RULES
Sara
Idon’t know how long I’ve been standing here, let alone what time it is.
I search for a flicker of emotion, but there’s nothing.
I’m numb. My brain’s gone blank. It went into overdrive, crashed, and now it’s stuck mid-reboot.
God, I want to go home. Even if that means being near the man who sees me as a pawn, a piece on a political chessboard he sacrificed to secure his win.
It makes me sick. How dare he? What kind of calculated monster would sign off on his daughter’s abduction?
The kind who also had his wife killed. Of course. Why am I even surprised anymore?
At least the brute he hired didn’t cross that line. If anything, he recoiled when I mistook his intent.
A bag near the wall catches my attention and sets my body in motion. It’s not just any bag. This is my duffel. The one I took to my grandparents’ house last week when I fled my own. What the—
I kneel and open it. It’s my stuff, the exact same stuff I carelessly threw in there, now the crinkliest of messes. I remember Gabe putting it into the car when he picked me up, and now my father has handed it over to the guy who kidnapped me?
Unbelievable.
My brain comes back online, and I go through my bag’s contents to find the one item I truly care about: the hoodie.
The one Mom bought a couple of weeks before she passed, saying she picked it because it was the kind she’d steal from her boyfriend if she were a teenager in love.
Back then, I had no idea what she was talking about.
It’s dark gray with a weird sketch of a roughed-up teddy bear holding a soda and a knife in its paws.
I liked it because she liked it. Before Richard got rid of all her things, I managed to sneak into my parents’ bedroom, take it from their drawer, and hide it in one of mine until it was forgotten.
He hated it on her then, and he hates it on me now. Another reason why I love it so much.
It wraps around me like a shield.
I also find a pair of leggings to go with it and try peeking through the small skylight over the bed. Although I can easily reach it, I can’t get it open. The only things I can spot are treetops and some stars in the nearly black sky.
I sit down, the mattress dipping beneath me, and do... nothing. If only I had Mom’s diary. I’d have all the time in the world to hunt for answers.
This setup is a step up from the one in the van but with exactly as much to do.
I am alone with empty shelves, my thoughts spinning, and hunger clawing at my stomach.
My head hurts. Dehydration, most likely.
I only had that one bottle of water he gave me.
Lying back, my bare feet touching the floor, I watch the last bit of light escape the sky... and... drift... off...
◆◆◆
His presence hits me before I’m fully awake. I jolt, heart kicking hard. I scramble back so fast, I nearly crash into the wall behind me.
What the fuck?
He sets a plate of food and a plastic bottle on the small table.
I exhale slowly, recovering from the shock. Half of me wants to sag with pathetic relief, the other half coils, bracing for another round of bullshit.
Not saying a word, he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, matching my exhaustion. I’m not the only one who’s had a day.
“You okay?” he asks, watching me like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t figured out yet.
My tilted head and tight-lipped grimace should answer that.
“Eat,” he commands, nodding at the plate.
I want to argue against his tone, want him to leave. I want to leave, but a girl needs food, and basic instincts drag me to the table. I pull the chair as far away from him as possible and sit down.
“Nice hoodie,” he says, and I think I catch a flicker of amusement. I don’t know if he’s mocking me or if he actually means it, but I also really don’t care, so I let it pass.
I shift my focus onto the food in front of me. It’s rice, mixed with roasted veggies and some sort of meat. It smells delicious. Next to the plate there’s something that looks like a plastic spoon and fork had a baby.
I hold the spork up at him.
“Seriously?”
His mouth twitches.
“You’re resourceful enough without sharp objects.”
Fair.
Since he’s showing no sign of leaving, I eat and do my best to ignore him hovering at the corner of my vision. I am grateful for the food, though, but I’m not going to say that out loud.
He doesn’t speak at first. Then, as if he’s offering me a gift, he says, “Chris.”
I lift my head.
“Figured you should know my name,” he adds. “So you can use it and don’t need to resort to insults.”
I snort with a grin and a half-full mouth.
“Here’s how this goes,” he continues, holding up one finger. “Don’t do anything stupid. Watch your language. Stay put. You follow that, we’ll get along fine until you go home after the elections. Push me again—”
Now there are three fingers up. He lifts his chin, his voice low, eyes on mine.
