Page 54 of The Intruder

And yet…

Why is she here?

And what is she planning to do to me?

Despite the fire raging in front of me, a chill goes through me. I try to remind myself that these drawings are just that—drawings. And now that I suspect her intentions, I will be on guard. I could outrun her easily, and if it came down to it, I believe I could overpower and disarm her even if she’s got a knife on her side. I could almost certainly keep her from beheading me.

But then a terrible thought hits me. And I realize how stupid I have been.

When I went out to the toolshed, I brought my gun with me. And then when I came back, I put the gun back where I found it. At the bottom of my dresser drawer. In the bedroom.

Where Eleanor is sleeping.

38

I’ve got to get my gun back.

How could I have been so stupid as to leave an unsecured gun in a room with a child? Even if the child didn’t want me to die a gruesome death, that’s a bad move. Whatever else, Eleanor has been through a major trauma and is scared and confused—she’s the last person who should have access to a firearm.

But just because I left it there, it doesn’t mean she has discovered it. It was deep in the drawer, under all my clothing. It’s probably still there.

Well, I’m definitely not going to be able to go to sleep until I get it back.

Really, this is my bedroom and my gun. I have every right to march in there and take it. However, my instinct is to try to get in and out of that room without Eleanor knowing. I have made a lot of incredibly poor decisions tonight, and I am not going to make another one.

I stuff the notebook back under the cushions of the sofa. Then I kick off my slippers, thinking I’ll be quieter without them. And I creep across the living room to the door to the bedroom.

Naturally, the hinges on the door make a loud whining noise when I push the door open. It sounds a lot like a fire alarm going off. I hold my breath, directing my gaze at the queen-size bed in the center of the room. Eleanor is lying in the center of it, and I can just barely make out her chest rising and falling. She must be exhausted.

The bedroom is cold—colder than before and even worse than the living room because there is no fireplace. I can almost see my breath. I hope Eleanor is okay here, although I certainly gave her enough blankets. And she was able to fall asleep, so she can’t be that cold. Anyway, I need to stop worrying about this girl who wants to kill me and get my damn gun back.

Every floorboard I step on creaks maddeningly under my feet, and the sound echoes through the room. Every time I take a step, I look over at the bed, certain she has woken up. But so far, I’m good.

When I get to the dresser, I carefully ease open the top drawer, which protests with yet another loud squeak. I never realized how noisy this house was! I’ve been alone here for so long. I get it open just enough to stick my hand inside.

I fumble around the bottom of the drawer, waiting for the cold, reassuring feel of the Glock’s handle. I don’t find it right away, so I have to pull the drawer open a little bit farther, pushing clothing away. My hands run over the entire base of the drawer, but I don’t feel anything.

Where is my gun?

“Looking for this, Casey?”

I swivel my head. My jaw drops open as I see Eleanor sitting up in bed. She’s wearing my cozy, fluffy sweater over the T-shirt, and she’s got her jeans on. A moment ago, I was certain she was fast asleep, but now she’s wide-awake.

And she’s pointing a gun at my head.

39

BEFORE

ELLA

I can’t sleep.

I keep tossing and turning, but I can’t get comfortable in my bed. I mean, my bed isn’t super comfortable in general, but for some reason, it feels worse tonight. Also, my room still has that smell of rotting pumpkins. I got rid of as many things as I could that had been tainted by pumpkin goo, but the smell is still there. Sometimes I don’t even notice it, but right now, I do. It’ll probably never go away entirely.

Finally, I sit up in bed. I wonder what the Carter household is doing right now. Well, Brittany is probably asleep in her room. But maybe John and Vanessa are awake. Maybe they’re lying in bed together, watching a TV show before they drift off.

If John is my father, does that make Vanessa my stepmother? I don’t entirely know. She would probably be mad at my mother, since he was obviously having an affair, but none of that is my fault. I saw Brittany’s mother once, at a bake sale, and she had a very motherly look. She smiled a lot and had a blond bob and was kind of chubby, and she looked like she gave good hugs. Maybe she would be kind to me.