When Kyle had recovered enough to get out of the bed, we raided the closets for warm if ill-fitting clothes. Kyle found a heavy sweater and a pair of wool pants that must have been either the cop's or the cop's father's. I found an old coat and a pair of Doc Martin's boots that must have once been the cop's sister's.
The rest of the house was pretty much a typical, well-provisioned summer house. There was a huge kitchen with modern appliances—obviously where the cop had prepared those weirdly gourmet meals—and a massive pantry. I went out to turn the generator back on and we stuffed ourselves on microwaved frozen burritos, Pop Tarts, and venison jerky.
I tried not to think about the body still floating in the bathtub.
In the cop's room, obviously his old bedroom on the other side of the wall from his sister's room where he'd kept me, was a laptop. Kyle turned it on, but it was password protected. The cords running through the wall from the other room went straight into a heavy safe. Inside was obviously the computer tower he'd hacked and attached to the screen in the other room. We tried a few random passwords before giving up. Neither of us knew enough about computers to re-program it, anyway. So our only access to the outside was still Wattpad.
Creepily, above the cop's desk were full-color photographs of me—me stepping out of my Pasadena coffee shop, me on my motorcycle; there was even a grainy surveillance photo of me sneaking into Kyle's dorms. The cop had obviously been tracking me and planning this kidnapping for months. He even had this selfie I'd taken on my phone of myself in this low-cut, sexy top and nothing else but underwear—something I'd never put online and had only ever shown to Kyle. It was right in the middle of all the other printed-out photos he'd pinned to the wall.
Outside, the snow wasn't letting up at all. At least a foot had accumulated now, and it looked like the storm wouldn't stop for hours.
Even if we were able to fix the U-Haul's gas tank, we wouldn't be able to drive out of the mountains until the snow melted. The roads would be completely impassable.
But we couldn't bring ourselves to stay in the house.
"We'll go to the cottage," Kyle said. "Our cottage. We'll stay there until the snow melts."
When he said this, I felt a surge of hope. I'd almost forgotten about the tiny cottage that was just visible on the far side of the mountains where we'd fantasized about living. Now, I imagined actually staying there alone with Kyle for a while, and for a moment I didn't even care that we were snowed in. I couldn't wait to leave the house behind. We'd survive. I knew we would. Despite how deeply rattled I was feeling about having killed the cop, and despite even my increasingly debilitating symptoms, I was actually feeling a little happy. At last.
We filled a duffel bag with canned food. Kyle carried it over his shoulder while I followed him through the falling snow. The cottage was much farther away than it had looked from the house, and my legs were so tired and unwieldy that I could barely make it through the heavy snow.
When we finally reached the cottage, its front door was locked with a padlock, but Kyle found an axe in the attached wood shed and broke off the latch.
The door swung open.
The interior of the cottage was tiny. It was also dusty, filled with cobwebs, and mostly bare. It was nothing like the cute cozy space we'd both imagined when we'd tapped back and forth fantasizing about being here. There was just one small room, barely larger than the one I'd been staying in. A small, dust-covered bed filled most of the space. There was no fireplace, only a small wood stove. The old rug on the floor was dusty and torn. Rough, open shelves contained just a couple of worn pots and a spare collection of cooking utensils.
But for now, it was ours. And no one else's.
Kyle dropped the duffel bag and kissed me.
"We're going to be just fine," He said. "We'll stay here until the snow melts. Then we'll fix the U-Haul, just like you said. And after that, we'll get you to the best doctor in LA." He looked me straight in the eye. "And we'll get you better," he whispered emphatically. "I'm not going to lose you, Bailey. If your disease is different than other types of Huntington's, then maybe there's a way to cure it. I know there is. We'll find it."
I kissed him back. I tried as hard as I could to believe him.
Right away we cleaned up the cottage, making it as comfortable as possible. There was a single light bulb, which must have been connected to the generator, because it actually worked. There was tons of firewood stacked outside in the attached shed. Kyle lit a fire in the stove, and soon the cottage was warmer than my chilly room in the house had ever been.
By the time it got dark, there was at least three feet of snow outside. And the snow was still falling. We prepared for a long stay.