watched as he circled twice and slumped to
the ground.
“What- ever ,” Cass whispered. “Stupid wolf.”
For the rest of the day, Cass deliberately ignored anything
happening outside the frame of the living room’s picture window. She read an
old romance novel from the small bookshelf in the hallway, skimming through
until the heroine hogtied her love interest and teased him with a feather before
lustily sealing the deal.
After lunch she popped “The Breakfast Club” into the VCR and
treated herself to a cold beer and a bag of potato chips, then another cold
beer to wash the saltiness down and to add a buzz to the second half of the
movie. She felt the morning’s anxiety ease, and the calm that washed over her
in the shower returned. By evening she was humming as she threw together a
quick dinner. She stayed anchored to the couch for a Sunday night made-for-TV
movie on the solitary, static-fuzzed channel that came in over the set’s bent
rabbit ears.
The credits rolled. Cass was still wide awake. The picture
window was dark, and Cass wondered if the wolf could extend the chain far
enough to peek inside. What was she thinking? The thing was asleep, or staring
out at the moon somewhere like wolves do.
Cass stretched her arms over her head until her shoulders
ached. She’d get everything down on a list for the next day, she decided, and
knock out all the annoying chores before lunch.
Animal control? Check.
Police station for a quick talk with Officer Lincoln? Check.
Phone company? Check.
She was so busy scribbling notes to herself that the first
firm bump on the back door barely registered in the farthest reaches of her
mind. She passed it off as the well pump kicking on, and didn’t even lift her
pencil from the paper.
The second sound was the crash of the back door splintering.
Cass dropped her notepad and pencil and stood. The back room
wasn’t lit, and only a small candle flickered in the kitchen. She heard heavy
footsteps pounding the floorboards. She ran toward the bathroom but was stopped
cold by the voice.
His voice.
“Oh, Caaa-aassssssss,” Preston said, loud and sarcastic. “I
hope you have something good for dinnn-nnerrrrr.”
Cass couldn’t move.
Preston’s looming shape appeared among the shadows near the
kitchen table.
“There you are, sweetie,” he said, a sick smile glinting in
the candlelight. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Cass’s throat went dry. “How did you find me?” she rasped. She
backed up to the wood stove in the living room, reaching behind her for the
iron poker that was leaning against it.
“Oh, it was easy,” he said. “As soon as I realized you were
gone, I started to do a little digging. Amazing what they’ll put online these
days. So, so sorry about Grandma Danby passing away on November 17, 2007. A
crying shame. My new friend in town tells me it was quite sudden.”
Cass’s fingers groped frantically for the poker.
“Then I did a little property records search at the tax
assessor’s, and voila! A magical secret cabin appeared! And where else would my
silly little stupid Cass go?” Preston’s voice twisted into something
cruel that he wielded like a weapon. He walked slowly toward her. “Did you
really think you could get away? Did you, Cass?”
Preston came into the light of the living room and Cass saw
how haggard he was. He must not have slept since she left. His face was
darkened by a five o’clock shadow, and his eyes looked hollowed and empty. He
wore dirty black jeans, work boots, and a plain gray t-shirt. He flexed his
hands, forming fists and then relaxing, over and over.
Cass still couldn’t find the damn poker. She tried to buy
time.
“It was a surprise,” she said shakily. “Do you like it? I
was going to tell you, I swear. I wanted us to have a little fall getaway. I
came up to clean the place, make sure the power was on and stuff.”
Preston took a quick stride forward. He was only a few feet
away now. He
the ground.
“What- ever ,” Cass whispered. “Stupid wolf.”
For the rest of the day, Cass deliberately ignored anything
happening outside the frame of the living room’s picture window. She read an
old romance novel from the small bookshelf in the hallway, skimming through
until the heroine hogtied her love interest and teased him with a feather before
lustily sealing the deal.
After lunch she popped “The Breakfast Club” into the VCR and
treated herself to a cold beer and a bag of potato chips, then another cold
beer to wash the saltiness down and to add a buzz to the second half of the
movie. She felt the morning’s anxiety ease, and the calm that washed over her
in the shower returned. By evening she was humming as she threw together a
quick dinner. She stayed anchored to the couch for a Sunday night made-for-TV
movie on the solitary, static-fuzzed channel that came in over the set’s bent
rabbit ears.
The credits rolled. Cass was still wide awake. The picture
window was dark, and Cass wondered if the wolf could extend the chain far
enough to peek inside. What was she thinking? The thing was asleep, or staring
out at the moon somewhere like wolves do.
Cass stretched her arms over her head until her shoulders
ached. She’d get everything down on a list for the next day, she decided, and
knock out all the annoying chores before lunch.
Animal control? Check.
Police station for a quick talk with Officer Lincoln? Check.
Phone company? Check.
She was so busy scribbling notes to herself that the first
firm bump on the back door barely registered in the farthest reaches of her
mind. She passed it off as the well pump kicking on, and didn’t even lift her
pencil from the paper.
The second sound was the crash of the back door splintering.
Cass dropped her notepad and pencil and stood. The back room
wasn’t lit, and only a small candle flickered in the kitchen. She heard heavy
footsteps pounding the floorboards. She ran toward the bathroom but was stopped
cold by the voice.
His voice.
“Oh, Caaa-aassssssss,” Preston said, loud and sarcastic. “I
hope you have something good for dinnn-nnerrrrr.”
Cass couldn’t move.
Preston’s looming shape appeared among the shadows near the
kitchen table.
“There you are, sweetie,” he said, a sick smile glinting in
the candlelight. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Cass’s throat went dry. “How did you find me?” she rasped. She
backed up to the wood stove in the living room, reaching behind her for the
iron poker that was leaning against it.
“Oh, it was easy,” he said. “As soon as I realized you were
gone, I started to do a little digging. Amazing what they’ll put online these
days. So, so sorry about Grandma Danby passing away on November 17, 2007. A
crying shame. My new friend in town tells me it was quite sudden.”
Cass’s fingers groped frantically for the poker.
“Then I did a little property records search at the tax
assessor’s, and voila! A magical secret cabin appeared! And where else would my
silly little stupid Cass go?” Preston’s voice twisted into something
cruel that he wielded like a weapon. He walked slowly toward her. “Did you
really think you could get away? Did you, Cass?”
Preston came into the light of the living room and Cass saw
how haggard he was. He must not have slept since she left. His face was
darkened by a five o’clock shadow, and his eyes looked hollowed and empty. He
wore dirty black jeans, work boots, and a plain gray t-shirt. He flexed his
hands, forming fists and then relaxing, over and over.
Cass still couldn’t find the damn poker. She tried to buy
time.
“It was a surprise,” she said shakily. “Do you like it? I
was going to tell you, I swear. I wanted us to have a little fall getaway. I
came up to clean the place, make sure the power was on and stuff.”
Preston took a quick stride forward. He was only a few feet
away now. He
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