Page 9 of Sweet Doe
He planned this perfectly. Of course he did.
My legs are shaking—from cold, from exhaustion, from the lingering effects of whatever drug is still working its way out ofmy system. But I can't afford to be weak right now. He’ll swallow me whole.
I need to think. I need to find a way out of this nightmare before?—
I can hear him at the front door, cursing under his breath as he fumbles with what sounds like multiple locks. The keys jangle and scrape against metal, and I hear him muttering in frustration. His hands are probably numb from the cold.
This is my chance.
The realization hits me so intensely I can’t stop myself. He's distracted, occupied with getting inside, and I have an opening.
I need to run and get as far away from this place as possible before he realizes I’m gone. Even if I don't know where I am… staying here means accepting whatever sick future he's planned for us.
From the other side of the SUV, I can still hear him wrestling with the locks, his frustration growing louder. The sound of his own impatience provides cover as I take off into the snow, sprinting away from the back of the cabin. My boots do little to shield my feet from the frozen ground.
I plunge into the tree line, branches catching at my dress and hair as I push deeper into the forest. Behind me, the sounds of his struggle continue—I have seconds before he gets the door open and realizes I'm gone. The snow is deeper here, reaching mid-calf in some places, making every step a struggle. But I keep moving, driven by desperation and the thought that this might be my only chance.
The trees all look the same—towering pines and firs that block out most of the gray sky, creating a maze of shadows and snow-covered undergrowth. What little moonlight filters through the trees dimly lights the ground ahead of me. I try to move in a straight line, try to put as much distance as possiblebetween myself and the cabin, but it's impossible to maintain any direction when every tree looks identical to the last.
How long have I been running? Ten minutes? An hour? Time becomes meaningless when I’m fighting for my life against terrain that seems designed to kill me. My feet are numb now, completely without feeling, and I'm starting to stumble more frequently as exhaustion takes hold.
The dress clings to my legs, soaked through with snow and sweat, providing no protection against the wind that cuts through the forest like knives. I can feel my core temperature dropping and my body starting to shut down.
Hypothermia. The word feels like a death sentence. I'm going to die out here, frozen and alone, and they'll probably never even find my body.
But at least I'll die free. Free from him.
The thought sustains me for another hundred yards before my legs finally give out. I collapse into a snowbank, my body shaking uncontrollably as the cold seeps into my bones. Everything hurts… my feet, my hands, my face where the wind has been violently lashing at my exposed skin. But beneath the pain is a growing numbness that's almost worse.
I try to get up, try to keep moving, but my muscles won't work. My shivering is so violent now that I can't control my limbs. I can't force my body to do what my mind is screaming at it to do.
Get up. Keep moving. Don't give up.
But my body has given up, shutting down system by system as it loses the fight against this frozen hell. I curl into a ball in the snow, trying to conserve what little warmth I have left, trying to make myself smaller against the cold that's consuming me from the outside in.
This is how I'm going to die. Alone and frozen in the wilderness.
"Sloan!"
The voice cuts through the wind like a blade, and despite everything, a small amount of relief trickles through me.
"Sloan, where are you?"
Closer now, much closer. I’m beginning to black out. The cold has stolen everything. My strength, my voice, my ability to save myself.
Through the snow and my increasingly blurred vision, I see a dark shape moving between the trees. He's found me, and when he reaches me, he doesn't hesitate.
Strong arms scoop me up against his chest, and I can feel the heat of his body through our layers of clothing.
"You scared me," he says, but his voice is gentle, worried. "What were you thinking?"
I want to tell him that I was thinking about freedom, aboutescapinghim. But my lips are too numb to form words.
He carries me through the forest with sure, steady steps, somehow finding his way back to the cabin even through the maze of identical trees. The warmth blasts my face and envelopes me as we step inside.
"What do you want from me?" I manage to whisper as he sets me down gently on the couch in front of the fireplace.
He pauses in the act of gathering blankets, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes me forget, momentarily, how cold I am.
