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Would Mason think I was a coward? Would he be disappointed that I wasn’t up trying to foolishly pick a lock on a door we both know isn’t going to open? Would he be angry with me for falling back asleep?
I hope so. I always secretly loved those hurricane eyes when he was pissed off.
“I love you,” I whisper to the darkness because there’s no way I’ll ever get to say it to him again. I just hope he realizes, one day, I didn’t want to leave him.
Because it’s time to face facts.
I’m going to die here.
Mason
“You sure this shit is going to work?”
Logan tosses his cigarette butt out the window.
“No.” He pauses for a moment, his gaze hard as he surveys the parking lot in front of us. “Do we have another choice?”
“No.”
He nods, reaching for the handle on his door before stopping. We’ve been out here for an hour, going over the plan. A plan that could go one of two ways, neither promising a free life after.
“Remember, Mr. Walker,” he nods to the nametag on my contraband uniform. “You work for the California Department of Corrections and this inmate is already dying.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, climbing from the passenger seat of the old prison van, a cold indifference settling in my chest. “Yeah, he fucking is.”
Hannah
You know those times when everything stops?
Where you have no idea how long you’ve been out of your mind with no end to the proverbial spinning and the only thing you can do is lay around and wait?
I’ve made a friend. Well . . . I wouldn’t call him a friend, but he hasn’t tried to eat me yet.
There’s a spider in the corner of my closet the size of my fist. While my fist isn’t very big as far as human hands go, the spider is massive. After my eyes adjusted to the near-pitch-black around me, I noticed him climbing down the wall, as if he were coming to check me out.
I don’t blame him. My prison is his house and he’s being polite by letting me stay here until they decide what to do with me.
It’s been hours . . . I think. Or days.
I can’t tell which.
By now, everyone will know that I’m gone and Mason is probably already on his way to feeling the weight lifted off his shoulders. He can get his garage back. He can get his life back. His family can be safe while mine lies desecrated in the ruins of what I believe is an old church.
I have no idea where I am. I don’t even knowwhatI am at this point.
Maybe I’m a spider, too, and I’ve just never realized it. Twisting little webs of lies and getting people caught in them. Just like Ian said. I leave a trail of bodies wherever I go.
No one comes to check on me during my time in the spider’s enclosure. I don’t even hear anyone walk by. The only sound comes from the slighttap, tap, tapon the outside of the door every now and then.
That’s how I know I’m going crazy.
Missy’s gone. Melissa. Whatever her name is. Mom’s probably out planning her next greatest idea and Michael? Well, who the hell cares, anyway?
It’s just me and Mr. Legs—my name for my spider companion.
That is . . . until the drag of feet sounds outside my door.
The first beams of light against my eyes make me nauseous, but it’s the face that looms in with features I can just barely make out that really curdles the shitty stale crackers in my stomach.
