Page 46 of The Intruder

I spend the next two hours waiting for Eleanor to return.

Two hours of struggling against the duct tape, hoping to loosen its grip on my wrists just enough to get free.

I work up a sweat in the process, even though the cabin is cold, but no luck.

My wrists and shoulders are throbbing, but my wrists are as tightly bound as they were two hours ago. She did a damn good job taping me up.

The storm has finally settled down. It’s still raining, but the wind has died down considerably. The power is still out, and I imagine the phone lines are too, but if I had my arms or legs free, I could easily make a run for it.

Instead I am being held hostage here. And I still have no idea what Eleanor has planned for me.

Well, I have some idea.

At some point today, Lee will surely come by to check on me.

He’ll worry that the roof got blown off or that the giant tree landed on my house, and he’ll walk over here to make sure I’m okay.

I wish I had taken him up on his offer to stay at his house last night.

I can’t believe I thought he was the bad guy when there was something much worse waiting for me.

Then again, if I had gone to Lee’s house, Eleanor would have spent the night in the shed, and that tree would have killed her when it fell.

Even after everything she did to me, I don’t feel good thinking about that turn of events.

Anyway, given the sun still hasn’t come up, it will be a long time before Lee comes looking for me. If I had to guess, I would say it’s around five in the morning. It could be five or six more hours before he thinks to stop by here.

And then I hear the doorknob to the bedroom door turning.

The fireplace has gone dark, but a few of the candles are still flickering and the sky has cleared enough that the window provides some light.

Eleanor emerges from the bedroom, fully dressed and wearing her coat, her red hair pulled into a ponytail, her backpack on her shoulder.

And in her right hand is the switchblade, with the blade extended.

“Hello, Casey,” she says.

I stare at her. I don’t know whether to be furious that she kept me tied up here all night or terrified about what she is going to do next. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck—terrified it is. “Where’s my gun?”

“I have it,” she tells me. “I’m sorry, but I need it.”

At least she isn’t pointing it at me.

I stare down at the knife clutched in her right hand. The sight of it sends a chill down my spine. Every time I close my eyes, I see that drawing in her notebook. The woman duct-taped to the chair, being tortured—dismembered—while still alive.

“What are you going to do?” I ask hoarsely.

“I told you.” Her blue eyes meet mine. “I’m going to make sure justice has been served.”

She drops her backpack on the floor with a loud thump, then walks toward me.

Panic swells in my chest. “No. No. Please don’t do this.”

“Casey,” she says, “where is my notebook?”

If she knew I went into her backpack, it's not surprising she figured out I took her notebook. But this is the worst possible moment for her to have that revelation. All I can do is deny it. Whatever she’s angry at me for, I don’t need to add theft to my list of crimes. “Notebook?”

She takes another step toward me, the knife gripped tightly in her right hand. “Stop playing dumb. I had a notebook in my bag. Where is it?”

I can only shake my head, my mouth too dry to speak. My heart is pounding so hard, my chest aches. It would be easy enough to give her back the notebook, but somehow, I don’t want to.

She keeps coming at me. The blade flashes in the candlelight, and I feel like I’m going to faint. I have a decent pain tolerance, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle a knife sinking into my flesh.

“Fine,” she says. “Have it your way. Keep the notebook. I don’t care.”

She’s a foot away from me. If I were able to extend my arm, I could reach out and touch her.

“I’m begging you,” I say. “Please. Whatever I’ve done, give me a chance to make it right.”

She doesn’t say a word. She just keeps coming.

“Please.” Tears are stinging my eyes. “I swear, I’m a good person. I saved your life, didn’t I? I want to help you. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. I promise.”

I am a good person. I am. Okay fine, I’ve done a few things in my life that were not so great. One of them was enough to get me fired and blow up my life. But I always meant well. Truly.

Eleanor is behind me now. I can see her shadow on the floor, which is how I know she’s bending down.

I can feel her hot breath on my neck. The drawing showed a woman with a missing ear and a missing eye—that’s what she intends to do to me.

And bound like I am, I am completely helpless.

More helpless than I’ve felt in a very long time.

I close my eyes, bracing myself for that first cut. I can almost feel the sharp edge biting into my skin, cutting through skin, fat, muscle—maybe even bone. The fear is enough to make my eyes fly open again.

So I watch her shadow as she raises the blade into the air. Then she brings it down hard.