Page 60 of Mason

Emily

Mason.

I say it.

Repeat it.

But Mason doesn’t want me.

And I shouldn’t want him, either.

Wiping away hot tears, I turn from the door I’ve spent the better part of an hour staring at, hoping he’d change his mind. Wishing he’d walk in, wrap his arms around me, and take the pain away. Pathetic.

The cabin offers little comfort. No pillows to cry into. No phone to call Rachel. No pets to cuddle. But there is the bathtub, so I start the arduous process of filling it, which means warming pots of water one by one over the rack in the fireplace. This isn’t the kind of Little House on the Prairie bullshit I want to be doing while fighting off an ugly cry, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I fill the first pot from the tub and shuffle to the fireplace to set it down, adding another log from the rack without guilt now that Mason’s dropped off a fresh supply. It won’t take long for the water to heat, so I sit cross-legged in front of the flames, watching the only source of entertainment in the cabin.

I’d give anything to be watching television with Mama instead, even the housewives who have too much time and money on their hands.

Trash television is one of the few interests we share. We love a little crazy.

Ok, sometimes a lot of crazy.

But that makes our day-to-day seem less insane. Why worry about a man carrying an AR-15 in the hallway when a lady made of plastic is throwing a champagne bottle at another human Barbie on TV? It’s the small things that get us by.

I smile, poking at the fire with a spare log to maximize air flow.

My smile fades at the stairs creaking outside, followed by heavy steps across the porch.

They aren’t Mason’s footsteps. Like the man from Down Under, he’s light on his feet.

My eyes flick to the door, and I tighten my grip on the log, frozen.

The locks outside unlatch slowly, first the bolt and then the chain. A key doesn’t enter the handle, sending my heart into overdrive. The visitor twists and shakes it instead, rattling the door violently. They have a lot of motivation to get in here. Two million dollars’ worth.

I scan the barren room, searching for anywhere to go, but there’s nowhere to hide. I’m exposed. Trapped. Cuffed. If they get in here, I’m already at a severe disadvantage, and unlike my tussles with Mason, they’ll want to hurt me.

Pushing to my feet, I tiptoe to the door, keeping the log tucked under my arm. I’m not afraid to use it if I have to. A log to someone’s face might earn me a running start. I’ve run these woods barefoot, and I’ll do it again.

Knocking echoes through the cabin, pleasant at first, like I have a friendly visitor, before switching to vicious banging. “Emily! Anthony sent me! It’s over!”

It’s over.

My eyes well with happy tears, but I can’t turn the lock. They could be lying, trying to make their two-million-dollar payday that much easier.

Mason said I was safe here. I don’t know why, but I believe him. He’s never given me a reason to doubt him. Not from the first night when he gave me his coat and promised he’d be back. He fulfilled that promise.

“Emily!” The pounding grows louder, the cries more frantic. It’s a man, screaming my name in a loop.

I want Mason. I need Mason.

The truth plows into me like a freight train.

Tears fall, not of relief, but of sheer terror. They’re coming to hurt me. To torture me.

Something hard rams into the door, and the crack of splintering wood pierces the air. It won’t be long now.

I rush into the bathroom’s doorway to the right of the door, squeezing the log so hard that the wood bites into my flesh. I don’t have a choice now. Mason won’t save me. Papa won’t either. I need to save myself.

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