Chapter 5
Waking up for the second time isn’t nearly as awful, or as confusing, as the first. I feel almost normal as I find myself staring at the rise of a black pillowcase beside me. My arm is tucked under the pillow my head rests on and knees drawn partway up to my chest, just like how I’d sleep at home.
But I’m not at home.
I’m lucid enough this time to realize that.
But my brain still isn’t working quite right. Things click in sections. Like I’m watching a movie, or just running down a list of things.
I’m in a killer’s cabin.
He killed a man with a chainsaw.
I’m in his bed.
He licked blood off of my arms like a fucking psycho.
There’s a railing that opens to the living room below, and if I try to jump it, I will break every bone in my body.
He killed a man with a chainsaw and then proceeded to lick blood off of my arms like a fucking psycho.
Yeah, that feels like the gist of it. At least as much of it as I need to understand right now, and all of what my brain can handle. I lay where I am, eyes closing, but my ears remain alert for any sound in the cabin.
But if Jed is here, then he’s moving more quietly than I ever could—or he’s not moving at all—because I don’t hear a damn thing from anywhere. Not even from the windows on either side of the bed, though hearing him outside would probably be a long shot since they’re barely cracked.
“Fuck,” I breathe, finding that I don’t want to open my eyes to my current reality. I’ve never, not once, wanted to star in my own horror movie. But it’s starting to feel like I don’t have much of a choice.
He said he doesn’t want to hurt me. The words whisper through my brain and my fingers tighten on the pillow under me. There’s no way those words weren’t a lie, though the honesty pouring off of his face had been…convincing to say the least.
Very convincing.
Finally, I force my eyes open again and sit up, looking around the room once before something in the air catches my eye. Even when I tilt my chin up to it, the ridiculousness of what I’m seeing takes me a few seconds to process.
A piece of lined notebook paper is taped horizontally to a stick that’s taped to the railing. In messy, cursive writing are the words The door is over there, sitting above a scribbled, thick black arrow.
He must really think I’m an idiot.
But he’s not really wrong. Embarrassment sizzles along my skin as I remember waking up the first time and making a break for the rail. I would’ve gone over without him catching me, and I can still recall the dizzying, terrifying moments where I was sure I really would go over.
After all, it would’ve been so much easier for him to just let me fall. He wouldn’t have had to do a thing, and I probably would’ve been snapped into a thousand pieces.
So why didn’t he?
Somehow, I chase away that thought. Though the humiliation the sign brings to mind is harder to shake, so I avoid looking at the sign as much as possible.
At the foot of the bed my jacket is folded neatly on a small black bench, and my shoes are just under it, sitting side by side and looking cleaner than they had the last time I’d tugged them on.
Curious, I bring the jacket to my nose, surprised to find that it smells freshly laundered. “Why wash my jacket?” I mutter, pulling it on and zipping it. I slip into my sneakers as well, and give the room a thorough search, just in case my phone and keys are also somewhere nearby.
They aren’t, naturally. Because why would there be a dumb murderer out in the woods with a penchant for kidnapping?
And blood licking.
I blink that away, pausing when I notice my camera sitting neatly on a long, mirrored dresser. Though I try to be cool about it, I can’t help rushing over, curling my hands around the familiar form and screwing off the slightly scratched but clean lens cap to peer at the lens underneath.
He was right last night. It’s not any worse for wear, and I couldn’t give a damn about the damage to the lens cap. If it did bother me, I could buy one way cheaper than I could’ve replaced my camera.
My other two lenses are beside it, still in the small bags I’d had them in out in the swamp. They look somehow cleaner as well, and there’s a twinge of something in my stomach that I can’t place, let alone name.
Why do all this for me, if he’s just going to kill me? At the risk of mentally beating a dead horse, it occurs to me again that none of the few men I’ve dated would’ve done this for me under penalty of death. Especially cleaning my shoes and washing my jacket.
God, I hope there wasn’t blood on my jacket. Though judging by last night, I can’t help but think there most definitely had been. Clearly he knows what he’s doing, if he could get out blood stains that must have been dry by the time he tossed this in the washer.
Maybe he’s done this before.
The thought is definitely unwelcome in my brain, and I chase it out ferociously as my feet take me to one of the unlabeled doors.
Upon opening it, I find a walk-in closet that’s barely half full, and just as meticulously neat as the rest of the room.
Before I can close the door completely, however, I hesitate.
My phone could be in here. If I were him, I would have hidden it and my keys in a stupid place, like the underwear drawer, which I plan to check next.
But neither search yields either of them, and I open the other door to a simple bathroom. Half-heartedly, I check the drawers, running my fingers through my hair when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
Today is a bad day not to have a scrunchie.
My long black hair, thicker than it has any right to be, is a mess.
Tangles snare most of it, and even though my fingers do some work to fix that, it’s not nearly enough.
Well, it’s not like whatever animals live in the woods are going to care that I look like I live out there, too.
Back in the bedroom, I finally take the door indicated by the sign, finding that it opens to a landing on top of a curving set of stairs. Those take me down to the living room I’d nearly crashed into last night, and I make an unhappy face at the coffee table that had almost been my doom.
Had it really only been last night? A glance at the stove clock in the kitchen that sits squarely under the bedroom shows me it’s a little after three in the afternoon.
