“Next?” I study it. There are no rings I could try to twist open, no rusted spots that look prone to breaking. I kick it as hard as I can at the base. Nothing happens. I do it again kicking as hard as I can. All that happens is that dust falls on me from the ceiling. Rust not dust, I realize. I stare up and kick again. It’s not a lot, but there is some give where the pipe connects to the ceiling.

Maybe there was another level or a loft or something up there at one point. Whatever it is, the connection seems to be weak or broken on the other side of the ceiling. That’s where the weakest part is.

I jump up and get the rocking chair so I can stand on it to reach higher. Then I slide the chain up as high as I can, grab it, and hop off the chair, using the force of my jump to add to the pull of the chain. I keep it held taut, so the chain doesn’t slide back down, and wrap it around my whole body so it’s my whole weight pulling against the pipe.

It creaks. The pipe creaks. It’s a nails-on-chalkboards noise, but it sounds utterly and completely beautiful to me.

I keep working on the pipe—frantically because I have no idea how long Reid will be gone. Rust is raining all over the floor, and sweat drips down my neck. The pipe is working loose of the ceiling. After about twenty minutes, a loud clank sounds as the pipe comes free of whatever it was attached to above or in the ceiling.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I climb back onto the rocking chair, stretch my hands up, and grab the pipe. I pull and it gives until there is a gap between the pipe and the ceiling.

Again, I stand on the chair, and this time I slip the chain through the gap. It works, and the heavy loop falls to the floor with a clatter. I smile and mutter, “Screw you, Reid.”

I drape the chain over my arm. The last thing I want is for it to snag on something. I have no idea how long I have until he returns. It could be minutes, or hours, or days.

I rush to the door and try to open it. I hear the clank of the lock straining against the hinge.

I try the plywood on every window, but without a crowbar, there’s no way I’m getting out of those. My heart sinks. I’m free of the chain, but that doesn’t mean I’m free of the cabin.

“Weapons,” I announce. “Or cell phone.”

The first thing I check is the black bag. There are a few clothing items, some snacks, and a bottle of water. I’m dry mouthed, but I don’t know if the water is drugged. Luckily, a can of soda is in the bag too, so I pop the top and drink. Whatever Reid used to drug me has left my mouth feeling worse than a hangover does, and my head throbs. I chug about half the can while I search the bag. There’s nothing useful in it though.

I search the cabin, opening the fridge, the crates, and going into the second room—which is a bedroom, complete with a bed and dresser. I stop and stare at it. He didn’t have to force me to sleep next to him like he did. He didn’t need to drug me. I hate him more in that moment. I thought I was full up on hate, but seeing this adds to it.

By the time I’m done searching, my inventory of possible weapons includes a lightweight pot and pan, the chain itself, a lantern, and the burners from the stove. None of them are great weapons, but it’s better than nothing. My phone was nowhere to be found.

I gather my weapons beside the door and sit there to wait for his return. I’ll hear him, and then I’ll stand and attack. I can do this. I will do this. If I don’t, he’ll chain me up again, or simply kill me. I’m not letting any of that happen.

I sit, and I wait. After what feels like at least an hour, I hear him pull up. I grab the lantern. It’s the heaviest of my options. If I bash him in the head, maybe that’ll knock him out.

My body feels tense and ready like it does before a race. Then I hear a voice. Eva. She found me. It’s not Reid outside. It’s Eva.

Another car pulls up.

I can’t see anything, but I know that a second car could be Reid. I’m trapped inside, and Eva is out there with a madman. There’s nothing I can do but wait. If he drags her in here, I’ll just have to be sure I hit him hard.

DAY 15: “THE KILLER”

Eva

WHEN REID PULLS UP outside a small shack, I can’t decide if I’m more afraid or relieved. Nate’s truck is coming up behind us as I steady myself for what comes next. I don’t think Reid understands that no amount of explanation will change my acceptance. He’s a killer. I’m not going to ride off into the sunset with him. The best-case scenario here is that he survives the next half hour.

“We can’t stay here. I hoped we could for a little while, but that won’t work . . . unless we kill Bouchet.” Reid twists his body so he’s face-to-face with me. “I can do it.”

“No. Neither of us will kill Nate.” My hand tightens on the pistol, fearing that he’ll try to take it.

Instead, Reid sighs. “Fine. We can get Grace and then shoot him in the knees or something.”

My mouth drops open, but I don’t even know how to formulate a reply. After almost an hour of listening to Reid describe killing and the things he did when he was alone in his room with pictures of me, I feel like no amount of bathing will ever get the disgust off of my skin.

“Grace is in there?” I ask.

“Locked in safely,” Reid answers. “Do you want me to go get her?”

“Please.”

“As you wish.” Reid gets out of the car with his keys in hand, and without a look behind him, he walks to the little cabin. I hear the keys on his ring jangle as he sorts through them.