CHAPTER 5

Tayja

Sometime later I wake to find a sandwich sitting on a plate on the coffee table in front of me. Ryan is nowhere to be seen. I sit up and see a note sitting next to the plate. It reads:

went fishing

back after sunset

The handwriting is atrocious and his note looks as though a child wrote it. I wonder if he wrote this with his stiff, injured right or his non-dominant left. Either way, I have the cabin to myself for the rest of the day. I look around for a clock and find a small one hanging on the wall opposite the kitchen. 1:34. I don't know what time the sun sets this far north at this time of year. I might have six or seven hours until he comes back.

My gaze snaps over to the door. That could be six or seven hours that I'm alone. Icy fear creeps into my mind. Bad things happen when I'm left alone and unprotected. I stand warily and step slowly over to the door. I reach out cautiously and try the knob. It turns. I pull. The door opens.

I slam the door shut and lock it quickly. What kind of crazy person doesn't lock the door when they leave? It's like asking someone to rob you and murder the girl you left alone inside.

I consider the man who has unwillingly become my host. He's hiding something. He balked at my insinuation that he's a murderer, which I didn't really believe anyway. But his reaction took me by surprise. He seemed deeply offended. I didn't care much at the time because I was rather offended myself. What the hell is wrong with him? He has a family - a living, breathing family. A family who must care about him. Does he have any idea what I'd give to have that again? I can't believe his attitude.

Thoroughly irritated, I look for something to do. There's no TV here. Or any electronics. I wasn't allowed to have a cell phone for fear it could be used to track me, but I'm not used to being without an iPod or some way to access the Internet. I start scanning the titles on the bookshelf, but the desk in the corner catches my eye. I walk over to it and study it. It has three drawers down one side. The one at the bottom is the largest and the top two are the same size. I pull on the top drawer with my pinky finger. It doesn't move. I use all my fingers, but it doesn't budge. I look closer and see a lock at the top. Why does he have a locked drawer when he's the only person around to open it?

I pull on the next drawer and it opens easily. It's full of an assortment of random items - I guess everyone has a junk drawer - but one item in particular grabs my attention. It's a phone, but not like one I've ever seen. I pick it up and turn it over, examining it. A satellite phone, maybe? I put it back in the drawer and close it, checking the next one. There's a laptop at the bottom of this one. I pull it out of the drawer and open it, but I don't try to turn it on. It looks brand new, like no one has ever really used it. My laptop back in college seemed eternally covered in fingerprints, no matter how often I tried to scrub them off, and the keyboard and trackpad showed signs of frequent use. This one looks like it's never been used. I put it back and close the drawer.

I eat the sandwich Ryan left for me and start working on the dishes from breakfast. When everything is clean, I find myself in a conundrum. When I was searching for bowls and pans and utensils while making breakfast this morning, I discovered that Ryan doesn't have a very organized kitchen. In fact, I don't know how he finds anything in here. I could try to remember the nonsensical locations where I found the items I used to prepare breakfast. I have my doubts about how successful that will be.

Instead, I end up reorganizing Ryan's kitchen. Halfway through, I stopped and wondered if maybe he'd be upset by it. But by then, it was too late. After a few hours, the kitchen looked better than it probably ever had. But I found myself again with nothing to do.

A quick inspection of the gun cabinet reveals copious amounts of ammunition and various pieces of gun paraphernalia, but no guns. Not that I was going to do anything with one anyway. I'd just feel safer if I knew I had one if anything bad happened. Especially when I'm living with a crazy person who doesn't lock the front door!

I look back over the cabin and realize I never noticed a router. No wonder the laptop was unused. In fact, the only device in here capable of contacting the outside world seems to be the phone. It's his single connection to the rest of humanity.

If I'm in an emergency and I need to call for help, I should know how to use it. I look out the windows to make sure Ryan's not coming back before I turn it on. It functions pretty similarly to the old feature phone I had before Mama finally gave me her old smartphone when I turned sixteen.

Curious about Ryan's claim that barely anyone knows he's here, I navigate to the call history. All of the calls have been to one number, which looks to have a California area code. The most recent was made about a month ago. I suppose that's probably his resupply orders. All of the calls seem to be made at least two or three months apart, sometimes even longer.

As I reach the end of the call history, which similarly dates back to about four years ago, I notice three calls made to another number. This one also has a California area code. The time readout shows a few minutes on the first call to this number, but the second two have a duration of only a few seconds. Like he called the number but almost immediately hung up. How odd. I turn the phone back off and return it to the desk.

Finally, I turn back to the bookshelf. I pick up a book I found titled The Catcher in the Rye . I recognized the title as a classic piece of American literature, but I've never read it myself. His copy looks distinctly different from the rest of his books. The others look either new or almost new, but this one looks as though it has been read several times.

