I DON'T BELONG HERE

by Tayla Grossberg

  “Mom...” I said.

  “Your school called me to say that you were skipping again.” Andrea was furious. “Now I know why.” She glared at her mother.

  Grandma May did not look intimidated. She leaned back on her couch. “Make yourself some tea, Andrea. Then sit down so we can talk.”

  “I don’t want tea, and I don’t want to sit,” she growled and stalked over to the couch.

  “You don’t want to listen to me, either. That’s why I am here,” I said.

  Andrea turned to May. “Do you realise that Charlotte needs help?”

  “I’m aware that your idea of help is giving her pills.”

  “She needs to take those pills.”

  “That’s going to be hard considering I flushed them down the toilet.”

  Andrea’s jaw dropped, and I chuckled. Grandma May stared into my mother’s eyes. She was not going to back down.

  “You will have to replace them.”

  “I will do no such thing.” Grandma May laughed. “Now sit down. We need to talk.”

  “I’m taking my daughter, and we are going home.”

  “I’m not coming with you,” I said.

  “Charlotte, listen to me...”

  “But you don’t listen to me,” I complained.

  “If you don’t come—”

  “Then what? You will ground me?” I said. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s hard to try and discipline the ‘you’ out of your child,” Grandma May said. May, Andrea, and I were very stubborn women.

  “What would you know of discipline?” Andrea snapped.

  “I can’t take all of this fighting anymore!” I cried.

  I got to my feet and pushed past my mother. Andrea grabbed my arm, but I broke free and headed for the door. Andrea wanted to follow me, but I spun around. “No! Stay here and work your relationship out with Grandma. If Abigail can do it, then so can you!”

  I slammed the door and headed straight for my car. Once I climbed in, I slammed that door as well. Then I started driving towards Dimitri’s house. I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him. He was my escape.

  I stepped on the gas, reached his house, then drove past it and parked in the guest parking lot close to their estate’s pool. I climbed out and went to the door and knocked on it desperately. Then I rang the doorbell and wondered if anyone was home.

  “I’m coming!” a male voice said.

  It was too deep to be Ethan’s, and it was not Dimitri. The only other man living in the house was Dimitri’s stepfather, George Coleman.

  The door swung open. I met George’s eyes and dropped my handbag in shock. I would recognise this man anywhere. He was tall and had grey-streaked black hair. He had a stubble beard, a big nose, and perfect teeth. His cheekbones were sharp, and he had a cleft chin.

  Dimitri’s stepfather was the man who had murdered Mia Brooks.

  Chapter 26

  Charlotte

  For a moment we just looked at each other. Recognition shone in our eyes like an emergency light warning us of danger. Both of us were equally surprised. I was the first to react by spinning and running to my car.

  The man did not hesitate to follow me. I knew who he was, where he lived, and what he had done. I was a liability, and he had to get rid of me. I had run from him once but had got lucky. In this beautiful neighbourhood, on the tar road, there were no rocks or bushes for him to trip over.

  I reached my car and grabbed the door handle. Before I yanked it open, a big hand clasped over my mouth. I tried to pull George’s hand away, but he was too strong. He dragged me back to his house. I tried to fight but could not break free. My scream caught in my throat.

  I assumed Ethan was asleep on the couch and Dina was out with friends or blackout drunk. The children who lived on this street were at school, and the adults were at work. No one saw the man drag me into his garage. No one was coming to my aid.

  He kept his hand on my mouth and pushed me into the garage. He then slammed my head against his car. My glasses cracked, and I stopped fighting as pain shot through my head. I groaned and reached for my bleeding forehead. I felt dizzy.

  The man opened the trunk and easily put me inside. It took me a moment to recover from the blow. I listened for the man and wondered if he was smart enough to fetch my handbag. I heard him open the car door and close it.

  My heart was hammering as if it were a caged animal. The world seemed to stop spinning.

  Breathe. I inhaled air until my lungs were full and slowly exhaled. Don’t panic. Panic makes you stupid.

  He started the car, and I forced down my panic. He reversed, and I wondered where he could possibly take me. If he murdered me, no one would suspect him. No one even knew that we knew each other. The police would find my car in the guest parking space. There were no traces of violence. No proof of abduction.

  I lay still for a while and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that it would numb the throbbing in my head. My cracked glasses had cut my cheek and the left side was broken. I could see through the right side despite it being dark inside the trunk. It felt like I was trapped inside a coffin.

  A tear slid down my cheek, and I fiercely wiped it away.

  Be brave.

  Think.

  Where was he taking me? I had to get away from him as soon as possible. We were speeding, and the trunk was locked... There was no way I could jump, but I was petite, and had more space in the trunk than most people would. I felt around for something I could use as a weapon. Eventually we would stop, and I might have the chance to fight. But there was nothing in there with me...

  Could I win a fight against a fully grown man? Would he strangle me like he had Mia? I shuddered as I pictured myself as a ghost with red eyes and a crushed windpipe. Would I linger on earth, anchored by revenge?

  I was scared. So scared. Terrified.

  Being brave does not mean you don’t get scared. It just means you have the courage to stand up to what scares you. Dimitri’s words replayed in my head, and I held onto them like a sailor would hold onto his life vest.

  It was so dark in the trunk, and the darkness seemed to swallow me whole like a giant monster. The only sounds I heard were the tyres on the road, the engine, and my ragged breathing.

