Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Emma
I’m half in and out of sleep, the vivid dreams of early morning still in my grip. And in my dream, I’m with Owen again, only this time, I’m not a child, and he’s a full-grown man. A very large, very sexy, full-grown man who makes my heart race and my palms grow damp.
“Owen,” I say, all poised and dignified in my dream, even though I’m sitting on the couch, curled up with my legs tucked under me. “Why are you here?”
I cock my head to the side, and in my dream, he rises to meet me. My heart pounds in anticipation… and then I blink awake.
This time, I know exactly where I am. I just don’t remember how I got here.
I didn’t drink last night. My little fantasy by the fire did exactly what I hoped it would, and my fingers flew over the keyboard in a way I hadn’t written in years.
I scrapped half of what I came with and wrote fresh words.
New words, filled with passion and heartache, thick with sexual tension and the promise of a happily ever after.
I wrote until my eyelids drooped, then finally pushed my laptop to the side and curled under the blanket. It was warm by the fire, and my eyes were so heavy with sleep. I told myself I’d just rest my eyes for a minute, then go right back to my story…
And now here I am.
The memory of a man I once loved fueled my creativity and infiltrated my dreams. Now I’m in a warm bed, and I imagine I smell… him.
I shake my head, fully awake. Cedar and pine are classic, woodsy, cabin, Christmasy smells that don’t mean Owen. But when I look down, I’m tucked into bed with the same blanket from the couch, the edges scratchy against my skin, a few of the top buttons undone.
I did not dress myself in this.
I throw the covers off the bed and leap to my feet. “Who’s there?” I yell into the cabin. I look around for a weapon but find nothing but a doorstop. I pick it up, hefty in my palm, and spin around to look at the doors. “Who is it?”
I try to reason with myself, try to tell myself that whoever’s come, if anyone really has, has done nothing but stock food and wood and tuck me into bed. I’m hardly being held at knifepoint by an escaped felon.
But still. I’m a woman, alone in the woods, with nothing to defend myself and no way out.
“Who the fuck is there?” I yell at the empty cabin. The wind whistles in response.
All right, there’s no sign of forced entry. I lift my phone again to try to send a message to the owners to see if they’ve come, but I haven’t miraculously gotten cell service overnight.
I sigh and put the doorstop down.
I’m safe.
I’m fine.
There’s nothing to panic about. I’m on day two, and I need coffee and food, in that order.
Ten minutes later, I’m wandering around the cabin with a mug of steaming hot coffee when I notice a cabinet ajar. I open it to find a stack of aging magazines, a few boxes of puzzles, some board games, and a green-and-red plaid lidded box. Curious, I take it out.
I gasp when I look inside. It’s a box of Christmas ornaments, the vintage kind, all sparkly and tear-shaped, some pretty golden baubles, and there’s something about them that makes my heart ache.
I hum to myself when I decorate the little tree, but it’s so tiny I can only put a fraction of the ornaments on it.
I look outside the cabin. There’s a large pine right outside the front door just begging for some Christmas cheer.
I tell myself that my imagination got the better of me.
Of course no one was in here, and if anyone brought food or wood for me, it was the people I’m renting from.
It’s fine. I’m safe. No one’s hurt me. In fact, anyone who’s come has only done things to make sure my stay here was pleasant.
But a part of me wants to dare whoever’s lurking, if there is a lurker, to stop hiding and show their damn face. So I open the door and ignore the blustery gust of wind that takes my breath away and cuts straight through my clothes. I’m going to decorate that fucking tree, goddammit.
When the wind dies down, it’s actually quite nice out here, with the sun shining. Icicles drip onto the porch, shimmering in sunlight. A cardinal lands on a snow-laden branch. I breathe in a deep, cleansing breath and let it out again. It’s picture-perfect here.
I continue to hum Christmas songs to myself while I decorate the tree.
In a few minutes, the sun catches the metallic ornaments, and I smile at how pretty it is. And as I look around me, there’s not a soul to be seen.
“See, Emma?” I whisper to myself. “It’s just your imagination. Now get in there, and put it to good fucking use.”
I hum to myself as I reach for the door handle and stop short when it doesn’t budge.
Oh no. Oh god, no.
Wait a minute.
Did that door… lock on its own? By itself? What the hell?
I yank on it again, but it doesn’t move. I twist and push and turn the handle, but absolutely nothing happens.
Oh noooo.
