"He's going to eat me."
Damon paces restlessly inside his guest room. He probably knows every inch of it by now. Every wrinkle in the furniture, and how many steps it takes to get from the living room to the bedroom to the bathroom. How long it takes to do a complete circuit of the room. Except for supervised visits to the gym, he's been confined to the room.
"He came in my room last night," Damon continues, and I see some of Tina's overactive intensity in him. "Through the windows."
"Wendigo Will?" I say in disbelief.
For a frightened man, Damon smells clean and fresh. He's evidently taken advantage of the Jacuzzi in the bathroom, and bathed thoroughly. After all, he hasn't left this room in days.
Damon rearranges the sofa cushions in alternating colors. Green, white, green, white. "He was here, I'm telling you."
