BooksBarbecue
Back Don't Look for Me Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-one
  25. Chapter Twenty-two
  26. Chapter Twenty-three
  27. Chapter Twenty-four
  28. Chapter Twenty-five
  29. Chapter Twenty-six
  30. Chapter Twenty-seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-one
  35. Chapter Thirty-two
  36. Chapter Thirty-three
  37. Chapter Thirty-four
  38. Chapter Thirty-five
  39. Chapter Thirty-six
  40. Chapter Thirty-seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-one
  45. Chapter Forty-two
  46. Chapter Forty-three
  47. Chapter Forty-four
  48. Chapter Forty-five
  49. Chapter Forty-six
  50. Chapter Forty-seven
  51. Chapter Forty-eight
  52. Chapter Forty-nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-one
  55. Chapter Fifty-two
  56. Chapter Fifty-three
  57. Chapter Fifty-four
  58. Chapter Fifty-five
  59. Chapter Fifty-six
  60. Chapter Fifty-seven
  61. Acknowledgments [TK]
  62. Also by Wendy Walker

She started to follow the fence, walking alongside. She remembered Roger Booth’s warning—don’t make any turns.

She told herself she would make this one turn and walk for ten minutes, then turn around.

It only took five for her to reach the small hole someone had started to cut.

Chapter Thirteen

Day five

The door opens and three days of darkness come to an end.

He has been bringing food after dark. He leaves the light off in the hallway. There are no windows in this dark room where Alice was born. Just the sink, a hand-pump toilet, and the tile floor. He’s given me two blankets to stay warm.

I count the days by the pitch of the darkness. Light is like water, always finding a way through the cracks and crevices.

On the third night, he does not bring the food. He waits until morning. When he opens the door, the brightest light pours in behind him. It is so bright it blinds me and I can barely make out his face.

He sets the tray down on the floor while I stand against the far wall. He has made me wait because the last time he brought the tray I was waiting for him. The second night, when I heard the floorboards creak from down the hall. On that night I stood in front of the door. I heard the deadbolt turn, then the change in the shadows as the door opened into the room. In my hands, was a blanket.

Heart exploding with rage, hands shaking with apprehension, I was ready to throw the blanket over his head, pull him toward me, then onto the floor. I had pictured the tray flying from his hands, spilling the food. I pictured Alice screaming as I kicked him in the groin. I would leave them both inside that room, lock the door, and run out of the house. I would take his truck if I could find the keys, or run back to the fence where I would make two more cuts in the wire and then crawl through.

Maybe I would have his shotgun with me. Maybe I would blast a hole right through that fence.

But that was not what happened. On the second night, he was ready for me as I stood on the other side of the door with my pathetic weapon. He stood a few feet back. There was no tray in his hands. Only the shotgun.

I was ready with that blanket and he knew it. He knew the blanket was all I had and he knew I would try.

He knows too much.

Or maybe this trick was tried before, by the woman who used to live here.