Chapter Four
As the vehicle sputtered to a halt, Abby's eyes slowly fluttered open, and a yawn escaped her lips as she sat upright. The remnants of sleep clung to her heavy eyelids, and she blinked, surveying the dimly lit cabin of the car where two men were staring at her. A jolt of panic shot through her when, for an instant, she couldn't place her surroundings. But just as quickly, the memories of her recent capture and rescue rushed back. Abby took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside her chest.
"We're here," Simon told her, then Abby focused her attention out the front windshield where the headlights of the humvee lit up a log cabin. "Home sweet home for a little while at least."
Abby turned to look at the man sitting beside her, his arm casually resting on the back of the bench seat.
"For how long?" she asked him.
"Couple of days. Nothing to worry over." Simon shrugged, then looked ahead at John. "Go take a look."
Without saying a word, John cut the lights and exited the humvee with his gun in tow. Abby watched with bated breath as he carefully walked around the cabin and up the steps to the covered porch. John peered through the windows, and then, with a key he pulled from his pocket, he unlocked the door and entered the dark cabin.
Despite knowing John wasn't too fond of her, Abby felt a surge of concern. "Do you think someone might be in there?" she whispered to Simon.
"It's possible but unlikely."
The cabin lights turned on a few minutes later, and John returned to the porch, nodding at them before going inside. Simon opened the door and slid out. The rush of cold air sent chill bumps all over her skin, and Abby began shaking, her teeth chattering. She scooted to the edge of the bench seat, and Simon held out his arms to her. Abby declined his offer and placed her hand on his forearm, shaking her head.
"I can walk," she said.
Despite the lack of quality sleep in the humvee's backseat, Abby felt a little better and knew she had enough energy to walk the short distance to the cabin without relying on Simon.
He looked down at the ground and moved his boots to make a crunching sound. "It's gravel. Doubt it'll feel good on your bare feet."
Knowing he was right, Abby relented, a blush coloring her cheeks as she permitted him to embrace her again. Once on the porch, Simon put her down and walked ahead to open the door for her.
Once she stepped over the cabin's threshold, the warmth surrounding Abby was so overwhelming that she almost dropped the blankets to the floor but quickly remembered what she was wearing underneath and kept them around her. The cabin's interior had the classic charm one would expect from a place in the woods: earth-toned brown and green furniture, deer antlers above the fireplace, a '50s antique icebox, and a sturdy black wood stove.
The absence of John gave Abby a sigh of relief. She had initially entertained the idea of addressing their initial encounter with him once they'd reached the cabin; however, as she walked around the room's warmth, thoughts of the confrontation faded, replaced by a longing for a shower and a soft bed. As the door clicked shut behind her, Abby turned to discover Simon's gaze fixed upon her. The sudden attention caught her off guard, stirring a curious mix of emotions within her.
"Are you hungry?" Simon inquired, closing the distance between them with purpose.
In an instant, the air Abby had been breathing seemed to thicken, prompting her to clutch the blankets tightly. His dark eyes peered at her through the skeletal mask he chose not to remove, adding a mysterious edge to the encounter. Simon's towering presence loomed over her petite frame, causing Abby to step back, avoiding the need to crane her neck for conversation.
She shrugged. "Honestly, I just want to shower and sleep."
Simon nodded in understanding. "I'll show you to your room then."
Simon guided Abby into a compact bedroom adorned with the same rustic charm the rest of the cabin held. The room contained a full-sized bed flanked by two nightstands, all coordinating with the dark greens and browns of the plaid comforter and rug. To complete the look, a Bob Ross-style painting was hanging above the bed.
Simon pointed towards the small duffle bag on the bed's edge. "You've got multiple changes of clothes for you inside, and the bathroom is just across the hall."
He walked over, switching on the bathroom light while Abby walked into the small bedroom. Her hand glided over the plush comforter, and she sat on the soft mattress before her gaze met the masked man still standing in the doorway.
