Page 80 of Mason

Before she did that, though, she opened the bathroom cabinet under the sink. There were some household cleaners, a few rags. She was about to close the door when the glint of metal caught her eye.

She stooped and moved the dirty rags out of the way. It was a nail. Why couldn’t it have been a knife or a screwdriver? It was a nail. A rusty nail, but a nail.

And it was all she had, so she’d take it.

She stripped and stepped into the hot shower. The heat stung for a moment, but she almost moaned when she started to get warm for the first time in days.

As much as she enjoyed the heat, she hurried through her shower. She kept the nail clutched tightly in her hand and was glad of it when she heard the door open.

She froze.

Naked and wet.

Vulnerable.

“Peter?”

“Yes?” She heard him moving around, and she clutched the nail tighter. If he so much as tried to open the curtain, she was going to stab him.

“I thought you said I could shower by myself.”

“I did.”

“Then why are you in here?”

“I never said I wouldn’t watch.”

She was going to stab him in the eye.

“I’m just leaving you some clean clothes,” he said when she didn’t reply. “I’ll wash your clothes for you later.”

She didn’t breathe until the door closed, and she peeked out to make sure she was alone.

Fresh pajamas—flannel, from the look of them—lay folded on the sink, the tags still attached. It was a good thing she hadn’t tried to hide the nail in her jeans since said jeans were now gone.

Now she was afraid to get out in case Peter decided to come back, but the longer she stayed in here, the more likely he’d get curious. Instead of cutting the water off, she left it running while she quickly dried off and yanked the pajamas on. He hadn’t left her any kind of underwear, and hers were too nasty to put back on even if they had still been in here.

Again, she felt exposed.

A girl didn’t go around without panties and a bra in front of strange men. In her own room? Sure, but not in front of a crazy man who had a very large box of condoms.

After pulling on the new pair of socks and her shoes, she turned off the water. The rusty nail went in the breast pocket on her pajama top. She couldn’t walk out holding it, and that was her only hiding spot.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, grateful the heat was on full blast. Peter leaned against the wall, waiting for her. He’d removed his ski mask. He wasn’t planning on her ever leaving this house.

She took a moment to study him. He didn’t really look like Sean, the security guard from the hospital, who had a full head of red hair and Irish green eyes. This guy had dull brown hair and mud colored eyes. He was ordinary; he’d blend in. Which was why she probably hadn’t noticed him at the hospital. But when he spoke, he did sound a little like his brother.

“You took your mask off.”

He nodded. “I did.”

“Why?”

“You know my name, so why not?” He pushed off the wall and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. I need to finish putting the food away, and you need to finish eating. You have to be starving. The stink got to me, or I’d have let you eat first.”

Rude.

She allowed him to lead her back into the kitchen, and she sat down. Her food was where she’d left it, and she picked up her burger. It was more than cold, but her stomach didn’t care.

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