Page 65 of Sugar Coated Secrets

I look around. “Yeah. It’s a cabin. I saw it when I broke down, and the tow truck picked me up.”

I’ve been thinking about the cabin. If someone lived there, it could have been the person who attacked me. I didn't believe an elderly man could possess such strength, but someone did.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we should call the cops.”

I stop. “Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t trust anyone in this town. You can leave me here. I don’t want to put you in any danger. Go back to the car, and if you see that I’m in trouble, drive off and call the cops.” I glance back at her car, parked on the side of the road. “Go,” I say quietly.

“I can’t,” she says, shaking her head frantically.

“You can. I’ll be fine,” I assure her.

"No, you won't. What if there's a man who hurts you or a fucking psycho killer who cuts girls up for fun?

“I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

“Dulce. I don't think...”

“Go, Katie,” I snap, and she jolts.

I regret talking to her like that when she has been the only person who has been nice to me, but this is something I have to do.

We walk between the trees, the sun causing me to squint until we see the small triangle shape of the rustic roof appear.

The door is tilted like it’s been tampered with. It reminds me of those crack houses you see on TV in the city, where drug addicts hang out to shoot up drugs.

My eyes fixate on the fogged-up windows caked in yellow like they haven’t been washed in years, but I can’t see anyone. I get the courage to knock.

“Are you nuts?” Katie whispers.

I knock again. I wait a few minutes, ignoring the alarm bells ringing in my head, telling me to get the hell out of here.

There is a loud thump and then a curse.

“Shit. Oh my God. Someone actually fucking lives here. Dulce, let’s get the hell out of here.” Katie grabs my arm, trying to drag me away.

“No,” I say with conviction, pulling my arm out of her grasp. “Go, Katie. There is still time. Get out of here.”

“Hell, no. I’m not leaving you here.”

I hate dragging her into this. I check to see how far we are from the road. If something happens, she’ll have time to run to her car. I have to face this nightmare. I need to know. Whoever is behind that door could be my attacker. He could be the reason I can’t sleep at night. The reason I want to fucking die. Maybe he could finish the job.

The door opens, and a man appears, looking like a corpse fromThe Night of the Living Dead. He has rheumy eyes, gnarly hands, and veins running down his alabaster skin like a road map to hell. It’s the old man, Moody. Dean was telling the truth. The old man who likes young pussy.

"What the fuck do you want?" he asks, tucking his thumbs into his suspenders to cover his stained white shirt, which does little to conceal his wrinkled skin and gray chest hair.

“Are you Mr. Moody?”

“Who the fuck wants to know?” he asks with a dirty gleam in his eyes.

“My name is Dulce Webster. Four years ago, someone attacked me in these woods.”

His laughter makes the hairs on my arms stand up. “Let me guess. You think I had something to do with it? Does it look like I can run after a cunt like you?” He gives me a slow once-over, making my skin crawl. “In my prime, you wouldn’t stand a chance, but I’m too old. My dick doesn’t work, but if you would like to show an old man a good time, I won’t hold it against you,” he spits, and I want to throw up when I get a glimpse of his missing front teeth. “Your secret is safe with me, Dulce. I know who you are.”

My throat seizes.

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