I flip through the preceding months, my curiosity getting the better of me. Nine days prior to the eighth are blank—the last ex is etched onto the square of October 29th. My stomach coils with dread at the realization that another couple likely died that day. I count the previous exes: there are twenty-two. The couple before us survived twenty-two days in that basement.

Our time was almost up.

A strangled sound escapes me as I bring a hand to my mouth, holding back my queasiness. My insides feel sick, and I want to puke. And cry. And scream.

But I don’t. I’m almost there. I’m almost out.

On instinct, I snatch up a few envelopes lying in a stack of mail on the kitchen table.

They are addressed to Earl Hubbard. His address is listed.

Perfect.

I spin around, uncaring that I’m only wearing Dean’s too-big shoes and a t-shirt that barely touches mid-thigh. All I care about is finding help for Dean. All I care about is ending this nightmare and putting Earl behind bars for the rest of his life.

I run to the front door and whip it open. The cool air assaults me, and it’s much colder than I anticipate. Probably freezing. I look around, realizing we’re tucked away on some kind of farm, far, far away from civilization. The acreage stretches farther than my eyes can see. Part of me wonders how long I’ll even last out here before succumbing to hypothermia.

No.

Dean is counting on me. His life depends on me.

I can do this.

I dart out the door and start running straight ahead, hoping there is some kind of road or town behind the line of trees. The icy leaves crunch beneath my feet as the cold wind already begins to freeze my limbs.

But my escape is cut short when I feel a hand wrap around my mouth, while a thick arm encircles my waist, pulling me back. The envelopes fall from my grip.

No, no, no.

Earl snarls against my ear as I kick my legs and scream into his filthy palm. “Nice try, kitten. You’re going to pay for this.”

“No!” I scream and scream and scream, my efforts muffled by Earl’s hand. As he hauls me back towards the house, I notice a charcoal grill off to the side with a turkey sitting atop the grates. I blink, struck by a cruel twist of fate.

It’s Thanksgiving.

It’s a national holiday.

We blew our escape attempt on the one day he didn’t have to work.

Tears rim my eyes as I fight with everything I have left. When Earl pulls me through the threshold and into the living room, I spot a landline phone on the far wall.

Oh, my God.

Why didn’t I think to look for a phone? I’m so used to my cell phone. No one has landlines anymore. But if I’d paid attention, I could have called the cops and waited for rescue, avoiding this utter disaster of an escape attempt. Soon, we’ll be back at square one.