by Lee Gregg
“Oh, that’s totally possible,” Penelope said. “There’s this guy Sam calls Officer Unfriendly who seems pretty cool.”
“Let’s go get Nanaimo bars, guys. I mean, we’ve got Benji with us tonight. Ben’s first night out since…since the Challenge, so we should keep it….” Drew turned his head away from Ben, brought his eyebrows together and gave everyone a stern look that ended with a pointed glance at his best friend. He then continued, his voice light and casual, “Let’s just hang tonight, take a break from everything. Have some laughs and forget about anything heavy. Benji, I have to tell you this hilarious story. I almost pissed myself and Cara totally came to the rescue. C’mon, guys! My ride’s just outside.” He got up and slipped on his boots at the front door with Ben, Cara and Penelope following.
“Coming Sam?” Penelope asked with a glance over her shoulder.
“My dad wants me to stay in tonight. He said there’s a demonstration and a vigil planned for Ryder and that there might be some trouble, so the whole police force is out tonight on patrol.”
“Want me to bring you something back, girlfriend?”
“No, it’s okay. Thanks, Pips, but I’m pretty beat. Think I’ll just clean up and get an early night.”
“Saturday night party girl maintaining her reputation. Just when I was beginning to change my mind about you being a recluse,” Drew joked as he pulled a neck warmer over his head.
“Oh, wait. Ben, I have your stuff,” Sam said, jumping to her feet and running into her mom’s office before Ben could respond. Seeing Drew’s neck warmer had triggered her memory of the neck warmer she had found on the night Ben had been kidnapped and she suddenly remembered the items she had picked up in the cave. She emptied her backpack and swore under her breath. She had forgotten to unpack and air out her gear like she usually did. She uncrumpled her tent and snaked out the blanket that she had found wrapped around Ben. After stuffing it and Ben’s neck warmer into the empty bag that she had also grabbed off the mountain, she rushed out of the office and held the bag out to Ben, who was leaning on his crutches, alone by the door.
“Those aren’t mine,” Ben said, eyeing the bag and the blanket.
Sam froze for a second as she realized what she was holding. Her heartbeat ramped up in speed. “If these aren’t yours, then….” She cursed at herself. “I have to get these to my dad!”
“C’mon, brother!” Drew called from his Porsche. Cara and Penelope turned and waved through the car windows.
Sam clutched the bag in her hands, reeling from the discovery, and watched Ben climb into Drew’s car. She waved at her friends as they drove away. Wrapping her arms around herself and shivering, she looked into the darkness surrounding her home. A cold breeze whistled through the trees and rustled the bushes, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She took one final glance at the glowing red lights of her friends driving away and closed the door, shuddering as an unsettling chill spread through her body. Sam had an eerie sensation that she was being watched.
39
Cold, dead eyes peering through the window watched Sam as she collected empty pizza boxes and stacked them neatly on the table. They followed her as she picked up glasses, walked them to the kitchen and returned to do the same with the plates. They widened as she scooped up used napkins, popped them into an empty pizza box and carried the boxes to the door, preparing to go out to the garbage.
The eyes blinked rapidly as she placed the trash on the floor by the shoes, excited for the door to open, eager to see her walk outside alone and unaware. The eyes closed slowly, remaining shut for a beat, enjoying the darkness as they visualized what could happen next, what would happen next. And when they opened to see the light shining on her, they blinked again, ready for what was about to happen.
The realization that she had opted to take the trash out later made the eyes bulge with blinding rage that only dimmed to anger after eyelids squeezed together forcefully, deliberately, repeatedly. Only then could the eyes once again focus on the target.
The eyes locked on her as she walked back into the kitchen and washed the dishes, meticulously scrubbing each glass and plate clean before rinsing them with hot water.