I settle on the couch, open the book, and begin to read.

~~~

I freeze when I hear thumping outside on the porch. The doorknob rattles. I stare at the door in terror. A loud knock sounds. It's probably Ryan. It's got to be him. Definitely.

I scurry over to the door. "Who is it?" I ask.

"It's me," Ryan's voice says, sounding annoyed. "Why'd you lock the door?"

I open the door. "Why'd you take the gun?" I ask by way of response, eyeing the weapon slung over his shoulder.

He cocks his head. "Bears."

"Oh," I say. I step aside and allow him to enter. He's carrying a fishing rod in his left hand. "Catch anything?" I ask.

"No."

I am still flustered by his sudden and unexpected appearance. The jolt of terror at the realization that there was someone outside who wanted in has only just begun to subside.

"People don't really come around here. That's why I chose this place."

"I'm here," I say. "I don't think this cabin is too far from where the helicopter went down."

I think maybe it would be a good idea to give him a little more of an idea of what he's getting himself into by allowing me to stay here. Not that I want him to change his mind.

"Wait - you were in a helicopter crash out here? People are going to come looking for you - police and mountain rescue workers. They can help you."

"The police couldn't protect me before."

Ryan's dark brown eyebrow lowers into view. "What -"

"Please," I interrupt him. "I don't want to talk about it." I climb back on the couch and bury my nose in Catcher in the Rye. I hear Ryan move over to the stove without a word.

March 29

The next morning after breakfast Ryan prepares to leave again. As he is about to walk out the door, I ask if he'll let me borrow the rifle. He pauses at the door but doesn't turn toward me.

"Have you ever shot a rifle before?"

"Well, no, but it can't be that hard." Ryan turns to look at me. Even with most of his face obscured, I can tell he's skeptical. "As long as I look like I know what I'm doing and I've got a gun pointed at them, a person will leave me alone."

Ryan sets his fishing rod down and crosses his arms over his chest.

"What if a bear tries to get in?" I ask, grasping at straws.

My assessment of Ryan's body language is confirmed by the tone in his voice.

"First off, a bear can't get in if you lock the door, which I know you're going to do anyway. Second, a bear wouldn't be deterred by you pointing a gun at its head. It doesn't know what a gun is. Third, never defend yourself with a weapon you aren't prepared to use. It'd be easy to figure out that you're just bluffing. Then your attacker could disarm you and use your weapon against you."

I stand and cross my arms right back at him. "And what if I am prepared to shoot anyone who comes near me?"

His head tilts to the side. "Never defend yourself with a weapon you aren't familiar with. If you're panicking and try to shoot a loaded weapon, you're more likely to get yourself injured than hit your intended target."

I stare at him, refusing to back down. He drops his arms and reaches for his belt.

"Here's my hunting knife. Try not to stab yourself with it, OK?"

He sets the knife on the coffee table. "I'll be back later this evening."

I don't move or speak as he leaves, but as soon as he shuts the door, I walk over to it quickly and lock it. I return to the couch and pick up Catcher in the Rye, which has turned out to be much more depressing than I expected. It's postmodern literature though, so I should have seen this coming.

When I finish the book a few hours later, my mood has not improved. I look out the front window and see that the sky is clear and sunny. I know it's cold outside - I saw how many layers of clothes Ryan was wearing when he left - but it looks so nice outside. The snow is beginning to melt and the outdoors looks peaceful.

I grab the knife Ryan left and walk slowly to the door. I unlock it and pause. No one could know I'm here. Practically no one knows Ryan is even here. I'm safe, I tell myself. I open the door hesitantly and peek out. Not another soul is in sight.

I step out onto the small porch, though a pit of dread settles in my stomach. A very haphazard chair made of rough planks sits to my right and stairs to the ground are at my left. I am a little disturbed to realize that I have absolutely no memory of being brought into this cabin. I don't think I've ever seen this porch before in my life.

How will Johnston know where to find me? Of all the people who promised to keep me safe, Johnston was the one I trusted the most. Our cover story was that he's my father's older brother, my favorite uncle. I found this cover comforting, in a sad but sweet way. Johnston's almost become like an uncle to me - not the creepy kind, but like a second father. That thought makes me miss my own dad.

Still gripping the doorknob, I look out over the yard. It seems that Ryan's cabin sits in a little clearing in the middle of a forest. My attention zeros in on the trees. A flash of recognition and a deep-seated feeling of terror strike me at once and I remember that dream of running, only this time I remember that I was running through a forest, running into branches and tripping over rocks. Looking at the trees reminds me of feeling like I'm about to die.

I back into the cabin quickly, slamming the door behind me and locking it quickly. I scamper off to the bedroom and climb into bed.

I am never setting foot outside of this cabin again.