes lock on mine, and he’s at my side in seconds.
“What happened?” he asks, crouching down low and gripping my arms. He pulls me up to standing.
“There was a sound a little bit ago,” I say. “Breaking glass. I didn’t?—”
Jonah is through the door next. He’s already checking locks, glancing through windows.
Boone is right behind him.
I press into Finn’s chest, my fingers grabbing onto the back of his shirt. My whole body shakes, and I can’t stop it.
Jonah finishes his sweep in seconds and heads for the door again. Boone doesn’t ask. He just follows him outside.
Finn pulls back enough to look at me. “Where’s Mae?”
“She’s playing in her room.”
“You didn’t open the door?”
“No.” I don’t tell him that I did last night.
He kisses my forehead. “Good girl.”
Boone and Jonah come back in a few minutes later. I can tell by their expressions that I didn’t imagine the noise. Jonah shuts the door behind them.
“Someone broke out the window on the old truck.”
Fuck.
My mouth goes dry. The back of my neck prickles, every hair standing on end. My legs feel like they might give out on me.
I grip Finn’s shirt hard. Boone and Jonah say something else, but I don’t hear it. There’s a rushing sound in my ears. I try to pull in air, but my chest feels locked up.
There was someone on the property. Someone close enough to reach the truck.
Close enough to see the house.
To see Mae.
To see me.
I feel like I might collapse. Then Boone is standing next to me, his hand on my arm.
“Did you know the rabbit was on the front porch?” he asks
“I thought—” I stop. The excuses sound thin even in my own head. “I didn’t want to be the girl who panics over nothing.”
“This isn’t nothing,” Boone says.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I didn’t think it was something to worry about.”
I was wrong.
“You didn’t know it wasn’t.”
He’s right. This isn’t just some teenager playing pranks. No, this was another warning.
They found me.