He lowered the light, just slightly, and Violet caught a glimpse of that perfect smile. “If you insist.”
And then the flashlight hit the ground, and almost immediately they were plunged into darkness as Violet heard it shatter at Caine’s feet. Her stomach dropped. She couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see anything. She had no idea where he was.
And then she took a breath.
She calmed herself, reminding herself just how wrong she was. Reminding herself that she knew exactly where he was. She just needed to stay focused.
A ghost of a smile curved her lips as she realized that she had the upper hand now. “What’re you gonna do now, Caine?” She took a calculated step forward, clutching the pitchfork, ready to use it. “You can’t see me, but I can see you.”
There was a lull, a long void, and Violet wondered if he’d even heard her. And then a low moan filled the still air. The sound grew, ripped from Caine’s throat until it was a hoarse keening, like the wail of a child.
Violet jumped back, startled by the noises that were coming from him. She heard him drop to his knees as he scrambled for the pieces of the flashlight.
She didn’t wait to see if he found them. She took her opportunity to run for the side door she’d seen when the flashlight had been working.
But she didn’t get far. As she passed him, Caine clawed at her, his hands desperate, ripping and tearing frantically as he clutched at her coat—at his coat. Violet got tangled up and turned around, until the tines of the pitchfork were no longer pointed at Caine. She tried to swing back around so she could strike him—or stab him—but it was too late. She was disoriented and the weapon was useless as his grip on her tightened.
She threw the pitchfork down, letting it clatter to the ground, and at the same time she let her arms go limp and felt them slip out of the jacket, setting herself free. She kept running, leaving Caine clutching the coat and not her.
She didn’t have much time; he’d be up and after her in a matter of seconds. She wouldn’t make it to the door on the opposite end of the barn—the one she’d seen when she’d been hiding in the tack room—and he was blocking the only other way out.
That left her with one choice . . . up.
Violet scrambled up the steps, which were more like a makeshift ladder than actual stairs, and even without her ability to tell her that Caine wasn’t coming yet, she’d have known. She could still hear him, scrabbling around on the floor. Still trying to piece the shattered fragments of the flashlight together, and she wondered why it mattered so much to him.
She knew now that it had been a mistake coming into the barn, that she’d trapped herself. But she still had a chance; she could still get away if she was careful. And smart.
The opening in the loft floor was small, and Violet thought that maybe, during daylight conditions, she might have been able to find something she could drag over to block Caine from coming up. Something to barricade herself inside.
But that wasn’t the case. Instead it was even blacker up here than below, something she planned to use to her advantage. She clambered up quickly, her heart in her throat despite her head start.
Once on semisolid ground, on the boards that ran across the tops of the rafters, she tried to move noiselessly. She stayed on her hands and knees, reminding herself how precarious this was, that these planks could be rotting or cracked or just plain weak, like the ones on the outside of the barn. Every movement felt risky, but staying motionless wasn’t an option. So she crawled, hoping he couldn’t hear which direction she went. Hoping he was too preoccupied with his futile task to notice her. At least for the moment.
Violet heard a violent crash from below, and knew that Caine had thrown the busted flashlight against one of the walls. His rage was palpable, and she huddled farther into the corner, hugging herself as tightly as she could.
If he was desperate before, now he was infuriated. Of the two, she preferred desperation.
She held her breath, listening as he grappled with the steps. He was larger than she was, and his weight made them shudder and groan. She silently prayed they would snap beneath the pressure, even if it meant she’d be trapped up here, all by herself.
But they didn’t, and she heard him reach the top at the same time her skin prickled painfully, like a coat of needles.
Unlike her, he stood upright. She knew because when he spoke his voice came from above her. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Violet hugged her knees tighter, hoping he couldn’t see her nightgown—or her—pressed into the darkest corner of the grimy loft. “I promise not to hurt you. I promise you . . . won’t . . . feel . . . a . . . thing.”
She cringed, shaking all over. Adrenaline tore through her as she concentrated on one thing. Him. She tracked him by the imprints he bore.
She calculated his position as he walked three steps away from her, and then he turned and walked two more directly toward her. Her heart failed to beat for several immeasurable seconds. Her eyes widened as she felt the tremor of his boot landing squarely in front of her and she could smell every inch of him, basted in burnt rubber. Awash in death.
When he turned the other way, Violet’s blood began to pump once more, filling her with a dread so overpowering it threatened to engulf her. This might be her only opening, she realized as with each step he took, the distance between them grew.
She hesitated, unsure that her plan—her only hope—was wise, but recognizing she had no other options. And then, because it was the only thing she could do, she fled, moving as quickly as she could, not caring that he could hear her now. Not caring that she was reckless and clumsy.