Chapter 6

I stared straight ahead, keeping my expression neutral. "You're not coming with me. I've helped you this far. Now you're on your own."

 His shoulders sagged. "I won't survive. If I don't give them what they want, they'll kill me!"

 "I don't care," I said coldly. "You're not my responsibility anymore. Besides you'll survive longer if you aren't around me."

 For a moment, he just stared at me, hurt and disbelief in his eyes. Then, slowly, he opened the door and slid out. Before shutting it, he said quietly, "I thought we were a team."

 "We've known each other for less than twenty-four hours. Snap out of it, Marcel," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

 As I drove away, I didn't stop thinking about him. I hoped he'd use the money I gave him to disappear, to escape whoever was after him.

 He'd be better off without me.

Eventually, I spotted a dirt path cutting into the woods on my left. Stuart's note had said, 'first clearing into the woods on the left' so this had to be it.

 Deeper into the forest, I doubted if I had made the right turn as I drove with no sign of the cabin. But after nearly half an hour of twisting roads, the cabin finally came into view.

 I parked the car near the porch and stepped out. The cabin's weathered wood exterior looked like it had endured decades of storms. The porch creaked under my weight as I climbed the steps.

 The interior was unexpectedly breathtaking. A spacious lounge stretched out before me, with four armchairs surrounding a polished wooden table near a stone fireplace. To the left was a small bar, and to the right, an open kitchen.

 A narrow hallway led to two doors—probably bedrooms—and another at the end that seemed to open to the side of the cabin. A ladder climbed to an open loft bedroom above. But what caught my eye was the wall of glass at the back of the lounge, offering a stunning view of the forest and a hill in the distance.

 I entered one bedroom down the hall.

The first thing I checked for—carefully avoiding my reflection—was a mirror. There was one, small and mounted on the wall. I grabbed a towel from my bag and draped it over the glass without a single glance at it.

 Standing by the window, I let out a slow breath. The thick trees stretched endlessly into the horizon, their shadows darkening as night approached.

 I unpacked my bag, arranging my clothes in the wardrobe.

 When I finished, I flopped onto the bed. The mattress squeaked under me. I yawned in exhaustion. The hunger in my stomach merged with the weariness of two sleepless nights.

 Even as I closed my eyes, I thought if this was the end of bloodshed, or the beginning of another whole series.

When I woke, I stretched and flexed my stiff muscles. Moving to the window, I stared out and watched as the dry breeze made the trees sway lazily.

 I hated midyear. It was always this way—hot, dry, and suffocating.

 In the kitchen, I looked through the cabinet and grabbed a packaged noodle casserole with sauce. After tossing it into the microwave, I leaned against the counter, waiting. My stomach churned impatiently, a dull ache that reminded me I hadn't eaten since yesterday.

 I poured a glass of water, gulping it down to ease my parched throat.

 As the microwave worked, my gaze wandered across the cabin. The silence that hung heavy in the air told me, once again, I was alone. Maybe this was the beginning of another eight lonely years.

 I tried to convince myself that letting Marcel go had been the right choice. He was better off, far away from me.

 * * *

A week passed in a blur. With the kitchen stocked with supplies, my days settled into a routine: eat, sleep, and watch the sunset.

 On the seventh day, I wanted to do something else—different from the usual routines. I found myself slouched in one of the lounge chairs, a book I'd pulled from the corridor shelf resting in my lap. It was the first book I'd touched since arriving here, but my mind struggled to stay focused.

 I yawned widely, my eyes threatening to close. I couldn't tell if the book was boring or if I simply lacked the enthusiasm to read.

 As I slumped lower on the couch, my eyes closed in sleep, eventually, but I couldn't tell how long was the nap as the sudden, strident ringing snapped me from my daze. The telephone on the table blared insistently. I snatched the receiver, pressing it to my ear.

 "Hello?" I said.

 Nothing. Perhaps, breathing was what I heard.

 The silence on the other end was unnerving, a stillness so profound I almost thought it was deliberate.

 "Hello?" I tried again, but there was no response.

 After a moment, I replaced the receiver, frowning. Maybe it was a mistake or someone trying to reach the cabin's previous occupant. Still, it unsettled me.

 A knock at the door cut through my thoughts.

 I froze, my mind scrambling to think who it could be.

 Marcel?

 No, that was impossible. He didn't know where I was.

 The police?

 Maybe they'd somehow tracked me here.

 I moved toward the door cautiously, bracing myself for whatever—or whoever—was on the other side.

 When I opened it, there was no one. I stepped onto the porch and glanced to either side. Even the woods were empty, the only movement the rustling leaves, and the only sound the chirping of unseen birds.

 At my feet was a swollen brown envelope.

