I was going to fall to my death.
36
I tried to pull myself back up to the window. I kicked and wiggled, but didn’t have the strength. These were swimmers arms, not rock climbing arms.
I was going to fall and land on the ground like a bag of pretzels. Stupidly, I looked down to see how high I was, but a white shape in the distance caught my attention.
A van emerged from the trees. It was coming down the driveway.
I remembered what Kendall had said.
If someone comes while I’m away, don’t make a sound. Stay absolutely quiet.
Adrenaline surged. I summoned all my remaining strength, kicked against the siding, and managed a single pull up back to the window. Once my head was level with the sill, I took one hand off the rope and reached for the devil chair.
I pressed my toes to the siding, clawed for the upholstery, and crawled back through the window.
I fell headfirst onto the chair cushion and then scrambled to turn around and pull the makeshift rope back inside or else I may as well have been waving a white flag to signal my whereabouts.
I closed the window just as the van disappeared around the edge of the cabin and pulled up to the front door. I had no idea if I had been seen or not.
The house battery was dead. I listened, but there were no beeps signaling someone’s entrance. Whoever it was must have keyed into the house manually.
I sat against the wall under the window, my whole chest heaving. I crouched and tried to peek out the window, but couldn’t see anything. There hadn’t been any markings on the van. It could have been the police, a K-9 unit, or a party of molesters.
I considered pushing the bed up against the door for extra fortification, but worried the scraping might give me away. Then I realized that was a silly concern; the boards on the door might as well have been a neon sign advertising my presence.
If someone kicked down my door, what was my recourse? Should I dive out the window?
Or maybe now was the best time to try to escape. Maybe I could swing down to the ground, climb into the van, and escape—but only if the intruder had conveniently left their keys under the visor as they did in poorly written mystery novels.
Still, what other options did I have?
I peeked out the window again. No sign of anyone.
Then, I heard a door open. It sounded like it was right below me. I pressed my cheek to the cold window and tried to look down.
Two men, dressed in white painter’s coveralls, were carrying a canoe out of the basement. I strained to watch them carry the canoe around the side of the cabin and then they disappeared again, eclipsed by the edge of the siding.
They were definitely not cops. They must have been carrying the canoe down to the lake. But why? Did they know I was here? Did they even care?
I opened the window and leaned my head into the cold mist. I couldn’t see anything. I grabbed the chair to anchor myself and leaned out farther, but I still couldn’t see past the corner of the house.
I closed the window and sat against wall. The window had been open long enough to chill the entire room and I shivered and hugged myself.
If Kendall returned, I couldn’t let him think I had tried to escape, so I untied my prison rope and wrapped myself in the sheets for warmth.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Sometime later, I heard an engine. With the sheets draped over my shoulders, I crouched and peeked out the window again. The van was leaving. Two ladders that I hadn’t seen before were strapped to its roof. Its taillights headed up the driveway and then disappeared into the misty woods.
I felt relieved—but only for a moment. What if one of them had stayed behind?
I listened hard, but couldn’t hear any footsteps in the house.
I allowed myself to breathe again. Maybe they were nothing but painters.
But why the heck would painters need a canoe? And since when did painters work on a day as nasty as today?
Later, the sun broke through the clouds and the grass steamed. I listened hard for a good two hours and determined that no one else was in the house.
Not wanting to risk upsetting Kendall, I dragged the furniture back to its original location and made the bed. After all the practice at the inn, I did it without thinking.
I had barely finished lining the hooves up with their original marks on the floor, when there was a knock on the door.
I froze. Someone had stayed behind. They had heard me move the furniture.
“You okay in there?”
It was Kendall. I breathed relief. I hadn’t even heard his fancy car come down the driveway, nor his entrance into the house.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.
“I will get you out of there as soon as I can,” Kendall said. There was banging and squeaking as he tried to remove the nails.
I sat on the bed and waited to be let free, my thighs shaking from the day’s anxiety, my bladder on the verge of bursting.
“Did anybody come today?” he asked.
For a second, I debated if I should tell him the truth. Then I figured I might be able to gauge his involvement in this whole thing. “Yes. Three men. They were dressed in fancy suits.”
He was quiet. Then there was more groaning as he pried off the boards. “Listen, Rosie. Full disclosure. I want you to trust me.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“I know it’s hard, but please believe that everything I did was for your safety.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t blame you. I actually lied to you before. I’m sorry.”
“Just once?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry. I don’t actually own this place. I handled the real estate transaction for a wealthy client a couple of years
