Lyra was emotionally and physically spent; so too was her captor. He fell next to her, his body pressing into hers in the tight space of his small bed. He felt her shiver as the night air drew in. Gently, he pushed his arms against her and moved so that he could manipulate the duvet up and over their bodies. For the first time in years, the rigid, motionless posture so familiar to him slipped away and he pulled her deeply into the security of his arms. The rope bit into her wrists and she knew that she would not sleep with the awkwardness of the sensation. Lyra pulled herself up and turned to her abductor, holding her wrists in front of him. Kane sat bolt upright and glared through the mask in the dimness of the hall light.
‘Take them off, Kane. I won’t run away,’ Lyra pleaded. ‘I promise.’ Kane nodded towards the machete that lay on the floor. Lyra’s eyes flicked over the glint of the blade and she lowered her head. ‘I won’t leave,’ she reiterated. Kane tilted his head. Lyra’s arms remained outstretched until Kane relented and loosened the knot, slipping the rope over her hands. Again, he nodded towards the weapon as a warning.
Lyra sank back down into the comfort of the mattress and Kane took her back into his grasp. His vast arms held her tightly so that her head pressed into the breast of his boiler suit. Her plans to escape had been subverted the moment her body gave in to his touch; years of self-imposed isolation manifested themselves as a deep loneliness and intense longing that only her captor had ever met. As territorially cruel as he was, he was also the source of the most delicious pleasure and protection. No one would ever hurt Lyra, not whilst she remained with Kane.
As his woman’s head nuzzled into his chest, Kane’s stomach knotted. He wondered if her affections had been a ruse to manipulate him, allowing her to leave; even if they were, her body’s response to him was genuine. He could still smell the sweet nectar that gave her desire away; he lowered his masked face to her, inhaling her sweet aroma. Whatever her intentions had been, she was now his and even bore his mark to prove it. She had not seen him unmasked; if she did, then she would not be so obliging in her response to him. He would never let that happen. She would never see him unmasked; he could not face her rejecting him with the disgusted look on her face that so many others had when they saw him. The rage began to swell within him; the others, the outsiders who had been so cruel; he had struck them down. If his woman rejected him in the same way, the demonic wrath inside him would strike her down, and he feared that it would be beyond his control.
‘Kane,’ Lyra whispered, sensing his growing tension. ‘Are you OK?’ He squeezed her briefly to offer his reassurance. She thought of his machete lying on the floor and how he had indicated that he would dispatch her should she try to run. Her body was drifting into a tired lull, but a concern haunted her mind. ‘You won’t hurt me, will you, Kane?’ Her abductor heard her question but knew that he could not make such a promise. In one way, seeing her suffer aroused him; in another, he knew that if she betrayed him, his anger would be unstoppable. He did not move in response to her question. ‘I’m tired, Kane. Just tell me you won’t kill me in my sleep.’ He squeezed her again. She turned her head up to look at him in response and kissed the part of his mask that covered his mouth before falling into a much-needed sleep.
She woke to the sound of bells ringing. Instantly, Kane leapt from the bed and buttoned closed his suit. He reattached his tool belt and scabbard and forced his machete into the sheath, all with inhuman stealth. Lyra stirred in response to the commotion and her weary eyes opened. The bell rang again, and she understood the implication.
‘Don’t go,’ Lyra muttered. Kane snapped his head to look at her and he partially drew the machete from its scabbard. He turned away from her briefly as if to leave and then snapped his entire body back in her direction. Lyra recoiled nervously. Kane reached into his tool belt and pulled out the handcuffs. ‘No, Kane. I told you I wouldn’t leave.’ He tilted his head as she spoke. ‘I won’t leave, I promise,’ she whispered. Kane ignored her, knowing that she had almost escaped that morning. He marched towards her and looped the chain of the cuffs through the rope hanging over the headboard. Lyra winced as he tightened the cuffs around her wrists. ‘Don’t do this, Kane,’ she begged. He did not know whether she referred to the impending executions or the manacling of her wrists, but it did not matter; both situations were not negotiable. He did not respond to her pleas; instead, he turned around and stalked out of the room. Lyra heard the trapdoor open and listened as he dropped into the tunnels and strode off to seek his prey.
