Nice Girls(85)

But as soon as I reached the line of trees, my heart started pounding again, violent and desperate.

In my glove, the cell phone’s GPS had calmed down. I was walking in the right direction. Once I entered the forest, I would head in a straight shot until I eventually reached John Stack’s property.

I stopped about a yard from the woods. I couldn’t see very far inside. The trees, towering from above, seemed to taper off into the distance, becoming nothing but shadow.

I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, my limbs aching to run back to the car, the house, the bed. And I would later wake up and realize that everything had been one awful dream.

But the cold was real. Everything was real. I tilted back my head, looking up at the empty sky. I let out a long breath, watching the cloud of warm air float up into nothingness. And then I walked in.

In the woods, the snow on the ground was pliant, as if the bulk of it had been filtered by the treetops. It was a little past noon, but the forest was dim. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized how quiet it was. Each crunch of the snow seemed to crackle for too long, each flap of a bird’s wings swishing too close. I dimmed the brightness on my phone until it was barely visible, keeping it huddled against my chest.

My entire body was pulsing. I could make out the jagged edges of a large rock and the brambly little spikes of a bush. But there were other shadows that I couldn’t quite place, menacing ones that seemed to crop up every few feet.

Any one of them could be John Stack.

My body seemed to move on its own, one reluctant step after the other.

My mind was racing, the thoughts colliding into each other like sparks: I had to go back, I had nowhere to go back to, there was only Kevin and jail, and I was a coward, and she was right, Olivia was right.

I continued on, my body shivering from the seeping cold air. The GPS showed that I was only a quarter of a mile away. And then I heard something in the wind—a soft twinkle of bells. As I got closer, I could make out a large husk in the distance, peeking over the white mounds of snow. Whereas the trees were gray and tall, the husk was pale and squat.

It was a cabin.

I stumbled behind the nearest tree, crouching down beneath it. With my phone, I zoomed in on the cabin, snapping feverishly. The photos appeared grainy and blurry. I was too far away.

I trampled through the snow with light steps, my body slightly hunched down. There was no sound or smoke or light coming from the cabin. On a Monday, John Stack had to be at work.

Up close, it was a delicate little cabin, darker than the snow but lighter than the trees. The cabin was a washed-out gray. The snow appeared unbroken on the ground, no car tracks or footsteps nearby. A firepit sat in the open, dusted with snow. There was a small shack next to it. The place looked innocuous, like any other cabin up north, where a family would visit each summer.

When I finally saw a door, I stopped and crouched down behind a brambly bush. I was a hundred feet away. With my phone, I zoomed in closer. The image was still grainy and dark, but I could make out more details. I was at the backside of John Stack’s cabin, staring at a single screen door that led to the interior. There was a coppery red curtain behind it. A wind chime hung nearby, tinkling gently in the breeze. A rake and a shovel leaned outside against the wall.

There was an object sitting several feet away from the backyard, closer to me.

It was a tree stump with an ax lodged in its top.

I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. I rose from the bush, trying to take clear pictures of the ax with my phone. My hands were shaking.

But I noticed the window at the other end of the cabin. I zoomed in on it, trying to keep the cell phone steady. The camera view was pitch-black, nothing visible from the inside.

Until a pale face flashed in the window.

I froze, my heart pounding in my ears.

The door suddenly screeched. Someone was coming out of the cabin.

I turned, trying to run. My feet couldn’t seem to move fast enough. I heard heavy footsteps behind me, bashing through the snow. I wanted to turn around, but I kept moving. I couldn’t risk slowing down.

And somehow I was slipping.

I smashed into the snow face-first. I was blinded by the white flakes, the cold streaming under my jacket. There was a weight on top of my back, massive and heavy. I felt a pair of hands locking my arms on the ground.

I screamed.

And everything went black.





42




My head was pounding when I woke up. I felt unbearably hot and sticky. I wasn’t even wearing my jacket, but it was so, so hot.

I was lying on a hard surface. A radiator hummed behind me. The room was dark except for a crack of light that slipped through a window. I tried to move, but I felt my wrists chafe against rope. I tasted fabric in my mouth and started to gag, the saliva pooling. But the fabric stayed put.

I was tied up on the floor, trapped inside the cabin.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw the outline of a couch, a coffee table, and a kitchen island far behind it.

I wasn’t alone. There was a shadow standing behind the island. A cloud of steam floated up in front of him, drifting into the dark. John Stack was sipping from a mug, watching me.

I felt the tears start to drip from my eyes, hard and fast.

John Stack took a long slurp from his mug. His face was hidden.

“Hello, Mary,” he said. His voice was lighter than usual. He sounded pleasant and warm, as if the two of us were catching up. “You were quite the surprise.”