Chapter Five
Iwoke from a fitful dream about my sister.
She’d gone over to my apartment to feed Oliver, and he’d shriveled down into nothing but skin and bones.
All his ribs were poking out of his side.
She ran from room to room, yelling for me to come help her with the dog, and I kept calling out to her, but she couldn’t hear me.
It was so awful, and I woke up crying in my sleep. The pillow soaked in my tears.
Dawson was propped up next to the fire. It had finally dwindled to embers.
I studied him as he sat there with his head tilted to the side.
He wore his ski mask again, but he’d taken off some of his other clothes.
His boots set by the door and his flannel was draped over one of the chairs.
For a second, I thought he was asleep, but then he cracked his knuckles and stretched his legs out straight in front of him.
Did he plan to stay awake forever? Or maybe time was moving in slow motion and barely any had passed since I woke before. It was impossible to tell. The concussion kept me so confused. He had no clue I’d seen him with his mask off and knew exactly who he was. Could I use that to my advantage?
His phone buzzed and jolted him to attention.
He yanked it from his pocket. His thumb flew across the screen.
His eyes darted back and forth as he read.
Then, with a sharp exhale, he shoved the phone away like he was mad at it and laid it on his left thigh.
He sat there for a few more minutes, angrily drumming his fingers on his other leg like he was thinking hard.
Angry tension filled the air. Suddenly, he jumped up and went to the front door.
There was a backpack sitting next to his boots, and he crouched down by it, unzipping it as fast as he could.
He paused and quickly glanced around the cabin like he was afraid of being watched, even though it was just us in this one-room prison.
Except what if we weren’t alone? I’d never once stopped to consider that he might be working with somebody else. Were there cameras?
I wanted to get up and move. Shift from my position so that I could look for cameras, but I didn’t dare.
I was invested in pretending to be nearly dead from my concussion for as long as possible.
I thought about all the people who were looking for me by now.
My parents would be terrified. They’d be calling all my relatives and organizing search parties.
Also, fighting. There was a reason they got divorced when I was five, but this crisis would bring them together the same way we all came together on the holidays.
Thankfully, Big Bear was only a two-hour drive from Los Angeles when there was no traffic.
Somebody would find me soon. I just had to stay alive long enough until they did.
I barely breathed while he rifled through the backpack.
He pulled out a thick folder. The corners were bent and frayed like the folder had been through a lot.
It was stuffed with loose papers. He flipped it open, muttering to himself as he shuffled through the pages.
Was he looking at numbers? Maps? I couldn’t make out anything on them from across the room, but I saw the way his lips moved.
He was counting and reciting something like a student drilling himself for finals.
He pulled out another sheet and then stopped. He sat there, holding it out in front of him, and stared at it for a long time before crumpling it in his fist and tossing it on the ground.
“Never again,” he said, clenching his jaw. “They’re going to pay attention to me this time.”
He shoved the papers back in the folder and jammed the folder into the backpack, zipping it shut with a violent tug. He walked over to the table and pressed his fists against it while he stood there taking slow, rigid breaths. I wished he wasn’t wearing a mask so I could see his facial expression.
Was grabbing me connected to whatever was in those papers?
My mind reeled, trying to imagine anything I might’ve done to make him want to hurt me, but I’d already been down that path before and found nothing.
The only thing I knew for sure was that this wasn’t random.
Was I at the end of his rage or just the beginning?