Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

of that would put the man’s mind at ease and cover any noises she might make. Then, thinking the running water wasn’t loud enough, she flushed the toilet, and climbed into the tub. Stretching a little, she was able to reach the window’s lock and push it open. Then, grabbing the edges, she pulled the sash to the left, opening it as wide as it would go.

She didn’t see the security bars at first. It was almost totally dark outside, and the half-inch wrought iron was camouflaged against the night sky. Ignoring the burn of tears, she grabbed the bars with both hands, pushing outward as hard as she could, whimpering from the effort.

They didn’t budge.

There was no way out.

Out of breath, she slid the sash shut and locked it, leaving it just the way she found it. Then she sat on the side of the tub for a while, lost in a nightmare she couldn’t awaken from.

She weighed her options, trying to figure out what to do. Was that man really going to harm her? Or was he going to do what he’d said, take her to San Francisco? Still shivering, she decided a shower was the best option, although she felt vulnerable taking her clothes off, even with the locked door between them. Who was to say he wouldn’t break down that door any moment?

She let her clothes fall to the floor, then climbed into the tub and turned on the shower, adjusting the water to the hottest temperature she could bear. Even so, she couldn’t stop shaking, as if fear had struck an alliance with the cold rain from the night before, conquering her body, and deciding never to leave.

She shampooed her hair, taking extra care to keep the foam from getting into her eyes so she could keep them wide open. What if he was a little weird, a little creepy, but a nice guy? Someone who was turned on by her youth and wanted to spend some time with her? Maybe cheat on his wife with her? Even that, she’d understand. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, then quickly withered, turning into a grimace of fear. He was good-looking, rich, powerful, and behaved impeccably well, like she’d only seen in movies, but things rarely worked out that way, and she’d learned appearances could be deceiving. She’d be better off miles away from the man; despite his reassuring appearance, her gut was sending her all sort of signals, seeding panic into her weary mind.

Good-looking or not, he was a creep.

Regretting she had to leave the relative comfort of the shower, she turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. She dried herself thoroughly with a clean towel she’d found arranged in a tight roll in the open cabinet under the sink, then looked around and found a dryer at the bottom of a drawer. Plugging it in, she dried her hair thoroughly. A furtive thought of the man’s wife made her put everything back just the way it was, the herb-infused shampoo that smelled of lilac, the dryer, the towel, even if it was damp.

She put on the clean clothes the man had offered, noticing again how well they fit, and wondered what kind of woman was able to maintain such a thin figure despite her years. She could’ve been in her forties, considering his age.

That’s when everything went dark.

She froze in place for a while, a silent scream stuck in her constricted throat, and listened. She backed carefully from the door until she reached the wall, feeling her way with her hands, afraid she might trip and fall. Then she waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to fuel her courage to explore the deathly silent house.

She felt her way to the bathroom door and found the knob, then turned it slowly, afraid it would squeak and give her away. Opening the door as gently as she could, she forced her eyes to see in the pitch darkness. She couldn’t distinguish anything, the only exception being the living room window that let the faintest of shadows in, whatever moonlight made it through the foliage of the trees behind the house.

She moved toward the window, feeling her way along the walls, wherever she could. Every few steps she stopped, leaning against the wall, listening, forcing herself to see. Where was he? She took one more step, feeling the edge of an area rug under her toes, and remembering she’d seen that rug, she’d felt it under her feet before, while she was seated at the table, eating.

She reached forward with both her hands, feeling the air for the edge of a chair, something she could grab. She found it, turned away from the table, just as he’d left it when he’d sat there, watching her getting ready to enter the bathroom. The chair was empty.

Where was he?

Feeling her throat parched, she swallowed hard, and whispered, “Are you here?” She listened, but no one replied. “Where are you?” she asked again, a little louder this time. “Are you here?”

Silence raged in her mind, the sound of it louder and louder, fueled by the frantic beats of her heart. She moved away from the dining room chair, toward the picture window facing the woods, dimly lit by the setting moon. Soon, even that tiny shred of light would be gone, once the thin crescent disappeared behind the horizon. Not knowing if he was still in the house with her made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, playing tricks with her fear-tinged imagination.

She needed to get out of there.

Moving a little faster, she felt her way to the main door. She remembered seeing a light switch on that wall. She found it and flipped it on, but nothing happened. Whimpering, she recalled how he’d seemed to turn all the lights on without touching the wall.

Then she felt the door on both sides, looking for a handle, a knob,