Chapter 13.
"Come on, come on, come on!" you mumble, forcing your legs to move faster. The nightly air bites at your skin, cold and frosty in the winter. You miss the sunshine of spring or summer, anything really, but not this cold of night.
The flashlight, having been found underneath the bed, in the room where Jack had deposited some of your clothes, definitely not enough though, pierces through the night. You hear rustling and wood creaking, but you've made sure that Jack is asleep in his room before you left. It is the fourth day at the cabin, and you have spent the last day relaxing and resting your ankle that still throbs slightly from time to time. Your feet drag over the ground, because the freaking anklets make running faster almost impossible, and your muscles are aching from the effort.
Finally, the light pierces through the thick, black foliage, illuminating the bay where you almost drowned.
"Ha, I'm awesome, I knew it!" you whisper, quickly, or, well, as quickly as possible, dashing towards the boat tied to a tree, partially hidden beneath the lush vegetation.
Another crack and rustling behind you makes you paranoid, flicking your eyes over your shoulder constantly, trying to catch anything in the complete darkness of the forest edge.
You pull yourself onto the boat, only to find, dismayed, that it is a motorized one. Worse, it’s a motorized one requiring a key. And even much worse, after a few minutes of searching, you know Jack hasn’t been stupid enough to leave the key on the boat.
As you set, trying to even pretend how to hotwire a bloody boat, a chuckle makes you squeal and fall back as your ankles basically refuse to move.
"Now now, don't go try something that will break the boat. We do need it for ... food." Jack comes out of the shadows, gracefully and deadly, stalking towards you like you're prey. You gulp, shrinking back into the chair of the boat, scared you have messed up beyond belief.
"You're so very, very, stubborn, [Name]." He sounds amused, instead of angry, which irks you. You're quite glad he doesn't sound angry, though.
"Yeah, well, maybe if you finally let me go back home!" you retort, crossing your arms in front of your chest, before uncrossing again as you notice that ... well, he's standing, you're sitting, and you both surely aren't on even footing. Ignoring the outstretched hand, you stand and, like an idiot, stumble as the anklets impede your movement. His hand quickly grabs you by the waist, holding you upright.
"You should be more careful, [Name]." he whispers, chuckling as he feels your shiver.
"And you should remove these bloody shackles and let me go home." you growl, shaking his hands off your skin, the warmth clinging to you like glue. You shiver again and you can hear his smirk through the mask.
"Maybe, one day, if you stop trying to run away. The waters here aren't very forgiving and it would be such a shame to lose you to them." Your eyes widen comically again and he laughs, his head thrown back in mirth. The skin of his throat seems oddly colored, but you can't really see it in the moonlight, and his laugh, although aimed at your demise, still makes your blood boil slightly. It's warm and rich and strong.
"Relax, [Name], if I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But, please, do us both a favor and stop trying to run away, yes? Even if it does amuse me quite a bit." He grabs your hand, pulling you towards the edge of the boat, before grasping your waist again and lifting you over the edge, your feet landing in the water next to his.
"Now, if you're done with your adventure, I think we should return home. It's getting late and -" He looks you up and down as you are standing in front of him clad in shorts and a tank top, the only type of clothing you own as Jack hasn’t bothered to get anything else so far. "- I think you must be feeling quite cold."
As if to emphasize his words, a shivers passes your body and he hummed in response.
The trip back home is quiet and cold. You drag your feet again, feeling the exhaustion taking over you, the anklets not helping in the least. Jack keeps giving you sideway looks, but keeps the silence intact. You are grateful for the small reprise.
Finally home, you let yourself fall in front of the fire again, the flames warming you up to where you are feeling drowsy. You look back at the kitchen area, where you hear Jack do something which you can’t quite discern. Shrugging, you grab the book you had been reading yesterday, picking up where you have left off. Though your focus is quickly broken by the smell of something ... burning? You jump up, rushing into the kitchen only to see Jack standing at the stove, something burning in a pot.
"Wh-what is this? Jack?"
"I-I was trying to cook some pasta..."
You stare at the burnt mess, before looking back at Jack who is rather confused as to why this cooking process didn't go as planned.
"Did you add water?" you inquire, biting your lip to keep back a chuckle, grabbing the pan and throwing it under the faucet.
"Yeah, a spoonful." He sounds so serious. The hold on your lip breaks along with your resolve not to laugh, doubling over in mirth.
"Jack, you need to add a lot more water than that!" you snicker, adding some soap to the mess to try and soften the charcoal like residue.
His simple "Ah." makes you dissolve into another fit of laughter.
----
The water is running in the bathroom. You see that Jacks clothing lay crumpled up on the couch, his mask, however, is no where in sight. It's been two days since the "kitchen disaster" as you have come to dub it and you spent the previous day scrubbing the kitchen and the bathroom clean, both downstairs as well as upstairs. While before those rooms had only been marginally clean enough to use, they are now spotless, apart from some areas where you either couldn't reach or that are damaged by weather and time.
You slowly approach the hoodie lying on the couch. You have yet to see Jack’s face, or any his skin for that matter, so you feel confused as to why he would just leave his clothing lying around when he has been so careful to always be dressed when you are in his presence, but you don’t care too much about that now. You have seen him toying with something metallic in the pockets of his hoodie and that means either one of two things: He has the scalpel in there, which you have come to see quite often in the last few days, or he has left the key behind. Since he doesn’t leave any sharp things around you, such as knives or glass, you don’t think he'd forget the scalpel in his clothes. Your smile widens when you reach into the pocket and pull out a key.
A small silver key.
A small silver key with a small tag saying "18 Vengeance" ... the same model as the boat.
You muffle your shout of victory with your hand, fist pumping the air in joy.
Silently, you leave the cabin, making sure to be as quiet as possible, while still trying to be swift. Of course, the bells on the anklets are annoying you, but after yesterday, you have learnt to muffle the sound by stuffing little strips of cloth into the opening and taping it down.
You move quickly yet with a lot of difficulty through the woods again, the keys held in a death grasp, excited to get off of this bloody island. You spare a thought to leaving Jack here, but shrug it off as unnecessary. You are sure he knows of other ways to get help and get off of there.
This time, it takes you longer to find the boat. Jack has hidden it a bit better, long thick branches covering the silver hull, but a stray beam of moonlight hits it just so and you do let out a joyful whoop this time. You quickly climb on board, the anklets hindering you more than you'd have thought, and move to the front of the boat.
The front of the boat where a note is stuck to the window ...
You recognize Jack’s handwriting almost immediately, and you shiver again, even though Jack had finally gotten you a jacket.
"You really are quite stubborn.
Come back home now.
- Jack"
The growl comes unannounced out of your throat, frustrated and angry, you jam the key into the ignition.
You try to jam it, that is. The key doesn’t go in. The key doesn’t fit. It isn’t the right key.
Defeated, you let yourself fall back down on the floor of the boat, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you rake your fingers through your hair. Ok, so the bastard has planned this. That's fine, you can deal with this and the smug butthole.
Your trip back to the cabin is filled with your imagination, how you'd wring Jack’s neck, how he'd plead for mercy, how you’d stab little pins into his arms, how you'd torture him -
You stop your thoughts quickly as you set foot into the cabin, and Jack, smug and arrogant, is sitting on the couch, watching TV, as if nothing has happened. You can, however, tell he's smirking by the way the mask tilts slightly to the side. You'd become quite good at discerning this.
"You need to get me shampoo, shower cream and body lotion then. And we're almost out of milk." you say, plopping down next to him as he pats the couch.
"Glad to see you're coming to your senses, [Name]." He says, and yep, that bastard is smirking.
"Shut up and give me the remote control."