They stared as she yawned and stretched, glued to her as she unzipped her thick fleece top as far as the zipper extended down her chest. The heat from the dishes had made the skin on her collarbone glisten with sweat. A gloved hand wiped away the condensation formed from hot breath on glass that blocked the eyes from being able to view inside. The eyes narrowed, not yet ready to move from their spot behind the window.
She walked into an office and the eyes shifted with her, fixed on her and only her. They could see movement in the room through the door frame. Glimpses of tent material and poles and arms and other body parts came in and out of view. And then an assembled tent and half of a body as it stood straight and unmoving for seconds that ticked by into minutes.
The eyes blinked impatiently, until, finally, she emerged from the room. Had she looked up at the window, she would have seen the ghost-like face with the angry eyes and their bright white rims staring directly at her. But she had her head down, her own eyes on something small in her hand, something that had distracted her from seeing.
The lights flickered off and the eyes squinted into the darkness, desperate to detect shapes or movement, determined to spot her. Slowly, the eyes dilated as they adjusted to the dimness, then squinted again, this time with glee from locating what they had been searching for.
The eyes followed her as she walked into the bathroom, plugged the tub and ran the tap, watching the steam rise like tentacles from the water. They saw her make a brief appearance in the hall before disappearing again into her bedroom, leaving only her shadow to hunt.
Breaking away from her, the eyes surveyed the room, the windows, the doors. The eyes turned a shade darker. It was time.
40
Sam walked into her bedroom and spotted the anonymous note about her mom’s death. The message looked like it had been hastily made from last Thursday’s Pique newspaper. The letters were roughly cut, ragged and irregular. Some included parts of the photo of the helicopter with Ben on the long line. She wondered if it was significant that the person had used the Pique rather than the Times. Was it evidence that the note didn’t come from someone in the #ShackleShepherd camp? But if it wasn’t from someone who had just come into town, why had they waited until now to send it, considering the fact that the shooting had happened months ago? The more she searched for answers, the more her mind filled with new questions.
Sam was lost in her thoughts, trying to make sense of everything that was happening, when she was startled by the sound of a muffled crash. She craned her neck to look out her door, but she was sitting too far inside to see down the hall. Placing the note on her bedside table, she rose to her feet, wondering what had fallen over and made the noise.
She left her bedroom and poked her head into the bathroom. The water was still running. Dipping one hand into the bath, she turned off the tap with the other. She could hear the last drips of the bathtub faucet, the tiny splashes of drops hitting bathwater, as she walked back into the hall.
The hum of the refrigerator grew louder. She glanced into the kitchen and saw that it was neat and clean, just as she had left it. The floor tiles were bare. Nothing had fallen here.
Sam rounded the corner and as she flicked on the lights, she froze in terror. The front door was ajar. Not just open, but splintered, jagged and completely useless, swaying back and forth with the breeze. Someone had kicked it in. She could hear blood pumping in her ears while she watched the wind blow the door wide open, the cold air gusting into the living room and sweeping the papers in her mom’s office off the desk and onto the floor.
Her pulse pounding, Sam pulled out the flip phone in her pocket. She heard a shuffle beside her and turned to see two large hands charging at her. They clasped her neck and threw her backwards onto the floor where she landed with a quick, hard
thud, knocking the wind out of her. The phone skidded across the floor.
Unable to make a sound, she pulled at the thick arms, but they were like concrete pillars, solid, strong and unmoving. Her legs kicked wildly in the air, unable to make contact with anything. Her feet then banged on the floor, but they couldn’t get a grip, her socks sliding along the hardwood.
The hands were wrapped firmly around her throat, weighing down on her windpipe, robbing her of her breath, choking her off from air, cutting her off from life. She pried at the strong fingers throttling her, tugging on the pinky fingers, desperate to twist them around, to pull them and the other digits away, but they, like the arms they were attached to, didn’t budge. The tightness on her throat increased and she could feel pressure building in her skull.
