So, no. I haven’t had my Caprese salad. Haven’t had my linguine and prawns. The chilled bottles of Pinot Grigio. Not even my Dulce de Leche ice cream or fried tater tots (Mmmmm!) Not that the nearest Piggly Wiggly was apt to carry such things, but we would have made do. Tracey knows her way around a kitchen. She once dated a sous chef at a fancy French bistro who gave her chlamydia, but also taught her how to make a fantastic roux. Ha! Tracey, my love. I hope you’re somewhere safe tonight, far away from here.

My safety is in question, that much is for sure. Those animals are out there. I can’t bring myself to call them men. Even if that’s what they look like. Professor O’s feral minions. Those soulless beasts. Stalking the perimeter of the cabin. Peering in through the windows. Keeping watch, I suppose. If they even comprehend their purpose, which I’m not convinced they do. Not all of them, anyway.

There’s one, though, that seems different. And believe you me I’m being cautious here. Keeping my skepticism high. Mr. O is nothing if not clever, I’ll give him that. Psychopathic, sure. But brilliant, too.

I caught him lingering at the window. The different one. Scared the bejeesus out of me. It was dusk, and the bathroom window is on the south-eastern side. I couldn’t see him with the lights on; could only see my reflection in the windowpane as I stepped out from the shower. And I probably wouldn’t have seen him at all had he not placed his hand on the glass, making a knocking sound. Not aggressive or anything. Gentle in fact. But it startled me, and I shut off the lights to kill the reflection and there he was standing right outside in the shadows.

There’s the two types. The clone ones like a large pack of identical twins. And then the wild ones, as though raised by wolves, or worse. This was one of the wild ones. But less so than others I’ve seen. His long hair was fairly neat and pulled back over a shoulder, not strewn with sticks and leaves. He was upright, not all hunched over. Not as skittish, or senselessly aggressive. A look of curiosity in his eyes. Maybe even wonder at seeing me naked like that, his hand on the glass as though seeking contact, not shying from it or trying to scare it away.

Frozen like a statue, I was, naked or not. And so we stood there like that for a good thirty seconds, just staring at one another. His hand held out toward me. My heart pounding against my chest. Nearly hyperventilating I was so afraid.