Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
My mind won’t stop torturing me with thoughts of Troy when there’s nothing I can do to help him tonight.
I’m so afraid he’s already gone. What will the governors tell the cops?
I know they’re in their pocket and some are members, but killing someone isn’t the same as looking away from their drug dealing.
The most likely scenario is that they send them after me for murder.
I doubt they’d be able to admit I was a prisoner at the time.
Surely, they won’t want them to see the cells, right?
Does that mean they’ll leave Troy out of it, or will they get rid of the one person who really knows what happened?
I’d give anything in the world to know he’s still alive right now.
The knitting needles and halfway completed hat sit in my lap, forgotten as I stare out the window for the thousandth time.
Is the snow getting lighter? It looks like it might be.
Please, just stop. I’ve only been here for two days, but it feels like forever.
I can’t stand it. If there’s no other route out of here, waiting for the car isn’t going to be possible.
The only alternative I see is to abandon it here and walk until I can get to a bus station or any other way to reach the city quickly.
I have a coat and warmer clothes now. Once the storm is over, I’ll try to make it on foot.
There must be a spot where the creek narrows or gets shallow enough to wade through. I have to try.
I’m too jittery to concentrate on knitting or reading.
Alex pops out of his bedroom as I’m walking back downstairs.
“Could I borrow your phone book?” I ask.
“I need to look up an address.” Federal offices should be listed, and I’ll know which city to head toward to find the FBI.
Then I can grab my atlas out of the car and see how far I have to go.
For a split second, he looks upset at my question. “I don’t have one, sorry. Clover tore it up and the new ones haven’t been delivered yet.” He follows me into the kitchen.
“I don’t know anything about Kentucky. Which city are we closer to? Louisville or Lexington?”
“Louisville is a bit closer. You aren’t planning on Florida anymore?”
“I won’t have time to get down there and back. You know, before college starts again. I figured I could visit some museums or something before going back.”
He nods and his shoulders droop as he turns his back to open the dishwasher.
He almost seems disappointed. Maybe he’s been lonely out here and is actually glad to have some company.
“Bowling Green is only about a ninety-minute drive. It’s not quite as large but you could probably find things to do there. ”
“If it ever stops snowing.” I watch the flakes dance against the dark window.
“It can’t last much longer.”
I pick up the phone, hoping to hear a dial tone, but there’s nothing. “Still out.”
He nods silently and finishes unloading the dishwasher.
Something about him feels off. I mean, I don’t know him, but it seems like he’s in a mood. I’m not sure what to say. “I’ll make dinner if that’s okay?”
“Of course. What did you have in mind?”
I don’t care what we eat. I’m not even hungry, but I need something to do. “It doesn’t matter to me. You have the ingredients for chicken and rice with peppers and onions. Does that sound good?”
“Hell yes it does.”
He smiles at me, and things feel a little lighter again. Maybe I was imagining the mood. I’m too accustomed to monitoring the men around me to know when they’re at their most dangerous because they’ve had a bad day.
“Why don’t you have mirrors in the bathrooms?
” The question probably seems like it comes out of the blue, but I’ve been arguing with myself over whether to ask, maybe because I’m a little afraid of the answer.
Part of me thinks he’ll say vanity is a sin, which is ridiculous.
He hasn’t mentioned anything religious since I’ve been here. I’m sure there’s another reason.
He laughs and runs his hand over his mouth. “Because I’m a terrible procrastinator. I took them down to replace them with some wooden medicine cabinets I built but I haven’t got around to it.”
See? Perfectly reasonable explanation. “I hope you didn’t break them. That’s seven years of bad luck.”
“One cracked, but only a little. Maybe it caused one day of bad luck. I did stub my toe pretty hard right after that.”
“Oh, you’ve clearly paid your debt then.”
He excuses himself to go out and take care of the goats while I cook.
By the time we sit down to eat, I’ve already checked the phone for a dial tone two more times.
I’m going to drive myself crazy. No matter how much I tell myself that there’s no point in worrying when I can’t do anything, I can’t stop planning in my head.