Failing to break the grip around her throat, she thrust her arms out in front of her, hands outstretched, fingers straight, aiming for the cold, dark eyes. She was desperate to make contact with anything, hoping for something to work, but achieving nothing. The thick, veiny arms holding her down, crushing her slowly, were longer than hers and made of pure muscle. Her palms slapped at them ineffectively.
Her hands were as useless as her feet, still gliding up and down the smooth wood flooring, trying to find a grip, desperate to get leverage, and as useless as her brain, searching for a defense technique that could help her, that would save her, but coming up empty. Under her toes, between her fingers and in her mind, there was nothing that could help her.
Her once rapid pulse was slowing. Fading. It was too slow now. Her head throbbed to the lazy beat of her heart as her legs gave up their fight.
Sam studied Wade’s crimson face as her head grew dizzy. She looked into his angry, crazed eyes and at the veins that pulsed in his forehead and bulged from his neck. His lips were moving with spit flying out in all directions, but she was in a vacuum and could hear no words, only the sound of the slow thump of blood trying to move through her system. She watched as he hovered over her, moving up and down, and then realized that she was the one moving as Wade pulled and pushed at her neck.
The room was dimming and she took one last look at Wade before her eyes slowly rolled up into her head. His enraged, hate-filled face would be the last thing she would see. This was it. Her thoughts drifted to her mom and she felt a flicker of happiness, knowing that she would see Mom again soon. She relaxed her grip on Wade’s arms and felt herself get lighter.
Sam’s arms fell limply to the floor and she lay lifeless until the weight on her throat lifted abruptly and air rushed into her trachea, pushing to reach her lungs. Wade had let go of her, leaving her neck unconstricted, but still, oxygen could not pass easily. Her throat felt crushed.
She rolled onto her side, gasping, coughing and convulsing, desperate to take a breath. But every effort she made to inhale was met with pain.
She felt the weight of Wade pushing her shoulder, forcing her onto her back. She could feel his hand grabbing at her legs, pulling them apart. But she was still fighting the more dangerous enemy — suffocation. She wheezed and choked, feeling as though she was drowning. Hands pulled at her pants. Her own hands pulled at her fleece top, as though the collar was too small, too tight, but it was already zipped open, exposing her naked neck. Sam grasped at her throat and held her chest, hopelessly trying to expand her airway.
Wade’s sweaty face loomed over her. One of his hands disappeared as he looked down on himself and unfastened his belt. He looked back at her with a sinister smirk and then he was gone, replaced with another face, further away. That face then slowly disappeared too, appearing to fall backwards, followed by one crutch in the air.
Sam rolled back onto her side, still fighting to breathe. She could see Wade rise and tackle Ben, punching his head, his face, his body. Ben stretched out an arm and managed to grab his crutch. He whacked Wade again, knocking him off balance. Ben scrambled to gain position on Wade, hopping on one foot to get up, but he was too slow and awkward, and he screamed out in pain as Wade kicked his broken leg.
Sam spotted the phone that had been knocked out of her hand and crawled as quickly as she could to grab it. She felt a powerful shove on her back as Wade pushed her down flat onto the floor. He lurched for the phone, but she clasped it tightly with both hands, refusing to let go.
She heard the crack of the crutch making contact again and, for a moment, she saw black as Wade fell on top of her, crushing her with his weight. The pressure eased as Wade struggled to rise, but with another loud smack, she felt his full weight on her, suffocating her once again. There he stayed until Ben peeled him off.
Ben held out his hand and helped her sit up against a wall. He lowered himself next to her and the two sat in silence, gasping for breath, looking at Wade slumped over in front of them.
After several minutes, Ben turned and asked quietly, “Are you okay?”
Sam nodded. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. After swallowing hard a few times, she whispered, “You?”
Ben nodded as well. Without a word, he reached over and held her hand.
If it were any other time, Sam might have been filled with butterflies and joy. She had never held a boy’s hand before, but it wasn’t just any hand. This one belonged to a boy she could actually like. And though she was tempted to let him hold her, she pulled her hand away and picked up the small flip phone next to her instead. She held it out to Ben.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he stared at the phone without moving.
