“I think God, or the serpent, or… some combination of biblical characters,” I return, starting the car back up.
She smiles faintly but doesn’t respond.
A short time later, I pull off the dusty road we've been traveling and roll to a stop in front of the barred metal gate. As I put the car in park, I notice Annabelle cutting glances at me out of the
corner of my eye.
"We're here," I say, reaching over and grabbing the bag from the gas station.
"Okay," she says, not sounding terribly confident.
I guess looking at it from her perspective, the guy who just told her he'd been contracted to murder her drove her out into the middle of nowhere and is now telling her to follow him into a wooded area with no cottage in sight.
"How far is it?" she asks as she closes her passenger door.
"About a half hour, maybe 40 minutes if you're slow."
That's what I told her, because that was the truth in my experience.
Over an hour later when we still weren't there, I learned Annabelle was not the outdoorsy type.
Stumbling over a branch that was camouflaged by wet leaves, Annabelle catches herself on the soggy ground and blows out a breath of frustration as she pushes herself back up. "Is it much farther?" she grinds out.
Cracking a smile, I glance back at her. She's frazzled and cold and sweaty at the same time. Her pale cheeks are flushed and she looks so damn cute, I kinda wish she didn’t hate me so I could give her a kiss.
Shaking my head, I continue on. "Should only be a few more minutes."
Luckily the path is a little clearer here, and we make it to the cabin about 15 minutes later.
It's a simple cottage—ramshackle wood construction with a stone chimney. There's no heat to the thing, so it's only warmed by the fireplace and lit by the candles and oil lantern. It has windows, but they're cloudy and the whole place is obviously dark, since I haven't been here. There's a small clearing in front of the house and a little creek with a crude footbridge.
I steal a glance at her and she looks nervous. When she notices me looking, her expression clears and she takes a few steps, heading over the footbridge ahead of me.
"We made it," she says brightly.
I wonder what she thinks about it. The house she grew up in was obviously nice and big, but then Paul bought them that little box. Still, it was probably twice the size of this cottage.
"It's gonna be chilly," I warn her, catching up and drawing the keys out of my pocket, working the cottage key off my key ring. There's not much point in a lock clear out here, but I have one anyway. Can't be too careful when it comes to being prepared for the unexpected. Suppose someone did find me out here—at least I'd have another minute to react.
"I'll leave this here with you. It's the only key, so you'll have to let me in when I come back."
She nods her head, hugging herself as we walk through the door.
"You probably shouldn't wander too far from the cottage though. Doesn't seem like you're..."
I don't want to say she's completely incapable of surviving in the wilderness, but she's already nodding, because she's discovered the same thing about herself in the last hour and a half.
"I won't."
It's pretty dark at this point, so she waits by the door while I find the lantern. Once it's lit, I pull a full box of candles out of one of the cupboards and drop it on the short stretch of counter.
Annabelle comes inside slowly, checking it out. It's still pretty dark in the corners, but she can see to get around. It's not much. A red flannel-print couch with a rough wood end table and lantern next to it. A table with a single chair, for eating alone. The kitchen isn't much of a kitchen without power—some cupboards with pots and dishes, a couple of drawers, some utensils, some matches and flashlights and tools. Beside the counter is a case of bottled water and a box full of toilet paper.
She opens the cupboards one by one, and finally finds some food in the third one. Not a ton of food, but some granola bars, a half-eaten jar of peanut butter, a bag of flour, saltine crackers, half a dozen cans of tomato soup.
"I'll bring you some bread tomorrow," I tell her.
She nods, lips pressed together in what I can only call a brave face.