Swallowing nervously before speaking, Abby expressed her gratitude. "Thank you for everything."
Simon hesitated in the doorway briefly before offering a single nod. "I'll leave you to it then."
{}
Abby reveled in the warmth of the shower, letting out a satisfied moan as the water ran over her chilled body. Unlike the brief, sometimes unwelcomed showers she'd have at her previous confinement, Abby enjoyed an uninterrupted 30-minute shower in solitude tonight. After drying off, she adorned herself in the bedclothes from the packed duffel bag, took the time to comb her hair and brush her teeth for the first time in two weeks. Refreshed, Abby emerged from the bathroom.
The small living room glowed with the light from the roaring fireplace. Abby, having spent nearly an hour attending to her needs in the bathroom, anticipated everyone to be in bed when she got out, but, to her surprise, Simon sat alone at the dining table, engrossed in typing on a laptop. Her brows furrowed in curiosity. Had he stayed up for her?
Spotting her in the hallway, Simon shut the laptop and asked, "How was the shower?"
Abby sighed happily in relief. "Amazing."
Even though his face was still concealed behind the skeletal mask, she knew Simon had smiled at her, for his eyes softened.
"Good," he replied with a brisk nod as he shifted his gaze to the fireplace.
Unsure of what to say, Abby also looked at the fire.
After a moment, Simon broke the awkward silence. "Would you like something to eat now?"
Still fixated on the hearth, Abby shook her head, and then, as if on cue, a yawn overcame her. "No. Just sleepy."
Simon nodded again. "Sleep well then, Abagail," he said.
"Abby," she declared, catching Simon's gaze. He tilted his head in question. "Call me Abby... Please."
"Goodnight, and sleep well, Abby." His voice was deep, seeming to caress her soul.
"Goodnight, Simon," Abby responded, unable to conceal her growing smile.
Turning away, Abby entered her bedroom. As she closed the door, her heart rate quickened. Staring at the inviting bed, she yearned to nestle beneath the warm blankets and sleep until her back ached; however, Abby found she was rooted to the spot next to the door. A fleeting memory of the cramped bedroom she'd endured alone for the past two weeks crossed her mind, and despite the current warmth and coziness the room gave off, Abby was hesitant to approach the bed.
The four enclosing walls seemed to tighten around her, and Abby's breath grew erratic. Turning, she placed her hand on the doorknob, hesitant about being alone. Before she could open it and join Simon in the living room, she stopped herself. A sliver of rational thought pierced through the fog of terror, clouding her mind. She realized she couldn't burden Simon with this trivial fear of staying alone in the small room. After all, he had carried her through uneven terrain in pitch-black darkness for hours in the dense forest of Saskatchewan. He'd helped her enough; now it was time for Abby to help herself and face this fear alone.
After a tense ten minutes of self-reassurance, Abby reluctantly abandoned the idea of venturing into the living room. Weary, she made her way over to the bed, each step echoing a silent struggle against her unease. Tucking herself into the blankets, she left the small lamp on on the nightstand, its soft glow providing a semblance of comfort in the unfamiliar surroundings. The thought of sleeping in a pitch-dark room was too daunting. But then, after finally settling down, Abby closed her eyes, hoping for a peaceful night's rest.
And eventually, she fell asleep...
...then woke up screaming bloody murder.
The scream that shot throughout the small cabin pierced Ghost through his heart, and without thinking, he hopped up from the small twin bed he'd been sleeping on. The sudden jolt of adrenaline fueled his senses as he instinctively reached for the gun he kept within arms' reach—the cabin's silence shattered by Abby's distressing cry. Ghost's mind raced, grappling with the unknown threat that could evoke such terror from her. A surge of worry coursed through him, propelling his feet towards the door. His trained instincts guided him, but not before he snatched on his balaclava, a precaution to shield Abby from the unsettling sight of his battle-worn face. The weight of the firearm in his hand mirrored the gravity of the situation, and he moved swiftly, driven by a mix of concern and the need to protect her from both visible and invisible threats.
