detachment, that she was not a quivering mass, twitching nervously, eyes darting around her all the time. All her painful tension was on the inside. Outside she was soft, still, quiet. Her soul and her body barely touched. And, except for a moment of weakness the night he had caught her, she had never let him see her cry. And she never would.
Devan woke in the hazy light of late afternoon and realized, after a few dozy moments, that she was alone in the cabin. Hard and sudden, anxiety struck her. She tried to keep it vague, keep it at a distance, not put it into words or images, but she couldn’t keep away from the thought that it was Conrad. That he was close. That he’d done something to Vaughn. She felt a strange, urgent concern for Vaughn. Even telling herself she was being paranoid, she was compelled to find him, just to prove everything was all right. She checked his room and the bathroom, just to be sure she wasn’t imagining the total, disconcerting silence that meant he wasn’t there with her, then she 87
peered out the windows, one after another, scanning the perimeter of the house, hoping to find Vaughn returning from a walk in the woods, or doing some chore outside. But there was no sign of him.
A sickening dread took hold of her. But it was silly. Everything was fine, there was no reason to fret just because Vaughn had left the cabin. The man had a right to get out, get some air, move around.
But she couldn’t get Conrad out of her mind, couldn’t stop picturing him closing on her, on them, doing something to Vaughn to get him out of the way and take her back with him.
Frightened as she was of Vaughn, she couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt on her account.
In a fever of anxiety Devan bolted out the back door. As soon as the chill afternoon air hit her face, her arms, seeped in through the thin t-shirt she was wearing, her hysteria ebbed and she was left with quiet terror. It was pointless to go traipsing off into the woods in hopes of finding Vaughn. He might have gone in any direction, he could be anywhere, close or far. The only little thing for her to do was to circle the bit of clearing there by the cabin, then go back inside. And wait.
Of course he wasn’t chopping wood, or near the septic system, or the generator.
The final possibility was the little outbuilding on the north edge of the clearing. She had no faith that he was there, but the task of checking, at least, would delay her return to the cabin and her solitary wait there. As she turned toward the little building one fat, heavy drop of rain pelted her cheek, cold and hard. In that second, as she felt the icy wetness slide down her cheek, she felt a new twinge of fear, and suddenly she was 88
terrified to approach the shack. Like she was bound to find something awful there. Or be found there. But this was dumb, too, just like her terror over Vaughn’s un-extraordinary absence.
Just fucking go and see if he’s there, and when he’s not, just go back and read or something ‘til he gets back .
She went up the few steps to the door and knocked. Then listened. Then knocked again. Rain was splatting on her back and shoulders, tumbling noisily on the roof, thumping softly into the dirt and plants. She knocked again. The longer she waited, the more desperately she needed to see inside, even as she felt like she was watching a bad horror film, shouting at the screen, no, idiot, just go back to the house! She tried the door. Of course it was unlocked. She opened it, actually hoping to hear Vaughn shouting at her to get the fuck out and leave him alone. But it was dark and quiet inside.
She called Vaughn’s name in a pathetic, questioning tone and the expected silence came back to her. She was sure now. Positive that something was wrong. She just felt it. Dying of fear she stepped inside among the vague forms lining the walls, barely lit by the fading daylight sifting through the dirty windows. She was too focused,
Devan woke in the hazy light of late afternoon and realized, after a few dozy moments, that she was alone in the cabin. Hard and sudden, anxiety struck her. She tried to keep it vague, keep it at a distance, not put it into words or images, but she couldn’t keep away from the thought that it was Conrad. That he was close. That he’d done something to Vaughn. She felt a strange, urgent concern for Vaughn. Even telling herself she was being paranoid, she was compelled to find him, just to prove everything was all right. She checked his room and the bathroom, just to be sure she wasn’t imagining the total, disconcerting silence that meant he wasn’t there with her, then she 87
peered out the windows, one after another, scanning the perimeter of the house, hoping to find Vaughn returning from a walk in the woods, or doing some chore outside. But there was no sign of him.
A sickening dread took hold of her. But it was silly. Everything was fine, there was no reason to fret just because Vaughn had left the cabin. The man had a right to get out, get some air, move around.
But she couldn’t get Conrad out of her mind, couldn’t stop picturing him closing on her, on them, doing something to Vaughn to get him out of the way and take her back with him.
Frightened as she was of Vaughn, she couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt on her account.
In a fever of anxiety Devan bolted out the back door. As soon as the chill afternoon air hit her face, her arms, seeped in through the thin t-shirt she was wearing, her hysteria ebbed and she was left with quiet terror. It was pointless to go traipsing off into the woods in hopes of finding Vaughn. He might have gone in any direction, he could be anywhere, close or far. The only little thing for her to do was to circle the bit of clearing there by the cabin, then go back inside. And wait.
Of course he wasn’t chopping wood, or near the septic system, or the generator.
The final possibility was the little outbuilding on the north edge of the clearing. She had no faith that he was there, but the task of checking, at least, would delay her return to the cabin and her solitary wait there. As she turned toward the little building one fat, heavy drop of rain pelted her cheek, cold and hard. In that second, as she felt the icy wetness slide down her cheek, she felt a new twinge of fear, and suddenly she was 88
terrified to approach the shack. Like she was bound to find something awful there. Or be found there. But this was dumb, too, just like her terror over Vaughn’s un-extraordinary absence.
Just fucking go and see if he’s there, and when he’s not, just go back and read or something ‘til he gets back .
She went up the few steps to the door and knocked. Then listened. Then knocked again. Rain was splatting on her back and shoulders, tumbling noisily on the roof, thumping softly into the dirt and plants. She knocked again. The longer she waited, the more desperately she needed to see inside, even as she felt like she was watching a bad horror film, shouting at the screen, no, idiot, just go back to the house! She tried the door. Of course it was unlocked. She opened it, actually hoping to hear Vaughn shouting at her to get the fuck out and leave him alone. But it was dark and quiet inside.
She called Vaughn’s name in a pathetic, questioning tone and the expected silence came back to her. She was sure now. Positive that something was wrong. She just felt it. Dying of fear she stepped inside among the vague forms lining the walls, barely lit by the fading daylight sifting through the dirty windows. She was too focused,
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