Page 32 of Whiteout

I lean down, pressing a hard kiss to her lips. "You're officially marked as mine now. All. Fucking. Mine."

Chapter 14

Ivy

I stretch out on Kris's bed, listening to sound of the shower coming from the adjoining bathroom. A lazy smile spreading across my face as I think back on our night at the carnival.

My gaze lands on the open closet door, a thin line of light cutting through the darkness inside catches my eye. That's odd, all the lights are off inside. I prop myself up on my elbows, squinting at the strange glow emanating from the back wall.

I get up from the bed, the wooden floor cold under my bare feet. Inside the closet, his clothes hang in neat rows - mostly flannel shirts and jeans. I push aside Kris's clothes and that's when I see it: a crack of light along the back wall, where the wooden panels meet.

I run my fingers along the seam. It takes me a moment to realize that it's not just a seam—it's a door, slightly ajar.My heart pounds in my chest as I push gently on the panel. It moves silently on well-oiled hinges, opening just enough for me to see there's some kind of room behind it.

I reach to push the door open. Everything in me screams this is wrong, that I'm violating Kris's privacy. I hesitate a moment, listening to the sounds of the shower drifting in from the bathroom.

I have to know what is behind this door. With a deep breath, I swing the door open, revealing a mostly empty room with a lone cabinet and another door. I move towards the cabinet first.

When I open it, I find only one thing inside, a black ceramic box. I pick up the ceramic box first, turning it over in my hands. All the air whooshes out of my lungs when I read the inscription on the side.

Nicholas Kincaid, June 16, 1984 - November 4, 2023

Everything Kris told me about his brother was a lie. A dead man can't be the Huntsman.It has to be Kris.

What's behind the other door? I'm across the room and reaching for the new door's handle before I even realize I'm moving.

I open the door and take in my surroundings. I'm staring into my own bedroom through the wooden slats of mycloset doors.

Oh my god.The noises I heard from my closet the other night, it was Kris. He's the one who has been watching me.

I have to get away, but where can I go? I could go to the police, but what would I even say? I have no proof that he’s done anything wrong. If I try to run, he will find me. Damn it, I need to think.

I start to panic when I hear the water shut off in the bathroom. I leave everything as I found it and close the door. I run as fast as I can to Kris’s bed, jumping under the covers and pulling them up to my face. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep just before he steps out of the bathroom.

I lie perfectly still as Kris slides into bed next to me, his warm body pressing against mine. My heart pounds so hard I afraid he'll feel it through my skin. I focus on keeping my breathing slow and steady, fighting every instinct screaming at me to run from this bed, from this house, from this mountain.

My car's finally out of that ditch. Once he's asleep, I'll slip away into the night. Never look back. Delete my podcast episodes about the Huntsman. Forget this whole nightmare.

Minutes crawl by like hours. I count my breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

The bed shifts. Instead of drifting off to sleep, Kris slowly shifts his weight and carefully gets out of bed. As if he's trying not to wake me. I hear fabric rustling- he's getting dressed. His footsteps cross the room. They pause beside me. His lips brush against my forehead, gentle and tender. It takes everything in me not to flinch away from his touch.

"No one disrespects you," he whispers.

My blood turns to ice. What does that mean? Who is he talking about? Questions swirl through my mind, but I force myself to stay still, to keep breathing evenly.

His footsteps move away. The bedroom door opening and then closing with a soft click. I crack one eye open, confirming I'm alone. What the hell was he talking about?

I wait, listening for any signs of Kris's movements throughout the cabin. I leap out of bed at the tell-tale sound of the front door. I throw on clothes, not caring if they are mine or even backwards. I run to the front door, slipping on my boots. Grabbing my coat and keys, I glance out the window.

The second the brake lights of his truck disappear out of sight; I dart out the front door and into the freezing air. My handsshake as I try to fit the key into the ignition.

The engine roars to life and I peel out of the driveway, gravel flying in my wake. I speed down the winding mountain road, not daring to look back. I have to get as far away from Kris as possible.

I keep my lights off, keeping distance between us to remain out of his sight. The fresh snow reveals his tire tracks. Coming to the end of the winding mountain road, I pause. Turning left would take me through Hemlock Hollow, far away from this place. Far away from Kris. I could go back home, delete my entire podcast on Hemlock Hollow, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Kris's tire tracks turn to the right. I start to turn left, then stop in the middle of the intersection. Where would he go if he wasn't heading into town? Frustrated with my own lack of self-preservation and overwhelmed by curiosity, I whip my car to the right, following Kris’s tracks.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I should be going the opposite direction, putting as much distance as possible between Kris and me. But here I am, chasing after him.

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