Page 63 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
They bowed their heads, defeated.
Unless, Ruth thought with a sudden spark, they shook off the mantel of obedience. Unless, she thought, they rescued themselves.
Her gasp caught Maleen’s attention, and the princess raised her head. They locked eyes. Maleen’s warm hazel eyes and Ruth’s cool, gray eyes, the only eyes either had seen in seven years, the eyes they now knew better than their own.
Ruth nodded toward the dulled and dusty bread knives. They had once shone, a brilliant pewter. She stretched out her hand around and wrapped it around one handle.
Maleen lowered her chin, grasped the other knife, now oxidized green.
Together, they strode across the cold stone floor to the tower’s thick outer wall.
—The Tower, by Emily Rose
Thirty-Two
Alex
* * *
As difficult as it is to believe that Tate is hiding somewhere on the property, it’s the inescapable conclusion. Someone moved my axe, someone broke into the cabin and smashed Emily’s phone and took the lighter. And, this is the part I really don’t want to accept—whoever they were, they were inside my farmhouse, too. They must’ve been. Either that, or Emily’s lying about the sandalwood scent.
I glance at her, still shivering, still staring out the window into the woods that surround the cabin. The rain changed over to an icy sleet a while ago. We should have left, headed back to the farmhouse as soon as we realized the cabin had been broken into. But she was in no shape for even a short walk. And I’d rather support her through a full-blown panic attack in here than out in the storm.
But I’m getting antsy. She’s through the worst of it, and I want to get out of here. The farmhouse isn’t more secure. I know this. But my desire to hole up there isn’t based on rational thought. It’s my fortress. I feel safe there. Although I’d feel a hell of a lot safer if I’d thought to stop and get the gun out of the safe in the guest room. It’s been locked away for so long, that I’d nearly forgotten it was there. It doesn’t matter now—I can’t leave Emily here alone to go back and grab it.
“We need to be smart,” I say aloud. It’s for my benefit—to remind myself not to allow my emotions to take over. But the words also calm the quivering mess of a woman to my right.
She wipes her tear-stained face, squares her shoulders, and raises her chin. “You’re right.” Her voice, while not loud, is steady.
Relief courses through me. If she can pull herself together, and keep herself together, we have a chance of getting out of this nightmare alive. After all, there are two of us and only one of him. Unless his brother’s out there with him, my traitorous mind whispers. No. I can’t even go down that road. Tristan’s in Pennsylvania. His wife seems certain, and I have no real option other than to believe her.
“Okay, let’s think this through,” I say.
She turns to face me. “Can your truck make it down the mountain in this weather?”
No, I think. I know it can’t. By now the road is definitely iced over and that mountain is treacherous under the best of conditions. I would never attempt the drive in these conditions, not in a million years.
“Maybe,” I lie. I absolutely should not try to make the drive. But what option do we have? Wait for him to show himself and kill us both? I didn’t survive twenty-one years ago just to sit around and let him kill me now.
She blinks as if she’d been expecting a different answer. “Really?”
“Maybe,” I emphasize.
“I’d rather die by going over the side of the mountain than be stabbed to death,” she says calmly—too calmly.
I counter with a joke, “Are you suggesting a Thelma and Louise pact?”
She answers me seriously. “It’s preferable to the alternative.”
That snaps me into action. “No. No way, Emily. Listen to me. We can get out of here safely. All we need to do is make it to the first house in the valley. I know the family. They’ll help us.”
She manages a wobbly smile. “Then what are we waiting for?”
We bundle up. She leaves her laptop but grabs the chef’s knife again. I snatch the fireplace poker and join her at the door.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready.”
