The huge bed I just slept in resides in the corner. A considerably large leather sofa, soft and cracked with age, divides the space into two. On the far side of the room, a monstrous flat screen television has been bolted to the wall. Bookcases, shelves, a desk with a stool shoved underneath it—the place is full of books and pictures and stacks of magazines. Odd bits and pieces dot the cabin. A snow globe—Welcome to Chicago!—sits next to a jumbled sheaf of papers, the skyline of the city in miniature inside, the roofs of the buildings already painted white. A photograph of a slim, beautiful woman with crystal clear blue eyes and a mass of almost-black hair butts up against a coffee maker on the narrow desk underneath the window. The woman in the picture is smiling, flashing teeth as she looks over her shoulder at whoever was taking the image. You can tell she’s laughing from the way her mouth is slightly open, her head tilted back. She looks familiar, for some reason. I touch my fingers lightly to the glass of the frame, feeling a bizarre sense of déjà vu.
When I look out of the window, there’s nothing but scrubby plant life, orange dirt and shale-like rocks for as far as the eye can see. In the distance, the ridgeline of a mountain range spears up out of the flat plains, made hazy and blue by the miles between us. The landscape is like nothing I’ve seen before in the flesh—not a place I’ve ever visited before. Not that I can remember. I’m about to try the handle on the door to the left of the window, ready to see if I am well and truly trapped here or not, when I hear the sound of splashing water.
“Shit!” I rush back to the bathroom; the helmet’s rolled onto its side and the flow of the tap is splashing off its surface, going everywhere. All over the mirror above the sink, all over the tiled floor. I turn off the tap and grab a towel from one of the racks by the toilet, throwing it on the ground and mopping madly with my foot. I’ve always been a little accident prone, but this is ridiculous. I’m trashing the place. Not that I should care—I’ve been bundled up and stolen, drugged and taken here against my will—but I’m not an idiot. I don’t want to make the situation worse for myself by breaking or throwing up on everything I touch.
“Hello?”
I stop scrubbing at the floor with my foot, every part of me going still.
“Hello? I brought you some breakfast.” My heart’s hammering in my chest. Someone’s in the other room. I hear the door close, and then heavy boots scuffing on the wooden floorboards. I peek cautiously around the bathroom door, hoping to see who it is without being seen myself. No such luck, though. Cade’s staring straight at me, a plate stacked high with pancakes in his right hand. He has some sort of dust in his hair. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “Rebel’s going to be back in an hour or so. Thought you might like to get some breakfast into you and some clothes on before he steamrolls in here, wanting to talk to you.”
I slide my body through the barely open bathroom doorway and pull it closed behind me. “This is his place?” I ask.
Cade nods, setting the plate of food down on the narrow desk next to the coffee machine. “Yeah. Built it himself. He’s not like the other guys. He prefers the peace and quiet.”
“What other guys?” I need to figure out what my situation is right now. How many people are here, wherever we are? Who are they? How far to the next town? What are my chances of breaking out of this cabin and making it to civilization on foot? Cade just smiles at me, wiping his hands down the front of his already grease-stained jeans. He’s a good looking guy—dark brown hair, cropped close, warm brown eyes, always with a half-entertained look on his face—but I don’t see any of that. I just see a brick wall of stacked muscle standing between me and my freedom.
“No one you need worry yourself about, sweetheart,” he says. “You won’t be bothered over here.”
“When can I go home?” I’ve somehow managed to keep my cool since waking up, but it feels like the walls are closing in now. I have to get out of here. I have to get back to Seattle.
“I told you, as soon as you’ve done what Rebel needs you to do, you’ll be able to go.”
“And when will that be? How long with that take? Hours? Days? Weeks?” My chest feels tight, gripped by the concept that I might be trapped here for so long. And even then, Cade could be lying. They could have no intention of letting me go, ever.
Cade purses his lips, shoving his right hand into his pocket. “Look. Wait for Rebel to get back. He’ll answer all your questions.”
“He said I should direct all my questions to you in his absence.”
Cade laughs, glancing back out of the door. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Turning back to look at me, he smiles. “You know why he said that?”
“No.”
“Because it entertains him to screw with people every once in a while. I don’t have any answers. Only he knows when all this will be over. For you. For me. For him.”
“Sounds like a great guy.” I lean back against the bathroom door, my head thumping dully against the wood. I want to cry. I really want to breakdown and sob my heart out, but I’m proud. Before I ran into Raphael in the street, it had been years and years since I’d allowed myself to look weak like that. I cried in front of Ramona, too. I do not want to cry in front of Cade.
“He may be a total asshole sometimes and he does like to fuck with people, but he’s not who you think he is, sweetheart. You’ll realize that soon enough. Now, you gonna tell me your name or what?”
“No.” I won’t do it. Giving them a name to call me by, any name, real or false, seems like I’m giving them power over me.