41
“Sam!” Dan burst in through the broken front door, his eyes full of alarm.
Ben and Sam looked back at him but said nothing.
Dan surveyed the room and checked to find Wade’s pulse. He maneuvered Wade into the recovery position and jerked his hands away when he noticed Wade’s belt. Sam watched her dad stiffen and clench his hands into fists.
“Did he…?” he asked, unable to complete his question.
Sam shook her head and whispered, “Ben stopped him.”
“He was choking her, sir,” Ben said.
Dan’s lips tightened as he looked at Wade, who was now starting to stir.
“Dan?” Constable Betty Alexander asked as she walked through the door with another officer.
“That one gets cuffs,” Dan said, nodding at Wade. “Ben, right? Can you give Betty a statement?”
Dan collected the crutches sprawled on the floor and handed them to Ben after helping him up. “Sam,” he said, holding out his arms for a hug.
Sam rose to her feet and buried her head in her dad’s chest, soaking in the warmth of his body and melting into the comfort of his strong arms around her. She looked up and saw Ben eyeing the small flip phone in his hand. He pocketed it and took one last glance at her before following Betty outside.
What Sam saw in that moment made her chest ache, like a hole had been punched through her heart. There was an incredible pain in Ben’s eyes, a look of deep, inconsolable sorrow. She had seen that look a few times before and recognized it instantly. It was the same abject distress that she had seen in her dad’s eyes when he had told her about being an outcast in his family.
It wasn't lost on her that in this moment, her life and Ben's were mirrored. They looked similar on the surface, but their reflections were inverted. She wondered if Ben had ever felt what she was feeling now — safe and secure in her dad’s protective arms. She had just been attacked. Almost killed. Not only that, but in the past week she had been publicly humiliated, condemned, ostracized and even hated. And yet, Sam didn’t feel like a victim. She felt lucky. She was loved by the people who really mattered. And though she had lost her mother, she knew that Mom had loved her.
Sam wished she could give Ben a warm hug, just like the one he had given her at the funeral. She thought back to the brief seconds they sat holding hands and wished that she had not let go, that she was still sitting with him, holding his hand.
“Can you tell me what happened, Sam?” her dad asked.
“Cara brok
e up with him today.”
“You know him?”
“He was in my group for the Alpine Survival Challenge and he was dating my friend, Cara.”
“Let’s get you to the clinic, Sam.” He led her outside to his car, passing Ben, who was sitting on a ledge, still speaking with Betty. The lights of a police cruiser were flashing brightly, but the street was quiet.
“Hang on, Dad,” she whispered, breaking away to approach Betty and Ben. “Sorry, can I interrupt for a second?”
“We’re all done here, anyway, sweetie,” Betty said with a sympathetic smile.
Sam watched Betty walk away before turning to Ben, her voice soft and low. “You should get your leg checked out.”
“It’s fine. I’ll get Dr. Charon to take a look,” he said, his voice as quiet as hers. She saw the muscle in his jaw twitch as he took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“I only found it after you guys left,” she explained. After a pause, she asked, “Is it why you came back?”
Ben’s eyes fell to the ground as he bit his bottom lip with regret. “I was hoping it was still in the cave, actually. I was going to hike back up as soon as my leg could handle it. I came back because I wanted to talk to you since we didn’t get a chance at the funeral with everything that happened.” He lifted his gaze to look her in the eye. “Sam, I’m so, so sorry. You saved my life and….” Ben shook his head and looked off into the distance. She was sure his blue eyes looked glassy, but it was too dark out to tell for certain.
“Wade could have killed me in there if it hadn’t been for you.”
“You’re the last person I’d ever want to hurt, Sam.”
“Sam!” She heard her dad’s voice call out from behind her. “We’d better get going.”