Her eyes, his lies

Chapter 33

"You were the perfect scalpel," he said.

The world flashed as the blaze exploded through the air, consuming all. Jane found herself on the floor, blood seeping from the wound in her neck. She could not move, but she knew Jackson was drawing closer, the endlessly repeating gunshots approaching.

Gunshot. He was coming.

Gunshot. Mere inches away.

She could not speak. Only a horrible, wet gurgle was produced when she tried. Another gunshot.

All at once, the fire was extinguished, and her kitchen was intact once more. The gunshots were silent. The blood was gone.

Jane was standing over her own body, hands pressed to her own neck, but there was no blood to stem. No life to preserve.

Instead, she found her own hands choking her, crushing the air from her windpipe.

She awoke, her heart rattling beneath her ribs like a trapped bird. Her sweat formed an uncomfortably damp ring beneath her head, soaking through Ryder's jacket. It had not been a restful sleep.

Early morning sunlight beamed through the tinted windows of the van. Jane groaned as she moved her stiff legs, which had been stuck in the same position as she slept. There was hardly space to move amongst Ryder's luggage.

A quick glance out the window revealed a murky stream frothing amongst overgrown trees and a dirt road. They definitely weren't in the town square anymore.

Ryder himself was absent from the van, though he had left the engine running. Carefully, Jane opened the sliding door, and stepped outside.

A splash from the stream caught her attention, and she approached the source of the sound.

Ryder was standing, waist deep in the water, chest bare. He glanced up as she approached.

"Hey," he said, an attempt at a smile on his lips.

"Hey." Jane found that she didn't have it in her to return the smile.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head blearily. Her heart was still pounding from the nightmare.

"Well, come here, I know what'll wake you up." Ryder's eyes were narrowed like that of a mischievous cat. He was planning something.

Gingerly, she approached the edge of the stream, wary. "What?"

"Take your pants off," he said, absolutely deadpan.

Jane's face colored, nearly the same shade as her hair. If she could reach that far, she would've slapped him.

"Ryder!" she shouted, outraged.

"It's not like that! Come on, the water's not too cold. Get in."

Jane eyed the cloudy water with suspicion, every headline she'd read about water-borne illness coming to the front of her mind.

The gunshot echoed once more through her mind, as if reminding her of everything that had happened mere hours ago. As if punishing her for daring to think about something else for even a second. It would not allow her to forget, it promised. Never ever.

"Screw it," Jane muttered. Hastily, she pulled her jeans off, and waded into the water.

It was like a shock to her system. The water sapped her body heat from the moment her feet touched the surface, sending a shiver up her spine.

To Ryder's credit, he had looked away as she stripped, his muscular torso turned sideways towards her. Partially submerged in the water, sunlight gleaming off his damp skin, Jane felt as if she were looking at an otherworldly being, a creature from folklore and religious texts.