What can I do now? I need to get in touch with some news stations before I talk to the feds, and Troy’s letter idea would be a good way to do that.
I suppose I could write them tonight. Tomorrow, once it’s light out, I’ll go get the atlas out of the car and see how to get to Bowling Green and Louisville.
I’m sure once I make it into town, I can borrow a phone book to see which one has an FBI office.
After that, I don’t know what to expect. Will they arrest me as soon as I tell them what I did to escape? Will they think I’m some crazy woman telling lies?
“Sybil.” Alex’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I jerk, knocking over my full glass of Coke.
“Shit, sorry!” I scramble to my feet to grab a few paper towels and soak it up.
“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry,” he says, using a dish towel to clean up what dripped on the floor. “I’ll get you another glass.”
“No, thank you. I’m finished anyway.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”
“I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll finish the knitting I was working on and go to bed.” I feel a sudden need to be alone with my growing anxiety. “Good night,” I mumble, and make a quick exit.
I get ready for bed then curl up in the recliner with a book.
I can’t focus on the words and end up staring out the frost covered window.
Tears spill down my cheeks. You’d think I’d be accustomed to nights of waiting while uncertainty and fear eat away at me.
How many nights have I lain awake with dread, wondering if I was going to be starved or beaten or humiliated in front of everyone? Worrying about Troy is worse.
A tap at the door makes me jump, and I quickly wipe my tears away. “Come in.”
Alex enters with a steaming cup. “I made some Sleepytime Tea and thought you might like a cup before bed. It’s supposed to be relaxing. I’ve never been able to tell a difference, honestly, but it’s caffeine free and tastes good.”
Alex is a sweet guy. Of course he could tell how rattled I was at dinner. He pauses when he gets closer to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine.” I’m sure my eyes are red and puffy. “Sleepytime Tea sounds good, thanks. It does usually relax me.” It’s been a few years, but Matron Ruth used to put it in my weekly rations box.
He places it on the nightstand and I ask, “Does the snow look like it’s tapering off to you?” Sometimes I think it does, then fat flakes will begin to fall again.
He stands at the window, watching for a few seconds. “I think so. The visibility is a little better.” There’s sadness in his eyes when he turns to me. “It’s almost over. It’s going to be okay.”
Of course he thinks that. To him, I’m just a stranded college student who’s stressed because my car’s broken down and the bridge is out.
Nothing about any of this is okay. Will my face be plastered all over the news as a murderer?
Will he see it and wonder what kind of psycho he rescued from the storm?
“I know,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Thanks for the tea.”
“You’re welcome. You know where I am if you need anything. Good night.”
After he leaves, I pick up the book again in one hand while mindlessly stirring the cup of tea with the other.
It’s too hot to drink so I try to read again.
Maybe hearing him say that it’ll be okay did help a little because I’m able to read a few chapters.
By the time I look up, another hour has passed.
The forgotten cup of tea is cold, but I’m tired anyway.
I turn out the light and crawl into bed, dozing off before my thoughts can get away from me again.
Snow falls in a thick curtain around me but for some reason, I can’t feel the cold. What am I doing out here? I was looking for something, wasn’t I? Was it the plastic bag of money? Why am I in the meadow?
The snow shifts and I see a slumped figure attached to the post in the center of the platform. A horrible dread turns my stomach. Somehow, I know it’s him.
“Troy.” My voice is whipped away on the wind and the snow gets deeper, trying to stop me before I can get to him. By the time I reach the steps to the platform, it’s up past my knees. I pull one leg out at a time until he’s only a few feet away.
Troy is chained to the post completely naked, his body dangling by his wrists. His eyes are closed and his lips are a startling blue color. No. “Troy, I’m here!”
I keep moving closer as the snow piles up around me, past my thighs and then my waist. I’m clawing and digging but not getting any closer.
The snow stops as if someone flipped a switch and shut it off.
I look up and let out a shriek at the sight of the man I love.
He dangles from the post, stiff and blue and completely encased in frost.
I’m too late. All I can do is scream his name again and again.
