Page 13 of Bird on a Blade

But Sawyer Caldwell is dead. I was in his fucking arms when he died.

The man heaves me into the cabin, his hand still wrapped around my mouth. I hear the door click shut. The lock turn.

Then his mouth is on my ear again.

“I’m gonna let you go.” His fingers curl slightly against the bones of my face. “And I don’t want you screaming. Do you understand?”

I don’t say anything. He sighs.

“I just want to talk to you, but I can’t do that if you’re screaming.”

Then he draws his hand away, slowly. For some reason, I don’t scream. Just like how I didn’t even try to attack Sawyer Caldwell that night fifteen years ago.

I do, however, turn around, bracing myself for another bloodstained mask.

Instead, I find the guy from the bookstore. The one reading the bestseller.

He looks at me, dark eyes burning. He’s dressed like all the men who live around here, grey flannel and dark jeans. Heavy work boots. Was this what he wore this afternoon? I can’t remember. I’m too panicky, too breathless.

“Do you remember me?” His eyes feel like mouths, swallowing me whole.

“Y-yes.” I take a step back, and he matches it, slow and predatory. I have no doubt if I try to run, he’ll tackle me. “You w-were at that b-bookstore. In town.”

But he frowns, shakes his head. A curl of dark brown hair falls across his forehead. “No,” he says. “No, I mean—” He gestures toward the windows. To the camp.

To the place where the dining hall had been.

This time, it’s my turn to shake my head. “This isn’t fucking funny,” I tell him, curling my hands into fists. I’ve got nothing. Not my keys, not my phone. The kitchen, and its rack full of knives, is too far away. “I don’t know who you think I am, but?—”

“Your name is Edie.” Something about the way he says my name feels almost… reverential. A prayer.

My head swoons.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shoot back, a beat too late. “My name’s—” Fuck, I’ve forgotten the fake name Charlotte and I came up.

But at the same time, I don’t think this man has anything to do with Scott.

He grins. It’s almost handsome, although there’s a sharpness to it that makes me suck in my breath. “I know who you are, Edie,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for fifteen years.”

Blood pounds in my ears. The man tilts his head a little, and it’s so much like fucking Sawyer Caldwell, just without the mask, that for a moment, I think I’m going to pass out.

“No.” I shake my head, say it again more firmly. “No. Sawyer Caldwell is dead. I was there when he died. I was?—”

I stop, faltering. Because he’s shaking his head now, his burning dark eyes never leaving mine. “Can’t die,” he says. “Didn’t die. Just went into the ground for a bit.”

Then he reaches out his hand, palm down, stretching it towards me like he expects me to jerk away.

“Stop this!” I shout, wrenching away from him.

He lifts his gaze, eyes big and weirdly puppy-dog-like, and curls his fingers back to his chest.

“I don’t know what bullshit fucking podcast you listened to, but Sawyer Caldwell isdead.”

Except there were those two officers at my parents’ house in Arlington.

Don’t want to worry you… body disappeared…we’ve got a detail on the house…

“I ain’t dead.”

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