5
EMERSYN
The next morning, dawn crept slowly through the window as I heard Sacha’s movements out in the living room.
It took me a few minutes to remove the barricade I’d erected in front of the bedroom door.
When I’d gotten back from the river, Sacha had moved the bed from the living room back into a spare bedroom down the hall.
It was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, but I still only felt safe enough to sleep once I’d pushed the dresser and a wayward chair in front of the door. Not that I slept much, but I did try.
I emerged from the hallway to see Sacha pulling on his boots near the door. Fang charged, tail wagging fiercely as he circled me, panting happily. I gave him a few ear scratches and awkwardly wondered what I was supposed to do.
“There is coffee and food in the kitchen.” Sacha barely spared me a glance. “Come outside when you’re done.”
I wasn’t sure about the coffee, but I wolfed down two slices of toast and a few apple slices, then headed out onto the porch.
I followed the sounds of wood being split around the side of the house.
A well-worn stump sat surrounded by sawdust and woodchips and the smell of fresh-cut wood permeated the space.
Sacha brought an axe down on a block of wood with a crack.
It split quickly and the pieces fell to the sides.
He picked them up and tossed them towards the entrance to the covered workshop.
My skin prickled as I watched the axe but I forced my attention away and looked at the wood he’d already chopped instead.
“Those need to be stacked along the wall inside there,” Sacha pointed to the covered workshop.
He dug around in his pocket and tossed over a pair of gloves, then turned back to the stump and positioned another block.
The gloves were huge, but I didn’t mind and quickly got lost in the repetition of stacking the pieces he broke down.
It was easy work, but I was obviously out of shape because I quickly grew breathless.
I gritted my teeth and refused to show any more weakness than I’d already exhibited.
I succeeded, until about an hour in, when the headache started.
It was a dull throb at first but soon it radiated to my temples, and made me squint against the light.
I winced with each movement until it got so bad I stumbled and dropped the pile in my hands. Sacha looked up at the sound.
His lips thinned. “Is your head hurting?”
I thought about lying, but the look on his face made me think it was pointless.
I gave a short nod.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
I moved over to the porch steps and collapsed onto the top one.
I leaned my head against one of the railing pillars and closed my eyes.
Sacha continued chopping for a few more blocks before he cleaned up the rest of the pile I hadn’t finished.
Once everything was neatly stacked in the workshop, he walked into the house.
I opened my eyes and went stiff with anticipation at his returning footsteps, but all he did was lower a glass of water over my shoulder. I took it gratefully and nearly drank the entire thing in one go. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Sacha sip his own water.
“You might experience side effects from your—head wound,” he said. “The bullet slid along your skull and exited at the back. I don’t have the medical experience or equipment to see if there was any internal damage.”
It didn’t need to be said how lucky I was. The odds of a gunshot doing something like that were so small it could almost be considered a miracle.
We existed in awkward silence. His presence at my side was heavy, and I was conscious of every move he made.
I still didn’t know what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to act around him.
He acted like a predator. The wild had obviously embraced him and there was a feral edge that made me nervous.
But so far, he hadn’t crowded my personal space, much less looked at me for any longer than a few seconds; and so while I was still far from trusting him, I didn’t necessarily feel unsafe.
Sacha moved inside and when he came back out he carried a pack with a rifle slung over one shoulder.
“I’m going hunting,” he said shortly. “I’ll be gone until after dark.”
Without a backward glance, he set off down a small trail that started at the treeline.
Fang bounded after him until Sacha barked a command in Russian.
The dog halted immediately, but whined in protest until Sacha disappeared.
Once he was gone, Fang headed back and sat at the bottom of the steps where he looked up expectantly.
“Babysitting duty, huh?”
I looked around, not really knowing what to do with myself.
I decided to explore a bit and walked around the cabin to take in the property.
It really was an impressive house and I wondered if Sacha had built it himself.
It was rustic and functional, but not crude or sloppy.
I stepped into the dim interior of the workshop.
A workbench was along one wall, complete with every single tool I would imagine you’d need living out here.
Of course, I didn’t know what half of them were, but everything had a place and it was neatly organized.
The other wall was where the wood was stacked.
I ventured deeper and peeked under a tarp to reveal a snowmobile. I frowned at what that implied. Would I be able to leave before the snow hit? Or would I be forced to spend the winter here?
I walked back outside and around toward the back of the house where the porch picked up again.
The back of the property was equally as stunning.
The lawn was more of a meadow with tall grass that extended all the way back to a distant and dense looking treeline.
There was also a view of some mountains.
As I continued to circle the back porch, I realized there weren’t any cars.
There was a dirt road that led off into the trees, but it was rough and didn’t look used by vehicles.
If anything it would require a really good four-wheel drive to navigate. I wondered where it led.
On the other side of the house, there was a locked shed.
I peeked through the keyhole. The dim outline of furs and traps glistened in the meager light, and I lurched backward.
I didn’t like how those traps made me feel.
Even though Sacha was obviously a hunter, that shed still made me uncomfortable.
I quickly backed away and ran back inside the house, my desire to explore further effectively snuffed.
The fire had been banked for the day, and the embers glowed softly and gave off a gentle heat.
I looked around the open concept floor plan and felt out of place, like I was intruding on Sacha’s private world.
