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To hell with it, she thought bleakly. Maybe she should have a shower. It didn’t matter what time it was, did it? If she wanted a shower at one-thirty in the afternoon, then by God, she could have a damn shower.
Leaving her bag beside the bed, Caera pulled the curtains closed over the view of the woods outside and then persuaded herself to step into the bathroom. She spent a few seconds convincing herself that she wasn’t going to break anything, or leave dirty marks all over somebody else’s possessions.
A quick, awkward rummage through the built-in storage cupboard next to the door gifted her with a huge, fluffy towel in a wonderful shade of blue. She really wasn’t comfortable using someone’s things without direct permission, but Connie had made sure she knew she was supposed to make herself at home.
Carefully, she hung it on a handy peg just outside the shower’s clear glass door.
Maybe twenty minutes under a stream of scalding hot water would help keep her awake. Dark tendrils tugged relentlessly at the edges of her mind, familiar and terrifying. When they broke through her weakening willpower, they would take control completely, and she would be lost in the nightmares.
Caera flicked the water on and began to undress. Her reflection in the full length mirror beside the sink caught her attention and her hands paused on the hem of her T-shirt.
Slowly, she lifted the material up and over her head, then just stared at the near-emaciated torso in the glass. When had she lost so much weight? She knew wasn’t at an optimum weight—of course she did—but somehow…she hadn’t realized just how much she’d lost, or how little she had left to lose.
Feeling sick and a little disgusted, she dropped the T-shirt and reached for the clasp of her bra. It fluttered to the floor and her breasts were on display, much to her embarrassment. She couldn’t look at them for more than a few seconds, the pitiful reflection turning her empty stomach.
They were unremarkable, small and pale skinned to match the rest of her body. Her nipples were flat discs, a peachy-pink color, but there were no raised nubs. Nothing, she thought with a sad sigh, to stimulate arousal or pleasure or whatever the hell it was women looked for.
She snorted in derision. She didn’t understand sex, the complexities of it, the attachments that came with it. But of course, she’d never had it, had never had anyone express any interest in having it with her.
And, as with everything else in life, the thought of being so close to another person, to a man, terrified her down to the soul.
Caera was well aware she would be alone until the day she died. She just didn’t have it in her to free the woman straining so desperately against the chains locking her down.
She stroked her palms down her sides, over the raised bumps of her ribcage, the steep curve of her waist. Fumbling with the button and zipper on her jeans, she shoved them down her legs along with her blue granny panties. When she stepped clear of them, she studied her long, skinny legs critically.
They weren’t much bigger than her arms, and her arms…well, maybe Connie had been right about her floating away.
This was what Caera had been expecting to some degree. Fading away, body and mind. Letting fear eat her down to skin and bone. Day by day, week by week.
Slowly, slowly, slowly…dead.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring the pitiful creature staring back at her sadly from the mirror. No matter what she’d said yesterday in the café, Caera didn’t want to die. She wanted the nightmares to stop, to have a normal life where she had a job, and a family, and a man whose hand she could hold while they walked down the street.
A man who loved her, made love to her as though she was his world.
Blowing out a long breath, she tried to compose herself, but when the tears slipped down her cheeks, the only thing she could do was step under the boiling hot water and hide away from the pain of a future she couldn’t escape.
*
Saul arrived at the cabin at just after two p.m. In a way, he’d made good time if he ignored that one…purposeful…deviation to his route. The diversion had cost him an hour of cruising around dirt tracks, driving deeper and deeper into the damn sea of cacti. He’d passed a couple of other remote cabins, but it was only due to a stroke of luck that he’d finally found Atticus’ vacation home.
The cacti had gradually given way to the forest as he drove higher into the national park, leaving the dust behind and emerging in a different world of oak and pine.
The journey was worth it, absolutely.
Atticus’ cabin was smaller than he imagined, yet bigger than his traditional idea of what a log cabin should be. It fit in well with its surroundings, not too ostentatious and grand, like someone had picked it up and slotted it perfectly into the backdrop of trees.
Saul could envision the massive Daddy Dom walking out from the woods in a checked shirt and woolen cap in the backend of fall, dragging a sled full of firewood, with an axe propped over one shoulder.
Lumberjack Daddy.
Laughing at the notion, Saul switched off his jeep and sat there for a few moments, listening to the tick of the engine cooling down. Within seconds, the trill of birds filled the air like a symphony of nature. He saw a flash or two of tiny forms flitting from the undergrowth, bush to tree, spotlighted by the gleam of sunlight off their wings.
Christ, what had he been thinking when he agreed to stay here? There was remote and then there was remote. He could only hope the damn internet was working.
A week, he decided. He could probably last a week out here, maybe ten days if the work began to flow as he needed it to. Either way, it would clear his head, give him the opportunity to think over his options without any pressure from outside forces.
Whistling under his breath to break the quiet, Saul stepped out of his Jeep Cherokee, grabbing his suitcase and rucksack from the backseat. He fished the cabin key out of his jeans pocket as he walked up the sturdy front steps and approached the door.