Okay, I have to keep my head on straight here. There has to be a way inside. I walk around to each window, but they’re shut tight, which would give me some measure of comfort if I were inside, but I’m shit out of luck here.
Great.
I try to keep my nerves steady, but my hands are freezing, and the lone call of a bird overhead reminds me how stark and desolate this cabin is.
I’m all alone out here.
No cell phone. No car. I look down at the boots I slipped on to decorate the tree, but they’re only a cheap fluff-lined pair that are cute but do little to shield me from the cold.
And that’s when it hits me. I could die out here—alone, in the cold, with nothing to protect me from the elements.
But I won’t let that happen.
No.
I did not survive my parents’ heartbreaking divorce, my dad’s death, and my husband cheating on me to die alone in the middle of nowhere when there’s still hope.
“Hello!” I scream into the wind, which quickly swallows me up. “Hello!”
No one answers. The wind kicks up, and I wrap my arms around myself to try to block the cold, but it doesn’t work. I’m still alone, and it’s getting colder.
The wind whips harder, my hair flying around my face and the frigid air cutting straight through my sweater.
I try to decide what to do—walk in some direction, hoping to find someone to help me?
Huddle here on the porch and try to stay warm, hoping whoever came before returns? Or find another way into the cabin?
I go back to the front door and try every other possible way to get in. The code only worked for me to get in the first time, and then I’m supposed to be using the key. That’s useless, and the door is heavy and immovable. I don’t have anything to pick the lock either.
Great.
“Help!” I scream into the void again, sinking to the floor of the porch. “Someone help me!”
But no one comes.
I blink when a yellow light flashes far in the distance. I blink again. Did I imagine that? No, there it is again.
Decision made, I stand and take in a deep breath. As long as I keep the cabin behind me, where I can see it, I won’t get lost in the storm.
I can do this.
I walk fast toward the beam of light. It has to be a car, or a house, or something that’s worth walking toward; I know it is. With every step, my boots are heavier and wetter, and I don’t seem to be getting any closer.
I can’t feel my toes.
“Help me!” I scream again and wait, only to hear the resounding silence around me. I stop and take in a deep breath, my lungs expanding with the cold air. Snow falls heavier. Flakes cling to my sweater and my lashes.
My feet are numb from the cold. I can’t feel my fingers anymore either. I’m chilled to the bone, and I know that frostbite could happen at any moment, but I need to push through. I have to.
I stumble when I can’t feel my feet anymore. I drop to my knees as snow falls in heavy swirls.
“Help!” I yell, softer this time because it’s so cold. My voice sounds smaller to my own ears. I feel so damn helpless.
No. I didn’t go through everything I’ve survived in this life only to cave and let a stupid fucking snowstorm in the middle of nowhere claim me. No.
I push on through the snow, ignoring the freezing cold in my limbs, pushing past the way the wind laces my cheeks like twigs snapping at me in a forest run.
I won’t give up.
I blink into the wind when I realize I can’t see… anything. Anything, but blinding white. I swallow hard and scream with everything I’ve got. “Help! Someone help me!” I scream until I’m hoarse and my throat burns.
The snow feels like it's burying me alive, pressing down on me in soft, suffocating silence.
I can see it all flash before my eyes like a slow, flickering reel—memories, regrets, things unsaid.
I close my eyes, not because I want to, but because I'm just so tired now.
The cold has settled into my bones like frostbite, creeping in and claiming me.
I finally find a small clearing where I’m nestled behind a broken tree. Thankfully, it’s a break from the biting wind.
I'm going to sleep now, I think. I’m so tired. Why am I so tired?
No. Logic kicks in. I can’t sleep now. This is what happens. I’ll drift off quietly, and slowly, the cold will thicken my blood, turning it to slush, until I freeze to death. Right here. In the middle of nowhere.
Maybe someone will find me when the thaw comes. Maybe not. Maybe they'll never know where I went. But right now, it doesn't matter. I'm alone. So cold. So tired. And I almost don’t even care anymore.
“Help,” I whisper, but it sounds thinner than before. A feeble thing, like the dying wind.
I can barely hear my own voice above the steady hush of snow falling around me. It's so thick now, layers on layers accumulating, weighing me down, and I still can’t shake it off. “Help,” I try again, more breath than sound.
And then—something.
A voice. Deep. Familiar. It cuts through the quiet like a blade.
Am I imagining things now? That sounds like… Owen. Have I fallen asleep? I blink frantically because I know if I don’t, I’ll fall under a spell I won’t wake from.
“Emma.”