A lake breeze races through the woods. The misty morning lifts like a curtain to reveal a warn Sun. Birds chatter with squirrels. Small critters move about the old cabin.
Inside, a low groan. A mind reassembled details. Daylight brings pain to the eyes and head.
The forgotten trip here weights heavy.
“Is he still here?” words too weak to be heard leave Rose’s lips.
Silence answers her. Even the shadows hide from her.
“Who was he?…. How did he know me?…. Why me!” Her consciousness plays tag with each question.
She lies still waiting. But for what?
The mind winds a clock backwards. Thoughts point to which things might have happened. A simple chance meeting. An extra drink. Talk of a park and a lake. The face stays hidden under a haze. She can’t hide the voice. The calmness and relaxed tone. It lied of safety.
It sang in deception.
A stream of sunlight makes dust dance. It’s freedom to shine both haunt and inspire thoughts of fleeing. Her mind is willing but a sore body is weak.
“I have to get out of here.” Her voice finds its way. “Time to leave…. I hope he is gone.”
Her hands feel against a wood paneled wall. The mission style furniture lays half covered in old blankets and forgotten clothes. The cabin has that stale air of being trapped for months at a time. The Sun warms the roof and causes creaking and stretching sounds. She jumps with each one. Her legs push her up to see out a window. The woods yield to opening and a distant lake. An old truck rusts in place. There are no people.
Rose finds her feet on the floor. Her eyes search for clues. Maps of the park, brochures of places near and far, a phone book, books of nature, and a layer of dust covers most of it. Fishing poles and paddles sit in corners. The place is scattered by design.
The wooden door calls out to her. It’s uneven dark strain and wrought iron bars seem mismatched for the rest of the dark wood interior. Freedom is on the other side, maybe