Marietta had lived on the opposite side of the lake for many years. She knew not to venture into Kane’s wilderness, but like Harlon, she had not left the area when the disappearances began; instead, she lived as a recluse in her own cabin, intentionally ignoring the strange occurrences on the other side of the lake. Her only friend and helper had been Amy Penrose. Amy collected her groceries and carried out any financial business on her behalf in town. Over time, they had developed an understanding. Marietta had even warned her repeatedly not to sell Maple Cabin for fear of what Kane would do to the realtor. Her warnings had gone largely unheeded as Amy had hoped to cash in on the sale and leave the area, but she had promised to make alternative arrangements for Marietta’s care before she left. Marietta had waited for Amy all of the previous day, and Amy’s notable absence caused her concern.
As the day wore into the evening, Marietta’s concern deepened, and it deepened further when Amy did not arrive that morning. Again, she had waited all day and finally decided to try to reach the new owner of Maple Cabin under cover of darkness. Her cabin sat on a pier where she kept an old rowing boat. Once she was sure that all was quiet, she rowed, with the aid of a small flashlight, across the lake to Lyra’s beachfront. She alighted as speedily as she intended to leave. Marietta flicked the light across the cabin. The shutters were closed and the door open. Hastily, she entered the cabin and glanced about the place. It was empty, and she noticed that the locks on the door had been broken. Her heart sank; she had lost a companion and placed herself in the same danger that she had effectively avoided for many years.
Marietta backed quietly out of the cabin; her old heart began to pound in her chest with the realisation of her own terrible predicament; she had broken his rules and stepped into his wilderness. Carefully, she checked her surroundings and turned back to the boat. The woods were eerily quiet as she pushed the boat out of the shallows and climbed in. There was no movement, no indication that she had disturbed Kane’s peace. Her wrinkled old hands collected the oars and she began to row whilst vigilantly observing the environment around her. The only movement came from ripples on the lake and the occasional breeze that rocked the silhouette of trees on the shore.
The old woman arrived at her own pier unscathed, yet her heart continued to pound in her chest. She tied the boat to the pier and waddled back to her cabin. The lights were on, just as she had left them, and the front door was still closed. Marietta opened both screen and door and locked them behind her. The fire still burned in the stove; all was quiet. She wiped away a few silver strands of hair that had flopped out of her bun and over her glasses and put an old, tatty kettle on the stove to boil. Her frail form bent down and opened the kitchen cupboard, searching for a mug. She tutted impatiently as she rummaged. Finally, she found a clean one.
‘There we go,’ she muttered.
With the mug in hand, Marietta pushed her other palm into her back and stood up crookedly with a groan. As she did, her eyes focused on the window and its reflection. She blinked and blinked again. A tall, masked figure loomed over her. She spun around.
‘I… I’m sorry, I was just looking for…’ she began, but her words were cut short as the base of the kettle bludgeoned her face. Marietta let out a cry as the scalding metal drove into her skull. The cry was short-lived, and she fell to the floor.
For a few seconds, her body twitched. Kane swept the machete out of the scabbard, looped it about his head for momentum and sliced through his victim’s torso, severing her in two. The monster sheathed his machete and lifted the old woman’s upper torso by the hair whilst grabbing a leg from the lower body. With a powerful kick, the door swung open and he dragged the corpse out. He stared at the boat for a short while but chose instead to leave the way he had arrived, through the darkness of the forest.
Marietta knew the rules, Harlon reasoned as he watched Kane drop yet another body into the opening of the trapdoor; she knew and chose to ignore them. As sad as it was that the old woman had to die, all Kane was doing was protecting his wilderness from trespassers. Harlon tried to ignore the level of violence that Kane had clearly used, given the state of the body, and obediently set about dealing with the situation once the monster had disappeared back into the forest. Harlon secretly looked forward to the coming winter; people did not come so much in winter, so it was largely a peaceful time; no bodies to move and… Deal with!
Kane stood motionless, watching Lyra sleep. He was surprised that she had fallen back into such a profound slumber, given how she had pleaded with him not to leave her chained and not to kill. Nonetheless, she appeared so peaceful, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Amazingly, Lyra had even managed to immerse herself comfortably in the bed despite the handcuffs. Kane reached into his tool belt for the keys, but the thrill of the kill and the sight of his captive lying so helplessly in his bed led him to drop them again.
The monster unbuckled his tool belt and allowed it to drop to the floor before removing his boots. He tilted his head to look at the machete in his scabbard. He withdrew it quickly and used an old rag to wipe off Marietta’s blood. The scabbard was unfastened, and Kane placed it next to the belt. As Lyra slept, he practised twisting and wielding his weapon, ultimately pointing it threateningly at his unconscious captive. She seemed so trusting, so exquisitely vulnerable. Her trust, he believed, was misplaced. He did not even trust himself, especially when she lay naked, chained and so ripe for the taking.
