How, that was the question. She leaned on the door and pushed with all her strength. It did not budge. Soon, she would not only be working against the padlock, but the weight of the swiftly accumulating snow in front of the door. She slammed herself against it, again and again, until the throbbing pain cut through even the numbness of the cold. It rattled, but would not give. She turned her back to it and slid down to the cold floor, exhausted.

Who was this man, and why had he put her here? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t take her with him, but he didn’t kill her either. Yet he had to know that she would die soon from the cold, that unless someone rescued her within a few hours, it would be all over. Why would he want to kill her? What had she done to make anyone want to kill her?

He’s insane. There doesn’t have to be a reason, not one that anyone normal would understand. He has his own fears to deal with, things that must seem pretty logical to him. Jessie had been right, dreaming about the bogeyman.

And Dr. Mudd too. Thinking of him, she felt a new hope. He had promised to call the police, hadn’t he? Maybe they were on their way right now; maybe they would drive up to the house any minute and hear her screams for help.

She felt very sleepy, her limbs unbearably heavy and sluggish, as if someone had tied heavy weights to her hands and ankles. It was so easy to just lie here, her back resting against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. She felt like they didn’t belong to her, as if they were somebody else’s legs, a pair of rubber ones that had been plopped down in front of her as a joke. Very funny, she thought, trying to smile. Her mouth didn’t seem to want to move. That’s very, very funny.

It had gotten warmer, it seemed. In fact, it was more than comfortable in here, it was downright hot. She felt as if she were snuggling down among some thick, soft blankets, drifting off to sleep. Her thoughts began to wander—the warmth of a wood fire, the Château Frontenac with its high turrets and beautiful rooms, her father taking her to town for a soda at the end of a long day in the fields.

I’m dying. The thought struggled to come through the haze that was swiftly overpowering her mind.

This is how it feels to freeze to death. Don’t give in. Fight.