The Shuddering

intensity as Sawyer stepped inside. “I don’t know how you did it,” she said. “This is impossible to understand.”
    “It’s not that bad, is it?” He held the glass of water out over the comforter, waiting for her to take it. April leaned forward and grabbed it, frowning.
    “Water?”
    “There was only diet soda left. Figured you’d want water instead.”
    She grimaced and took a drink, wrinkling her nose at him before placing the glass onto the end table next to her side of the bed.
    Sawyer slid beneath the covers and glanced her way. “Are you going to read for a bit?”
    April contemplated it, then shook her head and closed the book with a muffled slap. “It’s giving me a headache.” She handed it to him, and Sawyer gingerly plucked it from her fingers, smoothing his hand across its leather cover. “It’s your gift, anyway,” she muttered.
    “So? You can still read it.”
    “I’d rather watch the movie,” she told him, readjusting her pillow before lying down.
    Sawyer shrugged and slid the book onto a table that housed a lamp, his fingers lingering upon the embossed leather for a moment longer before turning off the light. The moon had reflected off the surface of the snow the night before, sending shards of cold blue light through the slats of the blinds, but tonight was as dark as pitch; the sky was heavy with clouds, casting the darkest shade of black across the cabin, the hills, the trees. Sawyer adjusted his pillow beneath his head, then pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes.
    “Sawyer?” April’s voice cut through the quiet of the room.
    “Yeah?”
    “You still love me, right?”
    He reflexively furrowed his eyebrows, as though April could see his expression through the darkness, but his heart knotted within his chest. It was the question he’d been trying to answer since they had arrived—since before that—the question that unspooled inside his head every time Jane was within arm’s length, cooking or laughing or simply standing there doing nothing at all. He had almost kissed her when they had stood togetherin the kitchen. He had wanted to grab her by the waist and lift her onto the counter, his mouth rough against hers. He had yearned for the freedom to take advantage of the emptiness of the downstairs rooms, to sneak away behind a closed door and make frantic, muffled love to the girl he had never truly given up. But he had made himself let the opportunity slip through his fingers.
    “Of course I do,” he replied, blindly reaching across the bed to catch April by the hand. Once he found her, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
    “Okay,” she said softly. “Just checking.”
    Sawyer gave her hand a squeeze and fell back onto his pillow, closing his eyes against the thud of his own heart.
    It could have been ten minutes or two hours when he blinked awake. April was nudging his shoulder, whispering his name as she tried to pull him out of sleep.
    “Sawyer,” she hissed. “Wake up.”
    Rolling onto his back with a muffled groan, he released a groggy sigh under April’s continued prodding.
    “What?”
    “I keep hearing something,” she whispered. She was sitting up, wide awake. Despite the darkness around them, he could see her silhouette. “I heard it last night too. I can’t sleep.”
    “It’s just animals,” he told her, turning onto his side. “Just block it out.”
    “I can’t!” she huffed. Her words were but a breath, but against the blanket of silence even the slightest whisper sounded like a scream. She jostled him again. “Sawyer.”
    “ Jesus , Ape.”
    “I’m serious!” she insisted. “I think Oona is outside or something. Go check.”
    “Oona’s in the house,” he grumbled, regressing to an eight-year-old response and pulling the sheets over his head.
    “If Oona’s inside that’s even weirder,” she whispered. “Because there’s something out there. I can hear it on the deck.” When Sawyer didn’t move, she huffed. “Fine, but the driveway is right below us. Don’t blame me if someone breaks into your precious Jeep.”
    Sawyer loved that Jeep. It had taken him months to track down the perfect model on AutoTrader. Once he did, he obsessed over his new car for weeks, washing it every weekend, Armor-Alling the dash until it glinted in the Denver sun. He shoved the blanket away from himself and sat up with an irritated groan. “Really?” he asked. “You think someone’s going to