Page 95 of You Shouldn't Have Come Here

“Hello,” a voice called from inside the shed.

I didn’t respond. The lock clicked, and I threw open the door. Light flooded the dark room, revealing the woman I had seen in the police photo. She had lost her vibrancy. Her skin was dull and dry and covered in dirt. Her greasy hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. A rope bound her wrists together. One of her legs was tied to a post, giving her about four feet of room to roam. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at me.

Her face crumbled, and she seemed to laugh and cry at the same time. “Are you Grace?” Her voice croaked.

I tilted my head. “Yeah. How did you know that?”

She let out a howl of a cry, a mix of relief and sadness. “Calvin told me about you. You were going to replace me just like I replaced the last girl.”

I glanced around the shed. A couple of empty cans ofCoca-Colaand a bowl of rotten brussels sprouts sat near her. Calvin had been keeping her alive out here like she was one of his ranch animals. Of course, he was feeding her my brussels sprouts.

Her eyes darted all around me. “Where is he?” she panicked.

“He’s dead.”

A relieved smile spread across her face, revealing the dimples I had noticed in her photo.

“Please help me,” she said, holding up her bound wrists.

I hesitated for a moment. Holding out the knife, I nodded and walked toward the bound girl. Her bottom lip trembled, and she cried harder.

“Don’t worry, Bri. You’re safe now.”

50.

Grace

Briana rubbed at her wrists, walking beside me through the pasture. They were covered in rope burns, angry red and raw skin. She was wobbly on her feet—thanks to being bound for at least ten days—and she struggled to keep up. But I wasn’t slowing down. I needed to get out of here.

“How did he die?” she asked.

“Slowly,” I said as I continued toward the truck.

Her mouth dropped open but she quickly closed it and eyed me cautiously.

“Did you call the police?”

I stopped and turned, facing her suddenly. Her reflexes were slow, and she nearly fell backward. “No, and I’m leaving.”

The whites of her eyes shined. “Can I come with you?”

Up close I could seefingerprint-shapedbruises around her neck and popped blood vessels surrounding her eyes. Her lips were dried and cracked, peeling in several places. She was obviously dehydrated. I turned from her and kept marching forward.

“No,” I said over my shoulder.

I pulled open the driver’s side door and hopped into the truck. Bri sprinted toward me, but it was more like fast stumbling. She was so weak.

“Wait, you’re just going to leave me?” she said in disbelief, thrusting her hand in front of the door. “You can’t leave me.”

I let out a sigh. Where was mythank-you? I rescued her, and she doesn’t even have the courtesy to express her gratitude. She would have been dead by nightfall if it weren’t for me.

I brought my foot up and kicked her square in the chest. “Yes, I can.” She gasped, reeling backward and landing on her ass. Bri let out a painful moan.

“You’re welcome.” I slammed the door, turned the ignition, and pulled out of the driveway.

Glancing back in the mirror, I watched her slowly get to her feet and dust herself off.

She’d be fine, thanks to me.

---