She shut the bedroom door to trap any lingering cold air in there and went out to huddle by the fire, which was low. William had left some firewood for her and she carefully placed two logs with trembling hands.
What had made her scream like that, made her behave in such a way? That wasn’t like her at all.
If you acted that way around William, that would be the end of you.
They weren’t the sort of men who would hit her just for losing her temper. At least, she didn’t think they were—how could she really know? She was pretty certain, though. And because she felt safe, felt that they wouldn’t beat her senseless for speaking her mind, she’d vented her feelings on them—and more than just her current feelings, too. She’d vented the feelings that she’d been tamping down for years.
I shouldn’t have done that. They were only trying to be kind.
Mattie felt a little guilty then, felt that she ought to apologize, but then decided against it. She didn’t want to be drawn into another conversation with them. Despite their kindness, there was nothing else to say. She’d tried to convince them that it would be dangerous to stay on the mountain. She didn’t think she’d succeeded, but she could hope. Perhaps they would consider her words later and escape before they were harmed.
A pounding at the front door startled a little scream out of her before she could swallow it.
“Miss? Miss? I mean, ma’am. Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to . . . Well, could you come out and talk to us again? Maybe at the door this time? We could really use your help.”
They knew she was inside the house, so she couldn’t pretend not to be at home.
But you aren’t required to answer them. You aren’t.
(You’re being a fool. They could help you. They could help you run away.)
Except that they aren’t leaving the mountain. They’re going to stay and tramp around and try to find the creature, and what good will it do you to trail after them while they do that? William will come after you and if the creature doesn’t get you then he’ll shoot all of them and it will be on your head.
No, Mattie realized that she couldn’t trust anyone to help her. If they helped and were hurt because of it, she’d never forgive herself.
“Miss? Miss?”
Mattie wondered why Griffin was calling her “miss.” Then she remembered that she’d never told them her name.
(What is your name, anyway?)
“Go away, Samantha,” Mattie whispered. “I don’t have time for you right now.”
Griffin pounded a few more times.
Mattie heard C.P.’s voice. “She’s not coming to the door, man. And we gotta meet Jen. And there’s no cell signal here so I can’t text her and tell her why we’re late. She’s going to leave us if we don’t get going.”
“I know. I just . . .” Griffin’s voice trailed away.
“I know, I know. You’ve seen her somewhere before.”
“I wish I could remember.”
Mattie heard Griffin’s tread on the porch, then the crunch of his boots in the snow. C.P. said something she couldn’t make out, and a few minutes later all was silent.
She crept up to the front window and peered out, making certain they were gone. The clearing was empty except for their footprints.
The tracks were everywhere, and Mattie felt a flare of panic. What if there wasn’t enough snow, or it didn’t start falling soon enough? A few lazy flakes were drifting down but those flakes were hardly enough to fill the footprints that crisscrossed the clearing and wrapped around behind the cabin.
Mattie went to the back window and checked that the two strangers weren’t behind the cabin, either. There was no sign of them. She wondered if they’d gone back the way they came, or if they’d taken a different route. She wouldn’t know unless she followed their tracks, and she didn’t want to follow their tracks. She didn’t want to have anything to do with them.
I don’t, she thought, but it was like she was trying to convince herself. Part of her wondered why she hadn’t gone with them. It would have been the easiest way to free herself of the hell of this cabin.
You know why. Because you can take any risk to yourself, but it’s not fair to place it on other people.
No, her original plan was still the best one—to get better, to heal so that she could sneak out under cover of night and disappear before William ever realized what had happened. She should forget about C.P. and Griffin. She’d tried to warn them, tried to save them. Maybe they would survive the creature’s fury. There wasn’t much she could do about it.
Why does Griffin keep saying he knows me?
Mattie wondered if she’d known him Before. But even if she had . . . she’d been a small child when she came to live with William on the mountain. Griffin never would have recognized her after all these years, and it wasn’t realistic for her to try to dredge up some potential memory of a boy from her very spotty memory.
Did I know you?
There were no boys in her thoughts, no memory of any other child except Heather.
She realized she was standing at the back window, woolgathering. The snow had begun to fall in earnest. It was like that on the mountain. There was no snow and then suddenly there was more snow than you could imagine.
Mattie remembered standing at the front window with Heather, their hands and noses pressed against the glass, wondering if there was enough snow for school to be called off.
“Snow day,” Mattie murmured.
Sometimes it was just a few flakes, not