There was an entire second floor I could explore, but instead I reached for one of the Russian novels in a bookshelf along the wall and walked outside to the swinging bench.
I sat outside for the rest of the afternoon and alternated between watching Fang harass the squirrels, and reading.
The book was a little dry, but it helped me practice and took my mind off things for a few hours.
Only once the forest darkened as the sun set behind the trees did I move back inside.
I went to stoke the fire back to life. My Dad had taught me how to light a fire from almost nothing on our camping trips, but as I brought the flames back to life, those weren’t the memories the smell and crackle of wood provoked.
Instead, it was the lake house burning.
Screams echoed in my mind and I scrambled back from the hearth.
My heart seized and my breaths came quickly as I shut my eyes and violently shoved the memories away.
I couldn’t think about him—them—it was too painful.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat backed against the legs of the armchair, but hunger soon got me up and moving again.
I poked around the kitchen for some food.
Anything that didn’t involve dirtying a dish.
There was no way I was going to the river after dark, so I ate some bread and cheese at the sink.
After that, I grabbed the book from earlier and spent the rest of the evening immersed in mundane fiction so my mind didn’t wander, while Fang gently snored at my feet.
It was several hours after dark when the door burst open and startled me so badly I dropped the book. Fang jerked awake—some guard dog. When he saw it was Sacha, he ran to greet him and bounded around his feet, sniffing him like crazy.
My heart pounded in my chest and I sucked in air to try and get my reaction under control. I gripped the arms of the chair and watched Sacha put his gun away. He looked wind-worn and filthy, covered in dirt and—
Was that blood? I swallowed thickly when I noticed his hands were covered in it.
Ice ran down my spine. I forced air into my lungs until my head swam.
He pulled his jacket off, and only then seemed to remember I was there because he abruptly turned and stared.
He looked at the healthy fire in the hearth and then his attention landed on the book at my feet.
He walked over and picked it up. I saw a flash of surprise before he controlled it.
He asked me something in Russian. I forced my brain back online enough to catch that he asked if I spoke the language. I stumbled over a response.
“A little,” I cringed at my horrible accent. “I–I spent a lot of time in—in a library—” I let my sentence trail off as my brain blanked on the correct vocabulary. I didn’t have much practice in the verbal aspect of the language and it showed in how I tripped over the words.
I was glad to be gone from the house in the woods, but my heart still felt a pang for the books I’d left behind, even if I’d read most of them in the three years I’d lived there.
Sacha’s face was expressionless. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking and it made me uncomfortable.
I shifted in awkward discomfort until he finally handed the book back with a grunt.
“I have a deer I need to break down,” he switched back to English as he turned towards the door.
“Can I—” I instantly regretted my words when I felt his attention. I hugged the book as nerves fluttered in my chest.
“What?” He asked gruffly.
I was frozen, unable to do anything but hope the floorboards opened up and swallowed me.
“Look at me.” I slowly raised my eyes. “Ask me the question, girl.”
“Can–can I come watch?” I nearly whispered the words.
I didn’t know which reaction would be worse—a rejection or dismissal—but he did none of those things. Instead he cocked his head slightly and after another one of his expressionless looks, nodded once. I yanked on my shoes and quickly followed him out into the night.
We headed toward the locked shed and despite my eagerness to come with him, my steps slowed as I remembered what I’d seen through the slats.
Light spilled out of the wide-open shed doors, but I stopped on the threshold, torn between my past self—a girl who’d begged to be able to go on her dad’s annual hunting trip—and the girl I was now, afraid of a simple bread knife.
Even looking at all the death and blood framed by the sharp knives on the wall made me nauseous.
Sacha moved about inside as he got his tools ready. “Come here,” he ordered.
I stepped to the table, but when he held the knife out I balked and backed up.
“I-I just-want to watch,” I managed breathlessly.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the knife much less hold it.
The thought of holding it made me sick to my stomach, even more than the dead carcass that hung a few feet away.
Sacha’s jaw tightened. I could feel his attention slide across the cut on my face as though he knew exactly why I didn’t want to touch the blade.
He turned back to the deer and I let out a stuttered breath of relief.
Despite my apprehension of the knife, I was fascinated as I watched Sacha break down the deer.
He worked quickly and efficiently even though it looked like a strenuous job.
He didn’t speak, but in some places he shifted his hold or stance so I could see what he was doing.
When the skinning process was complete, he put the meat on the table.
“Fetch those two bins,” Sacha said.
Certain cuts went in one, while others went in the second one. I tried to figure out which was which, but it all looked the same. Sacha saw my frown at the buckets and pointed to the first one with his knife.
“Sausages and ground beef,” he pointed to the second. “Prime cuts go there.”
He worked in silence for another few hours until he got everything broken down. By the end, I was falling asleep on my feet. Sacha finished cleaning up, and brought out a machine that looked like it would be used to seal the meat for storage. I stifled a particularly large yawn.
“Go to bed,” he said gruffly.
I blinked and hesitated, but he ignored me and after I stifled another yawn, I quickly headed back toward the house before he could change his mind.
On the way back around the porch, I was careful to stay in the patches of light the cabin spilled out into the night, and refused to look toward the dark trees, conscious of how heavy the darkness felt where the light didn’t reach.
Maybe if I didn’t look, the bad things wouldn’t reach for me.