Why had I slept for so long? I’m normally up by nine, since I can’t stand lying in bed with my own thoughts for very long, and I look for things to distract me as soon as I can the moment I’m awake.
Drugs, I sigh mentally, walking around the sofa and coffee table as my eyes take in everything.
Probably all the drugging me he did. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
And probably the reason I felt so off the first time I’d woken up, though I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine him licking the blood off of my arm like a—
I refuse to use the c word that ends in -al. Even in my own head. For my mental state, and the small bit of stability I have left, I can’t bring myself to even think it, let alone say it.
And I have to get out of here before he comes back.
Even without my phone, I’m not helpless.
If I can figure out where I am, I can make some kind of game plan, get my camera, and get the hell out.
But I don’t want to risk my camera right now.
Just in case he’s right outside, or I’m stupid enough to walk myself into a river, or something else just as detrimental to my job equipment.
I finally find the door, and send up a prayer to a god I haven’t believed in or prayed to since my mother died twelve years ago as my fingers curl around the handle, press the lever, and pull.
It opens.
Easily, even. The door swings inward, causing me to stagger at the surprise of it. I’d expected to be barred in, at the very least, and then I’d have to move onto the windows.
But…hadn’t he told me when we talked that I could go outside if I wanted to?
Which, admittedly, I’d thought was a lie.
After all, what murderer lets their soon-to-be victim just wander around?
Especially outdoors, where my plan is to find my way to the nearest road by following the driveway, flagging down a car, and getting the hell out of here before going to the police and convincing them I’m not crazy.
Except, when I look out at the gravel parking area, my stomach sinks and I rock back on my heels in dismay.
There are two narrow gravel roads that lead away from the house; in opposite directions. The trees are so thick that I can’t see signs of civilization, houses, or anything but forest on the path of either of them, no matter how much I squint or wander the small parking area.
I also can’t help but wonder where my car is, since she isn’t here. God, I hope he hadn’t left it at the preserve to get towed, though I suppose that’s the most reasonable course of action.
But maybe if he did, someone will realize I’m missing.
He’d been right that no one knows I’m gone. Or, honestly, cares that much. My step-mother rarely calls or texts and never expects me to respond. Because of that, I’m low-contact with my dad as well. They won’t suspect anything until Christmas, and that’s almost eight months from now.
By that time, I doubt I’ll be here anymore.
“Pick a direction, Saylor,” I mutter to myself, looking from one path to the other. “You’ve gotta pick something before he gets back.” Since there’s a large Jeep here, locked of course, I’m sure Jed can’t be far.
It’s the sound of rustling tree limbs and underbrush that kicks me into gear. I take off at a jog down one of the paths, glancing behind me as if I’m afraid Jed is going to be there, chasing me down the gravel driveway like the iconic scene out of a certain movie I refuse to name right now.
But there’s still no one there. No Jed, no dead man. No chainsaw.
And I’m determined to keep running until I find civilization, one way or the other. Come hell or high water, there’s no way in the world I’m ending up back here without an army of police, or the feds, or someone with guns who can help me get my camera and get away from here once and for all.
By the time the house comes into view, I can’t help but groan, sagging against one of the large trees that I had known looked familiar when I’d seen it last.
Somehow, the road that led deeper into the woods looped me back around, though I hadn’t realized it until about five minutes ago.
Even then I’d hoped I was just tired and seeing things, since I’d been walking for a good two hours and the shadows in the woods had lengthened considerably in the last twenty minutes or so.
“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning my head against the bark as well. “Fuck.” I don’t want to be here. In fact, I want to be anywhere but here, but to get somewhere else, I’m going to have to take the other road and pray.
But I can’t help my fear of the dim woods, of what could come out at night. There are more things to worry about in Ohio than serial killing, chainsaw wielding, blue-eyed maniacs with good cheekbones, after all.
There are bears. And wild dogs. And coyotes that would totally eat me, probably, given the chance.
It’s a toss up where I’ll be safer. But I doubt I can find a hiding place here, around Jed’s house, where he won’t find me until morning if he bothers to look.
But still my feet take me back to his parking area, my eyes fixed on the other road even though every muscle in my body begs to stop, take a break, and find something to drink, if not something to eat as well.
But I can’t. I really can’t. I need to keep going, to keep—
The noise that meets my ears makes me freeze, it’s the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. And this isn’t an innocent sound of nature I can ignore and put off this time. It’s too close, too solid for that.
I need to run.
The sound is coming from the other side of the Jeep, and I know I probably only have a few seconds of a grace period before whoever it is comes around and sees me.
I need to run.
But God, I’m just so tired. Hiking has never been a hobby of mine, or something I would consider myself good at. My trembling, rubbing thighs are more than a testament to that. Yet somehow, from somewhere, I need to get the energy to run. Now.
Jed saunters out from behind the Jeep, his blue eyes focused on the house and not at me. But I think I make a sound. A whimper, or a gasp, because they snap my way instead, pinning me in place.
He’s covered in blood. My mind churns, fingers going cold as my palms start to sweat. I feel cold all over seconds later, as my gaze drops to his hand, where he’s holding the same chainsaw from before.
And worse still, it’s just as bloody as the rest of him.
He’s going to kill me.
And I’m pretty sure I’m too exhausted to do anything but stumble and wait for the end.
“I see you’ve been out enjoying the woods.” Jed’s words are mild, and a small smile hitches on his face. “Find anything good out there?”