Every Vow You Break, стр. 64
The ground here began to slope down toward the pond, but instead of heading in that direction she picked her way through the trees toward the back side of the row of bunks. She heard a shout behind her, probably the man who had nearly discovered her in the lodge, but she didn’t think he’d have any idea which direction she’d gone. As she moved through the woods, she saw the beam of another flashlight sweep across the surface of the pond. She kept going until she reached the back of the first bunk, wondering if all of them were unlocked, imagined that they were. Her plan was to get inside one of them, so long as they were empty, and to hide either underneath a bed or in a closet. Eat her food, try to get some sleep. If she could survive through the next day, then she’d have another night at her disposal, and she had already formed a plan, weak as it was, for how she might actually get off the island. But she needed to make it to tomorrow night for that to happen. She needed a hole to hide in.
She recognized the back deck of her own bunk, decided to try the bunk directly next to it, then changed her mind.
No one would think she’d return to her own bunk, would they?
CHAPTER 29
Maybe her own bunk was the best place to be. And then she remembered the closet, the one that Bruce was using, and the extra space toward the side, the alcove with the shelving. She climbed the three steps to the deck and opened the door. It was dark, but she knew the layout. Even so, she stood for a moment, getting used to the blackness, listening to make sure she was alone. Before hiding she thought it would be a good idea to use the bathroom, and maybe to get some water. She peed first, the sound of it thunderous in her own ears, then forced herself to flush. Afterward, she stood in the bathroom, waiting to see if the sound had given her away. But no one came. No alarm went off. No spotlight flooded the bunk.
She went to the wall that hid the refrigerator and debated whether it was worth it to slide it open and grab a bottle of water. No one had heard the flushing of the toilet, but it was far more likely that someone might see light from inside the bunk, especially since all the bunks were so dark. She decided not to risk it and went to the closet instead.
She pulled the door closed behind her and slid into the large alcove off to one side. It was an even better hiding place than she’d remembered, about three feet of empty space with shelving built into it to hold extra linens and pillows. But underneath the shelving there was enough space that she could push herself back into the corner, even sit up a little. With her feet tucked under her, the only way she could be spotted was if someone peered inside and looked directly into the corner. It was risky, she knew, but she was counting on the fact that everyone would assume she had gone into the woods to try to escape. Would they look for her here? They might, but not immediately. Not until they’d convinced themselves she wasn’t hiding in the woods.
She pulled a pillow from the shelf and settled herself into the pitch-black corner. She thought of eating some cheese and an apple, but she wasn’t hungry. She stowed the food and the knife below the pillow and leaned back, closing her eyes. She didn’t think for a moment that she’d be able to sleep, but she must have dozed off, because she was woken by the sound of movement in the bunk. She braced herself. Were they searching for her, or had Bruce come back to the bunk to sleep?
There was the flush of the toilet, then water running, then there was silence for a long time, broken by the sound of three quick coughs. Bruce’s coughs, easily identifiable.
She slid the knife out from behind the pillow. If he did step into the closet in order to search it, she’d have the jump on him. She could strike out with the knife, maybe slash at his Achilles tendon.
She listened some more. Nothing, and then there was the faint rumbling of snoring. She relaxed. He was a deep sleeper, and she knew that once he began to snore, waking him was extraordinarily difficult.
Go kill him.
She ignored that voice in her head, loosened her grip on the knife.
It would be easy, though, sneaking out of the closet, plunging the knife into his chest while he slept. But how would that help her?
He tortured you.
And it would feel good.
It wouldn’t help her get off this island.
One less person looking for you.
She loosened her grip on the knife, stretched the muscles in her neck.
Imagine how it would feel.
So she let herself imagine it. Standing above the bed, Bruce on his back, the way he usually slept, one hand touching the side of his face. She’d have a choice: either the exposed neck, or straight to the heart. But it wasn’t what she wanted to do. Her goal right now was to survive. To