 I crouched and picked it up, glancing around again as unease prickled at the back of my neck. Tearing it open, I found a familiar bundle of cash inside.

 I hurried down the porch steps, scanning the surrounding, but again, the forest revealed no sign of anyone. Whoever had left the envelope was long gone. It was them again.The mysterious person who had been dropping envelopes in my mailbox every Saturday for years.

 They'd followed me here.

 I hurried back inside. The cool air blew in a low whistle. I dropped into a rickety chair at the kitchen table, clutching the envelope in a shaky grip.

 The telephone rang again. I stared at it for a moment. The old rotary dial reminded me of mine back home. I snatched up the receiver and pressed it to my ear. "Hello?" I said, my voice barely steady.

 "Josette?" A shaky and breathless voice came through.

 "Stuart? Are you—"

 "You have to run, Jo. Get out of there!"

 "What?" I gripped the phone tighter. "Stuart, what's going on? Are you okay? What do you—"

 The line went dead.

 The quietness hovering on the other end made me shudder. My eyes darted around the room. I didn't know where to go. I didn't know anyone. But I couldn't stay here any minute longer.

 The small space of my bedroom smelled of tangerine and cold wood, but the latter is probably from the plant a yard away from my window. I reached for the two bags I brought. My hands trembled slightly as I packed what little I came with into the bag I had unpacked clothes from into the wardrobe.

 Minutes later, I was in my car. The sun dipped behind the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with deep orange and violet hues.

 Usually by this time, I would be sitting on my porch and watching the sky. It reminded me that some things could still be beautiful and harmless altogether. Unlike me.

 My mind whirled like a storm.

 Maybe someone attacked Stuart and forced him into telling them where I was… but who?

 Suddenly, the car jerked violently. A loud crunch followed with a faint burst as the steering wheel wrenched in my grip. The tires screeched in protest as I struggled to keep the car on the road.

 After I brought it to a stop, I calmed my pounding heart and threw the door open. I crouched to inspect the damage.

 All four tires deflated.

 My eyes traced the road behind. Spikes, half-hidden in the gravel a few meters away. A deliberate trap meant they knew I'd pass that road and were waiting.

 Heavy boots crunched the gravel as four men emerged from the forest, spreading out as they made their way toward me. I glanced at the forest beside me, but there was a possibility that more of them were hiding there. I'd just be wasting energy.

 The others had stopped, but one of them took a few steps forward before stopping.

 He had a prominent jawline with rough lips, and a full dark hair that had streaks of gray. The Mustache he wore covering his thin lips fused with his rough beard, and his broad shoulders were almost a horizontal line. "Hi there," he spoke, not as hoarsely as I imagined him to.

 "Who are you?" I asked, trying my best to remain calm. Fear excites predators, and I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me cringe.

 His head tilted to a side while his eyes studied me. "Josette Andrews?"

 I furrowed my brows. "How do you know my name?"

 His thin lips curving into an unsettling smile baffled me even further, "You've grown so much." He said.

 The way he ignored my questions stretched my patience thin. Silence hung between us. The man's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it widened, like he was enjoying the sight of my confusion.

 "If you're trying to creep me out," I shook my head. "It's not working."

 "Now," he took a few steps forward, "That's no way to greet old friends, is it?"

 Old friends? My lashes fluttered in disbelief. I backed a few steps, trying to keep the distance between us.

 This time, he pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly again. "Now that is unfortunate. But it has been… what? Ten years? A considerable amount of time has passed, and yes, people change, but not as much that you forget you knew them."

 Ten years, he said. When I look back into my life before eight years ago, it's a void as I cannot recollect any of it.

 He took his hand into the pocket of his jacket. I drew back further and almost lost my balance. However, when he pulled his hand out, it was holding a photograph and not a weapon as I had thought.

 He positioned it so I could get a good view.

 It was me, but in a much younger version, probably eleven or twelve years old, with a smile plastered on my face. My hair was tied up in a ponytail alongside a braid, and in my hands, I was clutching onto a stuffed bunny.

 "How did you get that?" I found it hard to speak, feeling my throat tighten. "What do you want from me?"

 In a soft voice, he let out a laugh. "Oh, Josette." He sighed as he shook his head. "You are the key, and I'm surprised that you haven't realized that yet."

 The others who stood behind him appeared somewhat stiff.

 One of them, well-built and had a shaved head, spoke up for the first time. "We must leave now." He said.

 The tall man with the beard nodded as his eyes remained fixed on mine. "Indeed." Then, addressing me, he said, "We've waited long enough, Josette. Come with us."

 I quickly interjected, "I have no intentions of going anywhere with you."

 "Well," his countenance became solemn, "I was not posing a question."

 In a blink, two of the men reached me. I remember one of them shoving his elbow into my face and my vision faded.