“There’ll be consequences.”
Leaning back in the chair, I cross my arms and ankles and swallow the rest of my food before I speak.
“Is this the part where I say, ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’?”
He doesn’t rise to the bait, simply lifts an eyebrow. “If you prefer.”
I roll my eyes and fix my attention on the tiny window, mostly to stop myself from hurling my empty plate at him. My right knee starts to bounce as an awkward silence stretches.
“What am I supposed to do all day?” I ask eventually. “Stare at the wall? Count the knots in the wood?” I’m unable to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
His expression turns into a smug smile.
“Get caught up on schoolwork and start prepping for your SATs.”
That makes me laugh.
“Oh, wow. So this is both boot camp and boarding school. How convenient.”
“Your father thought so.”
My amusement evaporates.
“You need the bathroom?” he asks, abruptly ending the conversation.
Instantly, I nod, grasping the opportunity to avoid sharing the same space with him.
“Can you manage that without acting out, or do you need company?”
He’s clearly had enough of me for the day.
“I’ll be good,” I mutter with fake sweetness as I get up.
Every reckless cell in my body screams at me to do something stupid, but risking him joining me kills the impulse quickly.
I do what needs to be done and drag myself back to my cell. The dishes are gone and a thick wool blanket is spread over the mattress along with a puffy pillow. He also put some more water next to the “bed”.
As soon as the key turns, after a mumbled “Goodnight,” I lie down and draw the blanket close.
I’m angry and trapped. I’ve lost some battles today, but the war isn’t over.
In the end, I’ll win.
◆◆◆
Time unravels as I run.
Branches claw at my arms and whip across my face. I don’t slow down. I can’t. The thicket’s dense, grabbing at my legs like it wants to drag me under the forest floor and bury me. I push through, dodging low-hanging limbs and deadfall.
The adrenaline’s gone. The rush from the escape, from the scramble through the window, from hitting the ground, forcing my shoes on, and running.
It’s gone. What’s left is bone-deep exhaustion.
My water bottle’s been empty for who knows how long.
My body’s done, but stopping is admitting defeat, and I refuse to give up.
There’s no road beneath me, no path ahead. Out here, it’s only me, the cold, and the constant panic rattling my ribs.
I try to remember what I learned about the sun, shadows, moss.
Any survival tip I once half-heard. But even if there was any sunlight, which direction should I choose?
This endless green labyrinth is a living, breathing trap suffocating me more the longer I stay in it. I should’ve known. Somehow, I did know.
This morning, I played nice. Pretended I could live with his rules. The way Chris looked at me after I “behaved” made me gag. All self-satisfied and content, like giving me a moment of privacy in the bathroom was some grand reward I’d earned.
Fuck him.
Plan A was simple: learn the layout, earn his trust, find a way out of my cell.
Get a shot at that phone again. I’d only need one call to that pushy journalist who kept contacting me so often I memorized her number.
Future governor has his daughter kidnapped would make a wild headline.
After such a scandal, he’d lose everything, especially the power he holds over me.
No one would expect me to stay with him after that.
Mom’s trust fund was supposed to be mine at twenty-one, but under these circumstances? Pretty sure a court would see reason. That amount of money would be enough to get away from him for good.
Now I’m on Plan B, and it’s draining me more than I was ready for.
On the way here, we stopped in the middle of the road, not far before we turned onto the bumpy forest trail. I heard a train nearby. The van vibrated when it passed. Where there are trains, there are stations. And where there are stations, there are people. And phones. One call is all I need.
Every step hurts. My feet are numb slabs, soaking wet since I slipped those sneakers back on without any socks.
I didn’t have time to put them on after I came out of the bathroom barefoot and saw the window in Chris’s bedroom.
It wasn’t locked, which I took as my invitation to climb out onto the canopy and down to the porch.
The idea of being caged like some animal, never knowing when I’d eat again or when he’d finally let me out, made me snap.
I wouldn’t be able to survive that kind of control, and I panicked.
