Locked Doors

48

WE sat huddled together in the corner. The lodge was absolutely black.

“He put something in the jug of water, didn’t he?” Beth said.

“I think so. Oh, man, if I don’t get up, I’m gonna pass out right now.”

I struggled to my feet, Violet’s. 45 clenched in my hand.

A whirlwind spun behind my eyes.

“I can’t stay awake much longer,” Beth whispered.

I staggered over to the broken window, peered out into the woods.

The live oaks glowed in the new moonlight, their twisted limbs lathered in electric blue. The marsh grass that surrounded the lodge stood so still it appeared frozen.

Through the fuzziness, I thought of Violet again, wondered where he’d left her, hoped the thing had been done quickly.

I felt so woozy now.

Beth was whispering my name and it sounded like, “Anananandydydydy.”

As I turned my head the darkness blurred.

She was slumped over, motionless in the corner.

“Anananandydydydy.”

Then it occurred to me that Beth was unconscious.

The voice belonged to a man and it was coming from somewhere outside.

I looked back through the window.

A shadow appeared at the thicket’s edge, its pale face glowing like a moon in the dark.

Luther.

It emerged from the woods and started toward the lodge.

I aimed the. 45 through the window, then realized my hands were empty.

The gun lay at my feet.

When I bent down for it, my legs liquefied.

I stumbled backward.

Crashed into the table.

Plates shattering.

I was down on my back.

Footfalls thumping up the steps.

My consciousness twirling and falling out from under me.

The door unlocked, flung open.

And I was gone.