Exiting his room, Ghost noticed Soap emerging from his sleeping quarters with his gun in tow. The two men exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Soap fell in behind Ghost, both armed and poised for whatever awaited. Without hesitation, Ghost turned the knob and swung open the door to Abby's room. The scene that unfolded before them was Abby, caught in the grip of a night terror, kicking the covers while her scream echoed through the confined space. Recognizing the nightmare-induced turmoil, Ghost swiftly clicked the safety back on, holstered his gun in his back pocket, and closed the distance to the bed.
Ghost settled beside her, his hand gently finding her shoulder. A reassuring squeeze aimed to rouse Abby from the clutches of her nightmare. The blankets that were once covering her, discarded in the chaos of her dreams, lay in a disheveled heap on the floor.
"Abagail!" Ghost called out, his voice urgent. He shook her gently, the concern evident in his actions. "Wake up!"
After a moment, Abby's restless movements subsided, and her eyes fluttered open. The room's tense atmosphere eased as her breathing gradually steadied, and her bright blue eyes focused on Ghost.
"S-Simon?" she questioned, uncertainty clouding her gaze.
Ghost nodded in acknowledgment. "Yeah. You were having a bad dream."
He observed as tears welled within her eyes, and with each blink, they traced a path down her flushed rounded cheeks. Abby, seemingly embarrassed, adverted her gaze, attempting to conceal the vulnerability that Ghost knew lingered in the aftermath of her nightmare.
Sensing her uneasiness, Ghost redirected his attention toward the door where Soap stood ever-vigilant. "Leave us," he instructed his comrade.
Soap, without a word, complied, quietly closing the door behind him. In the newfound privacy, Ghost and Abby were left alone, the weight of the recent ordeal hanging in the air between them.
As tears continued tracing delicate paths down Abby's cheeks, Ghost reached out, driven by an instinct to comfort. His fingers gently brushed away the tears, instinctively seeking to offer solace before his mind fully processed his actions. His fingers grazed her soft face, and Abby turned to meet his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. She didn't resist, and instead, she allowed him to continue.
"Are you alright?" he questioned, his voice low, the concern evident in his eyes as he reluctantly withdrew his hand. Though the desire to run his hand through her beautiful hair lingered, he refrained, wanting to give her space.
She nodded timidly, then shivered. In response, Ghost swiftly bent down, retrieving the scattered blankets from the floor. Standing tall, he shook them, then gently covered her with the blankets.
Abby shifted onto her side, drawing the blankets up to her chin. Her gaze remained fixed on him. In a barely audible whisper, she expressed her gratitude towards him. "Thank you," she uttered.
"No problem," he responded.
Standing beside her, Ghost maintained a watchful stare, considering the source of Abby's earlier terrified scream. He frowned as he dwelled on the unsettling thought of the two weeks she had spent missing, trapped by those Russian captors. His fists clenched instinctively, the intensity of his emotions rising as he contemplated the unspeakable ordeal she must have faced at the hands of those repulsive individuals. There was little doubt in his mind that they were the catalysts behind her haunting night terror. Ghost wanted nothing more than to erase the memories of those past two weeks from her mind, for no one deserved to experience that.
The weight of the silence lingered before Ghost decided to shatter it. "I'll let you get back to sleep," he gently offered.
However, as his words hung in the air, her eyes widened almost desperately. It seemed the tears were on the verge of welling up again.
In a hushed plea, she implored, "Please, don't leave me alone."
A lump formed in Ghost's throat as she extended her arm out from beneath the blankets, reaching out to him. Despite the ingrained military training that cautioned against personal attachments to mission victims, Ghost yielded to his unspoken connection towards her. He gently placed his hand in hers, feeling the softness of her grasp, and settled back onto the bed beside her.