My own sobbing cry wakes me. Reality drips in gradually, letting the nightmare dissolve and my heartbeat slow. It felt so real. I heard my own voice when I wasn’t quite awake yet. I hope I didn’t call out too loudly and wake Alex.
The clock says it’s just past three in the morning. My mouth is dry and my throat feels raw. I need a glass of water and some time to shake the images of Troy, blue and frost covered, from my mind before I attempt to go back to sleep.
The house is quiet as I carry the cold cup of tea down to the kitchen and dump it in the sink.
I pour myself a glass of water and listen to the wind howling outside.
I can’t resist picking up the phone again, but of course it’s still dead.
They don’t have repairmen out in this, and they can’t even get down the road.
I’m not in any hurry to be alone in my room again.
Instead, I wander around a little. Alex keeps a dim lamp on in the corner of the living room which throws a tiny bit of light down the hallway.
I haven’t been down there, but I know his bedroom is at the end.
There’s another door on the left, and I’m curious.
Careful not to make a sound, I try the knob.
It turns easily but the door doesn’t budge.
Looking closer, I see a deadbolt lock has been installed above the handle.
That’s odd. He lives alone. Why would he need a deadbolt on any of his rooms?
Does he keep something valuable in there, maybe a safe or something?
The doorknob rattles and I jump back, my heart leaping into my throat. It takes me a second to realize it wasn’t the handle rattling, only the living room window shaking from a gust of wind. I’m just creeping myself out.
At least I didn’t scream or spill my water. I can hear Clover’s nails tapping across the hardwood in the living room, and she follows me back upstairs. When she whines a little, I reach down to pet her. “Can’t sleep either? I’m glad for the company.”
There are two other doors that share the hallway with the guest room I’m using. Until now, I haven’t given any thought to what’s behind them. I flip the hallway light on to see there aren’t any locks like the room downstairs.
“What’s in here, girl?” I whisper to Clover, who only wags her tail.
I turn the handle slowly and ease the door open a few inches at a time, then stick my head in to find another guest room.
It’s smaller, with a twin bed and no bathroom attached.
Which is why he said he put me in the one at the end of the hall in the first place.
I close the door and stop at the one right beside the room I’m staying in. He’s never specifically told me not to go in these rooms, but for some reason, it feels sneaky. Still, I can’t resist.
This one isn’t a bedroom. Light spills from the hallway to show walls lined with shelves on each end of the room, but I can’t tell what’s on them.
I don’t see a switch for the overhead light, and I don’t want to feel around for it, but it doesn’t matter.
I can see two large objects near the back wall. Both are draped in sheets.
Clover trots happily into the room, glancing back as if to ask what I’m waiting for. “I’m coming. You’re a bad influence. No wonder I like you.”
I take a sip of my water and lick my dry lips.
All right, just one peek then back to bed.
Snooping around has been a good distraction and made me stop focusing on the nightmare.
I set my water down on a small table and approach the objects.
Careful not to jar them—the last thing I want to do is knock something over—I slowly pull the sheet off.
“Can’t sleep?” Alex asks, from right behind me.
My body reacts like it was touched with a live wire and a sound escapes me, followed quickly by the word no, like my brain is in pure denial that I’ve been caught. “Aah no!”
Alex steps back, holding his palms toward me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He walks over to turn on a lamp. He looks tired, standing there in a tee shirt and pajama pants with his hair mussed.
“I’m sorry. I just got the wrong door and then I was curious.” My words trail off. I don’t have a good excuse.
“Don’t apologize. I told you to make yourself at home. This is my hobby room. It doesn’t get used much since I lost interest in painting. It’s more of a storage room now. You’re welcome to give it a try while you’re here. I still have all the supplies.”
With the lamp on, it’s clear one of the covered objects is an easel and the other is a stack of canvases. There’s nothing creepy about it. What a way to embarrass myself. “Yeah, maybe. I should get back to bed though.”
“Would you like another cup of tea or maybe warm milk?”
I force a yawn. “No thanks, I’m fine. Good night.”
I don’t dare ask him about the locked room tonight, but when I return to bed, I keep wondering about it. Grandma always told me women had intuition and not to ignore it.
Something just doesn’t seem right.