I didn’t take the road we came in on or the trail near the lake. He’d check there first. I went straight through the tree line on the far side of the clearing.
And here I am.
My heels are raw, rubbed nearly bloody from the wet canvas grinding into my skin. My leggings are shredded by thornbushes. Tiny cuts sting my shins with every step. My hair’s a sticky mess plastered to my face, drenched in sweat, cooling the second it seeps from my pores.
This is hell.
I’m bleeding, sweating, freezing. Still, I don’t give in. The terrain fights me. Pain claws at every movement. The thought creeps in that the cabin might have been an easier hell to survive.
The forest is alive, trying to close around me, but I don’t want to give it the satisfaction. I think about turning around. Finding the way back. Taking the hit and living with the failure.
Wouldn’t be the first time. I always get over it.
One long exhale and a glance over my shoulder later, a shape catches my eye.
Through the branches, an unnatural line interrupts the green. Metal tracks.
The sight sends a flare of hope through me.
They carve through the trees like some forgotten relic from another time. Rusted and overgrown in places. No train’s been through here in ages, but I don’t care. Tracks go somewhere. And somewhere is better than circling the same ten acres of pine. Backtracking is out of the question.
I follow them, dragging my feet step by step. That’s all I can do now. I watch myself move, detached. As if my body keeps going without me, but at least it hasn’t completely given up yet.
I push through the underbrush, following the rusted rails until the forest suddenly falls away. For one breathless second, I think I’ve found it. Civilization. Salvation. Anything.
On the right side of the tracks, a building stands, its steep roof and narrow windows forming a shape that defies the wild. My pulse leaps. A station. Maybe people. Maybe help.
A tall chimney pierces the sky, luring me on.
But the closer I get, the faster that hope drains.
Weathered yellow boards peel in long, tired curls, and the roof sags in places, its shingles buckled like old scales.
Dark windows stare out at me, the glass long gone or shattered.
The doors are mismatched slabs of wood, nailed shut at crooked angles as though someone gave up halfway through trying to keep the wilderness out.
Grass has swallowed the walkway, and the tracks beyond break apart and vanish into weeds.
Everything about it reeks of abandonment, a scent I’m all too familiar with.
My legs are so heavy I can hardly lift them anymore, and I lurch, slamming into the ground. The stones on the train tracks dig into my hands and knees, tearing new wounds into already battered skin. My will to live slowly slips away as I fold, my elbows sinking down, my head resting on my forearms.
I’d cry if crying was an option. Whatever energy I had left is gone.
My mind paints my own end in vivid colors. How long does it take to freeze to death? I picture the blackness overtaking my spirit. It’s like falling asleep, right? Mom could be waiting on the other side. I’d be with her again.
I’d love to see my father’s reaction when he gets the call. Would he care and blame himself, or would—crack.
I’m ripped from my imagination by a noise way too close for my liking. My self-preservation instinct kicks in, and my head shoots to the right meeting the gaze of a bear.
A fucking bear!
It’s massive, brown, and definitely real.
My breath snags.
The furry beast is no less surprised than me, and we end up locked in a weird staring contest.
I am not going to be eaten by a bear.
Slowly, I turn my body to face it and crawl backward. I can’t break eye contact, too afraid it’ll attack the second I look away. In slow motion, I rise to my aching feet.
And I run.
Faster than I thought I was capable of at this point.
My legs shake, lungs tear open. There’s no plan, only the need to get away. I don’t turn around to check where it is or whether it’s coming after me at all. I zigzag across the tracks, until I reach the ruins of the old station and haul myself onto the sagging platform.
This place isn’t a refuge. It isn’t anything. Just another relic devoured by the forest, another almost that isn’t enough.
I circle the building, barely registering a huge map slapped onto the wall, the word COLORADO glaring across the top.
I’m in Colorado?
That’s two states away from home.
Too terrified to linger and check my exact location, I sprint on.
A rickety wooden fence blocks my path through the bushes. I manage to scramble over it before losing my balance and spilling onto pavement. A real road with blacktop and yellow lines appears unreal after everything behind me. Headlights barrel right at me, horns blare. My voice doesn’t work.
And then—void.