Chapter 139: The First Step
Oliver woke suddenly before dawn.
His body jerked upright on the couch, his breath coming fast and uneven. The dream still clung to him in pieces—hands dragging him somewhere dark, the feeling of dirt closing over his face, the sound of someone shoveling soil above him.
He wiped his face with one hand. His skin was damp with sweat.
The living room was quiet. Only the faint gray of early morning light filtered through the narrow gaps in the curtains.
Oliver leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He had been sleeping on that couch since they arrived.
The bedroom door down the hall stayed locked every night. Del slept there alone. He had told himself the distance was temporary, something that would ease once she began to trust him again. But the weeks had stretched out, and the silence between them had only grown heavier.
He missed the version of her from before all of this. The Del who would curl against him on the couch and fall asleep with her head on his shoulder. The Del who would roll her eyes when he teased her, but would smile anyway. The Del who had once looked at him with something warm in her eyes.
Now she barely looked at him at all. That disgust on her face stayed with him even when he wasn’t in the room.
Oliver leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. His chest felt tight. His thoughts ran in circles the way they had every night recently.
He shifted on the couch and realized his body was still tense. The frustration that had built up earlier refused to fade. He was still damn hard.
“Jesus.”
The cabin was cold under his bare feet as he walked toward the bathroom. He turned the shower knob all the way to cold and stepped under the stream.
The shock of the water hit him immediately. He inhaled sharply but stayed there, letting the cold run over his shoulders and down his back until the tension slowly eased out of his muscles.
After several minutes, he shut the water off and stepped out.
He pulled on a clean T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, then walked into the kitchen. The small bottle of Diazepam sat in the cabinet above the sink.
He took one tablet, swallowed it with a glass of water, and stood there for a moment staring out the window into the dark woods.
Eventually, the edge inside him softened.
When he returned to the couch, his body finally relaxed enough for sleep to come again.
The next evening, the cabin smelled different. Del noticed it the moment Oliver opened her door and stood in the doorway with a small smile.
“I made dinner.”
Del sat on the bed watching him carefully.
He stepped aside and gestured toward the living room.
“You can eat out here tonight.”
She didn’t move right away.
Oliver lifted his hands slightly. “Your choice,” he said. “But I thought it might be a start.”
Del studied him for several seconds before standing.
The living room felt strange and unfamiliar though she had been in that cabin for who knows how long.
Oliver had set the small dining table near the window with two plates and a single candle between them.
It looked almost normal.
Oliver pulled out a chair for her, and she sat slowly.
“I’m trying something different,” he said as he took the seat across from her. “If I want you to trust me again, I should probably start by trusting you first.”
Del looked down at the plate. Pasta. A small piece of grilled chicken. Vegetables on the side.
It had been weeks since she’d eaten anything that looked like a real meal.
Del hesitated, then said quietly, “Thank you.”
The words surprised both of them.
Oliver’s face brightened almost instantly. “You’re welcome.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Del picked up the fork slowly, still watching him from the corner of her eye. Something about the situation had shifted. It was subtle, but she could feel it.
He had let her step outside her room into the small living area of the cabin. For the first time, she hadn’t felt completely boxed in. And that alone had changed something in her chest.
It made her feel… hopeful.
Del lowered her gaze to the plate again, carefully hiding the thoughts moving through her mind. If Oliver believed he was earning her trust—if he believed that giving her small freedoms like this was working—then maybe he would keep doing it.
Maybe he would give her more space. More opportunities.
Being trapped inside that room had left her with nothing. No way to observe the house. No way to understand where she was. No way to look for weaknesses.
But stepping outside the room—even a little—changed that. So Del took a bite of the pasta and nodded slightly.
“It’s good,” she said quietly.
Oliver looked almost relieved.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, trying and failing to hide the small note of excitement in his voice.
Del kept her expression calm, but inside her thoughts had already begun moving faster.
If he believed this was working…
Then maybe she could make him believe it even more. And maybe, eventually, he’d trust her enough to make a mistake.
She picked up the fork, and for several minutes the only sound was the quiet clink of their utensils.
Then Del finally spoke. “How many?”
Oliver glanced up. “How many what?”
“How many people have you killed?” She just couldn’t help herself.