No spotlight flooded the bunk.
She went to the wall that hid the refrigerator and debated whether it was worth it to slide it open and grab a bottle of water.
No one had heard the flushing of the toilet, but it was far more likely that someone might see light from inside the bunk, especially since all the bunks were so dark. She decided not to risk it and went to the closet instead.
She pulled the door closed behind her and slid into the large alcove off to one side. It was an even better hiding place than she’d remembered, about three feet of empty space with shelving built into it to hold extra linens and pillows. But underneath the shelving there was enough space that she could push herself back into the corner, even sit up a little. With her feet tucked under her, the only way she could be spotted was if someone peered inside and looked directly into the corner. It was risky, she knew, but she was counting on the fact that everyone would assume she had gone into the woods to try to escape. Would they look for her here? They might, but not immediately. Not until they’d convinced themselves she wasn’t hiding in the woods.
She pulled a pillow from the shelf and settled herself into the pitch-black corner. She thought of eating some cheese and an apple, but she wasn’t hungry. She stowed the food and the knife below the pillow and leaned back, closing her eyes. She didn’t think for a moment that she’d be able to sleep, but she must have dozed off, because she was woken by the sound of movement in the bunk. She braced herself. Were they searching for her, or had Bruce come back to the bunk to sleep?
There was the flush of the toilet, then water running, then there was silence for a long time, broken by the sound of three quick coughs. Bruce’s coughs, easily identifiable.
She slid the knife out from behind the pillow. If he did step into the closet in order to search it, she’d have the jump on him. She could strike out with the knife, maybe slash at his Achilles tendon.
She listened some more. Nothing, and then there was the faint rumbling of snoring. She relaxed. He was a deep sleeper, and she knew that once he began to snore, waking him was extraordinarily difficult.
Go kill him.
She ignored that voice in her head, loosened her grip on the knife.
It would be easy, though, sneaking out of the closet, plunging the knife into his chest while he slept. But how would that help her?
He tortured you.
And it would feel good.
It wouldn’t help her get off this island.
One less person looking for you.
She loosened her grip on the knife, stretched the muscles in her neck.
Imagine how it would feel.
So she let herself imagine it. Standing above the bed, Bruce on his back, the way he usually slept, one hand touching the side of his face. She’d have a choice: either the exposed neck, or straight to the heart. But it wasn’t what she wanted to do. Her goal right now was to survive. To tell her story. Tell people what they’d done to her, and what had happened to Jill.
She settled herself back onto the pillow, then realized she was hungry. She ate half the cheese, almost passed on eating an apple because of how loud it would be, but then did it anyway, chewing quietly and making sure she could hear Bruce’s snores while she was doing it.
She wrapped all the food back up, hoping that the smell of the cheddar cheese in the small space would dissipate, then closed her eyes again, drifting in and out of sleep until she heard a loud knock on the bunk door.
“You found her?” came Bruce’s querulous voice, muffled but clear. Abigail could hear the hope in his question. He was out of bed and at the door.
There was a response, but she couldn’t make out the words, then Bruce said, “You searched the girls’ camp?”
Again, she couldn’t hear whoever he was talking to. “Fine, I’ll be right up,” Bruce said, and then there was the sound of the door closing. He moved about the bunk, using the bathroom, grabbing some food from the kitchen. She thought maybe she was going to be spared the terror of his going through the closet, but he swung open the door, quickly rattled through some of his hanging clothes, grabbed something, and left, leaving the door open. She held her breath, then listened as he opened the front door and shut it behind him.
Abigail stayed crouched, barely moving, in the closet for what felt like an hour but was probably only fifteen minutes. Bruce had been headed to the main lodge, probably to discuss strategies for finding her. It was possible that he’d be back, but she doubted it.
The search was the most important thing, and if they didn’t consider it a possibility that she was back in her own bunk, then she was safe, at least for a while.