First Thrills - Lee Child [29]
Maybe the wine really had made her mellow, because his appearance didn’t frighten her. Quite frankly she didn’t care if someone was stupid enough to be out in a night like tonight.
She was sober enough to realize she was drunk. She actually didn’t mind the wet wind coming in on her. It felt good, fresh, and erratic. Her head no longer hurt. Her fingers found the wine bottle. She tipped it, pleased to see a bit left. She poured and sipped and continued to watch.
The man had a long stick and was poking the ground. No, wait, it wasn’t a stick. The lightning flickered off the metallic end of a shovel. Wasn’t he afraid of being struck by lightning? It certainly wasn’t smart digging in the middle of an electrical storm. Maybe it wasn’t a shovel at all. Suddenly tired again, she made her way to the bedroom. On the other side of the lake she thought she saw a light, a lamppost shining bright through the trees. How was that possible? The electricity was out. Her eyelids couldn’t stay open and her head was too heavy to care. She climbed into bed and collapsed into a wonderfully deep, alcohol-induced sleep devoid of thunder and lightning and strangers digging in the rain.
When Maty woke a second time the digital bedside clock glowed 4:45. The lightning had been reduced to a soft flicker and the thunder, a low rumble in the distance. The full moon broke through the clouds, illuminating the small bedroom. She reached for the bedside lamp and twisted the on switch. It took her a second to remember that the storm had knocked out the electricity. She looked at the clock again and watched it click to 4:46 and realized it must be battery-operated.
The pain in her head reminded her of the wine. And worse, she had forgotten to take her pills. Out of his sight for less than twenty-four hours and Maty was already breaking her promises to William. But instead of regret or remorse, it felt more like defiance and victory. Silly and childish, but if he insisted on treating her like she was a patient or a child, he couldn’t blame her for acting like one.
She lay in bed, staring out the window. All she could see from this angle were the shadows of treetops swaying in the breeze. It sounded like the rain had stopped entirely. All was quiet and peaceful, nature’s wrath finished for tonight.
Then she heard footsteps.
Maty held her breath and listened. Had she imagined it?
No, there it was again, slow and hesitant—the soft groan of floorboards. Someone else was in the cabin.
She didn’t dare sit up. Couldn’t move if she wanted to, paralyzed by fear. Her mind reeled. Had she locked all the doors? Yes, as soon as she’d arrived. But maybe not the porch door when she stumbled to bed.
Oh God, had she left it unlocked?
She strained to hear over the thump-thumping of her heart. Her eyes darted around the room. She had left her backpack and everything in it in the other room.
Minutes felt like hours. She willed herself to stay very still. She kept the sheet pulled up to her chin. Her hands were shaking. She could do this, she told herself, and tried to focus. She could ease off the bed and roll underneath.
Moonlight filtered in past the tree branches and illuminated the bedroom. Now was not a good time. She wanted to pull the curtains shut. Darkness was the only weapon she had. But she couldn’t risk moving. Couldn’t risk making a sound. So instead, she kept still. She would pretend to be asleep. Could she do that and not scream? Would it matter?
With the power still out there were no electrical whines of appliance motors turning off and on. She held her breath, straining to listen. She heard a distance train whistle. Leaves rustled in the breeze outside the window. A whip-poor-will called from