Chapter 26

Brook tiptoed down the aisle, shelves of dusty books on either side of her. The rows were long, and telescoped off into the distance. She looked to her side and through a gap in the books realized she could see into the next aisle. She must be very quiet. Two men were talking, their movements furtive, their voices hushed. One of the men shifted and turned toward her. It was Clark! She started to call to him, but something silenced her, some impulse. It was important for her to remain unseen. The other man looked up at Clark and with a gasp, she recognized Benny. Clark handed something to Benny, something small. Benny held it up to the light before pocketing it. It was a key. She backed away, inadvertently knocking several books off the shelf.

Both men turned to peer at her through the gap in the books.

“Brook, honey!” Clark said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were shopping.”

“That’s your wife?” Benny asked, an expression of exaggerated surprise on his face. “Then how come she’s not wearing a wedding ring?”

Brook turned to run, but her legs wouldn’t work.

“My rings!” Brooke mumbled.

Lance looked over at her from his chair by the fireplace. He had been working on something small, metal. It gleamed a little in the firelight. Laying the object on the end table, Lance rose and approached the bed.

“What?” he asked.

“It was a dream,” she answered, her head clearing. How many hours had she slept? She felt disoriented.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“I can’t remember.” She frowned. “But it was important. I wish I could remember.”

“Just relax and maybe it will come back to you,” Lance suggested, standing awkwardly beside the bed. “I think you said something about a ring, if that helps.”

“My rings. My wedding rings are gone,” she stated sadly.

“I didn’t take them, Brooklyn,” Lance said.

“I know you didn’t. They did.”

“Who?” His eyebrows were raised.

“Jase. Those men. The ones who had me.” She rolled over, turning her back on him.

“I’m sorry, Brooklyn. Is there anything I can do?”

“I just want to sleep.” Her voice was muffled. Lance stood for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do. Her breathing became regular and he realized she had dozed off again. So, she’s married. Why did he feel disappointed? It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter less. He returned to his work.

Several times throughout the day, he roused her enough that she could take water or broth. She never seemed fully awake during these times, and fell almost immediately back to sleep. Before Lance went to bed that night, he carried her to the bathroom. She woke up enough at that point to take care of business, swallow a couple of aspirin, and drink a little juice with some broth. It was the longest she was able to stay awake thus far.

“You hungry?” Lance’s voice brought her fully awake.

Brook sat up, her muscles aching only slightly this time. The shutters were partly open and daylight showed through the frosty windows. She must have slept through the night.

“Starved!” she stated emphatically. “But, first I need the restroom.” She checked for her purse and found it tucked under the blankets. Relieved, she swung her feet slowly over the side of the bed and tried to stand. Pain screamed up her legs and she fell back onto the mattress. “Owwwww!”

 “Let me help.” Lance picked her up easily and left her in the restroom until she called. Then he sat her at a rough-hewn table. He moved to the stove and ladled up a small bowl of stew. After carrying it to the table, he took the chair across from her.

“This smells heavenly,” Brook said. “What is it?” We'll just act like this is normal. I'll pretend I'm not sitting at the table with a murderer, and he can pretend I didn't see him with the body of his victim. The experience was surreal.

 “Rabbit stew,” he stated. Then remembering her reluctance about the broth, he added, “Just rabbit, carrots, potatoes, broth, salt, and pepper. Plain old rabbit stew.” He buttered a slice of bread and placed it on a small plate in front of her, then leaned back to watch her surreptitiously as she ate.

She took a small bite, testing it. “Mmm. It’s really good.” She took another bite, chewed, swallowed, and then dug in with real gusto. He was relieved to see her improving and liked watching her eat. He thought he would probably never again see anyone enjoy his cooking this much.

“What time is it?” she asked, and then realized she didn’t even know what day it was, much less the hour.

“Close to noon,” he answered. “Your third day here.”

Brook stared, aghast. “Three days? I’ve been here three days?”

“Actually more like two and a half, but yeah.” Lance smiled. “You’ve been sleeping a lot.”

She considered this for a few silent moments and then stored the information for later reflection. She returned to eating, seemingly unaware of him for a few minutes. After she swiped the last of her stew out of the bowl with her bread, she looked up at him. “Can I have some more?”

 “I don’t think so,” Lance said simply. And then, when he saw her disappointed expression, “You probably should go slowly to begin with. Let that settle and then you can have more. I’ve given you some pretty strong tranquilizers, and with all you seem to have been through, I’m afraid your stomach might not be too willing to hold too much.”

Right on cue, Brook’s stomach protested, rumbling deep in her belly. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Maybe I’ll lay back down and let things settle.”

Lance walked over and straightened the blankets before carrying her back to the bed. “Would you like some green tea with mint? It should help your stomach.”

“Yes, please,” Brook gave him a small smile and Lance saw the hint of a pretty woman behind the swollen and bruised face. He brought the tea and Brook sipped at it, savoring the hot sweet flavor. For the first time, she took some note of her surroundings. The small bed had been placed in front of a massive built-in fireplace. Crackling sounds, flickering light, and warmth came from its deep recess. A box of wood sat to one side and two chairs were positioned before it, turned toward its great stone face. Facing the other direction, Brook noticed a soft light radiating from somewhere above her head and looked up to see a snow covered skylight. Bringing her gaze down she saw shelves filled with books.

“I need to go out for a while,” Lance began, distracting her.

“You can go out?” Brook interrupted. “Does that mean you can take me to a town?”

“No,” Lance said slowly. “That’s impossible. Since yesterday another six inches of snow has fallen. I wouldn’t be going out at all if I didn’t have to.”

He cleared away the dishes and placed them in an enamel pan on the counter to wash later. He then put a lid on the heavy stew pot and placed it into his cold storage pantry.

“This is my homemade refrigerator,” he explained as he worked. “It uses the cold weather outside to keep my food from spoiling.”

She completely ignored this statement and returned to the subject of his leaving. “How long will you be gone?” Brook surprised herself by asking. She struggled with conflicting feelings. Oddly, a part of her wanted to cling to this man who happened to be the first person to show her any kindness in days. At the same time, a more powerful part of her shied away from him and wanted him gone. She reminded herself that even killers could be nice sometimes.

“Just a little while. First, let me help you to the restroom again,” Lance said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I don’t need to go,” Brook argued.

“Well, you’re going to go,” Lance stated firmly. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be out so you better take advantage of me while you can.” He smiled to show he was only partly joking. She wondered if he was hinting at something dark. Take advantage of him. She shivered. It seemed obvious now why he was being so kind to her. He was saving her for later.

After Brook had been returned to the bed, Lance stoked the stove and fireplace, put on his coat, and left the cabin.