Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
The last dress I’ll ever wear.
And have been wearing for three days already.
When I come out, he’s not even in the hallway. I find him sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, his head in his hands, like he’s tired.
When he hears me, he turns. Then stands and steps aside, indicating that I should go back down the hallway that leads to the library. That leads to my prison.
I’ve failed. I know this. But when he opens the trapdoor and silently motions for me to go down, I fully internalize it. “Please.” I turn to him, grab him by the collar of his t-shirt, and go up on my tiptoes so I can look him straight in the eyes. “Please. Do not leave me here to rot and die. Do not leave me here to decay. You don’t have to do this! I swear, I will not tell anyone about you. I’ll never mention you again. I don’t even know your name!”
He slowly, but deliberately, pries my hands off his shirt. “It’s over, Clover. I’m sorry. I’ve done all I can.”
I want to scream at him now. Because he hasn’t. He hasn’t done all he can. If he had, I wouldn’t be standing here begging him not to kill me.
But there’s no point. I can see his resolve in those brown eyes of his. He won’t be swayed.
He’s made up his mind.
So I just sigh, and turn, pulling my hands from his grip.
And then I go back down into my dungeon.
He closes the door before I’m even at the bottom of the steps.
CHAPTER 8 - RIGGS
Iwill not feel guilty about this. I refuse. It’s not my fault that she showed up and saw my face. It’s not my fault that I had to lock her up. And I’m not saying it’s her fault either. It’s just… bad luck. That’s it. I was here, I thought I was safe because the house pretty much looks abandoned. Clearly, if I had known she was in the process of getting fired and kicked out of her cottage, I would’ve left and never come back.
But that’s not how it played out. It happened the way it happened. A classic case of wrong time, wrong place.
So I do not feel guilty when I walk out of the room and get back to work.
I leave the house, go to the control room I’ve set up in a nearby underground access tunnel, and spent the next four hours finishing what I started.
When I’m done it’s very dark.
I go back to the house, make one last cursory check that I’m not leaving anything behind, wipe down all possible surfaces that might have my prints on them, and I’m just about to pull the back door closed behind me… when I stop.
“Fuck.” I mutter this under my breath as I look at my feet. She hasn’t eaten anything more than one bite of an MRE in nearly three days.
The least I can do is see if she wants food.
She’s probably gonna say no, and whatever. That’s fine. But I will have gone above and beyond anything she actually deserves and I can leave here with a completely clear conscience.
A long sigh escapes. I just really want to get home and get my life back on track.
But I go back in, and open the trapdoor, and peer down.
She’s turned the lights off, so I can’t see her. But I don’t care about that either.
“Have you come to gloat? What could you possibly want now?” Her voice is raspy and low. Which isn’t my fault, either. I left her two cases of water.
“I’m about to leave, Clover. Do you want some food?”
She lets out a long breath and I’m fully expecting her to start a fight and tell me to go fuck myself. But to my surprise she says, “Yes, please.”
“Yes?”
She scoffs. “You were hoping for a no, I take it?”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I’ll be back.” Then I close the door, lock it back up, and leave.
I used her car to go into Fayetteville to buy the lock, so I guess it’s fine to use it one more time. I unhitched the trailer the last time I took it, so it’s not even that hard to pull it out onto the highway and head south.
There is a diner in Revenant, and I look at it as I pass, but I don’t stop there. I’m sure they are used to all kinds of tourists and strangers coming in to eat, but I’m not taking any chances that someone might remember me.
My entire future hinges on getting this job done right.
So I drive to Fayetteville, order two burger meals, and drive back to the house. The food is cold by the time I bring it inside and put it on the table, but whatever. I’m sure she won’t care.