Page 5 of Don’t Let Him In

Once it’s in my grasp, I snap upright, pain jolting up my spine. I glance at the screen, swiping dust from it. It’s already gone to voicemail.

Four minutes and thirty-two seconds.

I end the call and sink back into my seat, craning my neck toward the empty stretch of road. The deer’s gone. Tilted at an odd angle, the car rocks faintly in the wind, ghostly howls filling up the silence.

My breath stalls in my throat.

Panic spikes, scattering my thoughts as I shift into park and reach for the ignition, yanking the key free. I haul my legs up onto the seat, my knees knocking the steering wheel. The thin mesh of my tights drags along the upholstery as I wrench myself loose, the door jerking open as I spill out onto uneven ground.

I ball the hem of my oversized graphic tee, the fabric hanging low enough to pass as a dress, but not enough to cover my now exposed knee from the autumn breeze. A cool gust skates past me, lifting my hair and lashing it across my eyes as the wind rises, low and hollow at first before picking up speed and pitching me forward.

I stumble along the side of the car as the damage comes into view, long scrape scars gouged across the passenger door, red paint stripped away in jagged lines. I steady myself, chewing my lip as I take it in.

God, I’m screwed.

My gaze drops to the tires, a shallow ridge of dry soil haloing them, packed so tightly it’s no wonder they can’t move. Desperation crawls up my throat as I round the Buick, heading toward the back and hunch over, bracing my forearm against the frame and shoving with everything I have, trying to force it back up from the sharp incline.

It doesn’t even stir.

Sucking in a heavy breath, I lean back in and drive my knee into the metal this time, shoving with full force. My teeth grit, my neck straining.

It still doesn’t move. Not even the tiniest bit.

The muscles along my arms and legs tense, twitch, then give, and I go slack against the trunk, crumbling with a ragged breath. I rest my forehead there, listening to my heart hammer in my ears.

I don’t know what to do. Who to call.

A humorless laugh slips out of me, thin and manic. It’s barely recognizable to me. Tears rush into my eyes as it sinks in that I’m not only stuck, but stranded too. The worry I had for Dax dissipates, irritation threading in its place, pulling taut across my face as I push off the car with a grunt and force myself upright.

My feet cramp from the strain. I bite back a sob, frustration undercutting the pain. How hard was it for him to answer his phone? It’s practically his second limb. He can barely stand to shower without it.

The tension builds in my shoulders, in my jaw, tears threatening again before something flickers at the edge of my vision.

That’s when I see it. The lights of the haunted trail, flickering just a short stretch away. He’s close. Closer than I thought.

Relief slips in, shaky and uncertain, but it’s enough to steady me. I pitch forward, fingers tightening around my phone and keys as I follow the glow down the road.

By the time I reach the entrance, my Docs are soaked through, mud clinging to the soles. I push deeper into the empty lot, splashing across shallow puddles, the silence suffocating and eerily wrong.

His car isn’t here. There aren’t any cars at all.

My stomach drops⁠—

Then I make it out. Dax’s beat-up Jeep, tucked into the far corner, obscured by shadows of the trees encircling it.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as I cut across the lot, pace quickening, a semblance of hope blooming back to life again. But when I reach it and peer through the window, that feeling disintegrates just as fast as it came. He’s not there.

I pull back, scanning the trail entrance. He must still be inside.

Hesitation chips away at me as I weigh going in after him or waiting it out here, my lips raw from where I’ve been gnawing at them. The thought circles, my mind at war with itself. I really didn’t want to go inside.

I glance around again. It looks like he’s the only person left behind. What if he needs me?

A darker thought creeps in. What if he’s hurt?

I slip my phone from under my arm, unlock it, and fire off a quick text.

Me: Hey, I’m here at the trail by your car. Are you almost done?