Page 127 of Hide And Seek

The door clicked shut, and I lay in my padded cell, breathing very carefully through my nose. A few minutes passed. Then, through the wooden slats, a familiar jingle started playing. A true crime podcast intro.

A narrator's voice settled into that particular cadence they all had and began describing, in considerable detail, the methodology of a killer who’d massacred twenty people at a summer camp in the Pacific Northwest during the early nineties.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…

I was halfway through the second episode, still rigid with fear and fury, when the podcast cut off mid-sentence.

Rhys’s footsteps crossed the cabin, and the door opened with a soft creak.

“Jasmine, you—” He cut himself off sharply. “Wait. Where’s Alissa?”

Jasmine didn’t answer right away. I could hear her breathing, though. Uneven and slightly congested, like she’d either been crying already or was trying very hard not to.

“What happened?” Rhys asked. There was an edge of concern in his voice now. “Why are you out here alone?”

A small sound escaped Jasmine then. Half sob, half inhale.

“She’s gone, Rhys.” Her voice sounded wrecked, scraped raw from exhaustion and panic. “Alissa’s gone.”

Rhys didn’t reply for just long enough to make it seem like he was blindsided by the news.

“What do you mean gone?” he finally asked.

“I… I can’t…” Jasmine let out another wrenching sob. “It’s my fault.”

“Hey.” Rhys’s tone softened. “Come inside. Tell me what happened.”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“You shouldn’t be standing out there alone,” he interrupted gently. “It’s not safe.”

Don’t do it, Jasmine!I screamed inside my head.Don’t fall for it. He’ll kill you!

“Just come and sit down. Take a breath. I’ll get you some water,” Rhys went on.

I couldn’t hear whatever Jasmine mumbled in response, but I heard the door close, followed by footsteps and the creak of the sofa taking weight.

Shit.

I tipped my head back, straining to see something through the narrow wooden slats, but all I could make out were Rhys’s shoes crossing the cabin floor before disappearing from view again.

“Here,” he said softly, presumably handing Jasmine the water he’d promised her.

The sofa creaked a second later, and I knew he’d sat down beside her now. Close enough to play the concerned protector while he listened to her cry about murders he’d committed.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Look at me for a second. Breathe.”

Jasmine sucked in a shaky breath that hitched halfway through. “It’s all my fault,” she said, her voice hollow and fraying at the edges.

“Take another breath and drink some water,” Rhys said gently. “Then tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”

A horrible thought suddenly slammed into me. The water. What if he’d drugged it?

I jerked violently against the restraints, twisting inside the cramped space and slamming my shoulder against the wall in an attempt to make some kind of noise. But the blankets swallowed the impact completely, muffling me into uselessness.

Outside, Jasmine started talking.

“It happened after Logan got blown up. Grace had a—”