  I touched my head again, where he had slammed it against the car window and made me see sparks. The pain told me that I was alive, and I wanted to stay that way. I would not become one of the ghosts.

  I just had to think of plan B. My handbag was not with me – it had my phone inside. I turned so that I was facing the back of the car seats. Through a tiny crack between them I had a view of the car’s interior. I saw a piece of pink material to my right. Was that my handbag?

  I pushed my fingers into the crack, but I could not fit my hand through. It hurt, but I did not stop pushing. My life depended on my phone. My fingertip brushed against the side of my handbag. I almost cried out in frustration.

  I shoved against the car seats, but they would not budge. I tried to kick the inside of the trunk, but could not escape. I kicked and kicked hard, and accurately at first. As my fear grew and my hope shrank, my kicks became frantic and aimless. I kicked the back light. It buckled.

  I recalled reading somewhere that the lights could be kicked out so that victims of a kidnapping would stand a better chance of being seen. How had I forgotten about that? I braced myself and kicked again – hard and on the right spot. The car’s back light fell out.

  Yes!

  I peered out at the road but couldn’t see houses or cars. We were in a rural area... Was there anyone who could save me? I stuck my hand out of the opening and waved it around. I tried to stay positive and tell myself that someone would see it.

  And someone must have.

  George slammed on breaks, and I retracted my hand. He must be stopping because he possibly saw my hand in the side mirror... Then he pulled over on the side of the road and flung open his door. He marched to the trunk and opened it.

  I looked at him w
ith big eyes. “Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone!”

  “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” he said.

  I tried to jump out of the trunk, but George was faster than I was. He easily caught me and pushed me back into it. I screamed, but there was no one to hear me. He then removed his tie.

  “No, stop!” I cried.

  He tied my hands to my feet. I struggled against him, but it was futile. I would not be able to stick my hand out of the car anymore. That was when we heard the police sirens. For a moment I thought I imaged them, but then I saw the panic on George’s face and realised that the sound was real.

  “He—” I started to cry but was interrupted by George’s massive hand that locked around my throat. His grip was tight, and I could not breathe. I fought against my bonds but could not break free. I could not even try to pull his hand away.

  I was suffocating... my eyes are going to turn red...

  I was going to turn into the thing I feared most: death. I was hopeless and pathetic. I could not fight, and I could not cry. It was the worst feeling in the world.

  George looked around frantically. The police were approaching from our front – thus they could not see the back of the car. He let go of my throat, and I gasped for air. I did not scream again, because I was scared he would strangle me to death next time.

  I’m alive.

  George moved around the car and quickly grabbed the handbag which he threw on top of me. “Don’t say a thing,” he told me then forced his handkerchief into my mouth.

  He slammed the trunk shut, and I heard him move to the driver’s seat. Tyres screeched, and I assumed it was the police car. It stopped, and I heard the door open, followed by footsteps.

  “Good day, officer,” George said. “Is there anything I can help you with?” George sounded calm and in control, but I knew he was terrified. If he was caught with a minor in his trunk, he would certainly face serious charges.

  “I was going to ask the same thing,” the officer said. “Do you need some help?”

  “No, I just pulled over to take a leak.” I wondered if he hoped the officer would leave him alone if things got awkward.

  My mouth felt dry because of the handkerchief that was forced into it. I tried to scream but could not. My throat also hurt.

  I struggled against my bonds like a mouse in a trap. My handbag was right there by me. I lifted my legs up so that my hands could reach it. I wished I was more flexible. I got hold of my handbag’s zip. I took a deep breath and tried to open it. It was so hard, and I was running out of time. I held it and moved my hands and feet together but only ended up shifting the bag.

  Don’t panic.

  Then I tried to steady the bag with my feet and open the zip. Finally, the zip moved, and I stuck my hand into the handbag. I struggled as I felt around for my phone.

  I heard George thank the officer for his concern and wish him a good day. The officer walked back to his vehicle. He must not have looked back to see the broken light, because I heard him drive away. He left and took some of my hope with him.

  I concealed my phone with my hands. George marched around the car and opened up the trunk.

  “That was a close call,” he told me.

  I squirmed and tried to beg, but the gag forbade it. He took the handbag off my body and returned it to the backseat. He must have taken it away to prevent me from getting my phone, or something sharp which could be used to free myself. He had no idea that I already had my phone. Then he got back behind the steering wheel, and we continued to drive. I looked out of the opening, hoping to see another car. It was not long until we turned onto a gravel road. I had a feeling that no other cars were coming.

  I fumbled with my phone. It was hard because my wrists and ankles were bound together. If I could call 911, I would not be able to speak. But I could make noise by banging against the trunk. Maybe they would track the call...

  I finally managed to press a button. When the phone’s light did not go on, I realised my battery was dead. I swallowed back tears.

  No...

  I let go of the phone since it was no use to me. A tear slid down my cheek, and I refused to have a meltdown. I then tried to spit out the gag. I could not get it out. After failing at calling the police and spitting out my gag, I focussed on my bonds. I had small wrists... Maybe I could wiggle free...

  George’s phone rang several times, and I wondered if it was work or family. Either way, it could probably wait. His priority was to get rid of me.

  I wiggled and twisted, and after a while it felt as if the knot was coming undone. Then the car came to a halt. I stopped struggling and listened intently. I tried to figure out what George was doing. I turned my head so that I could see what was happening outside the car. I saw George’s vacation house where I had stayed with my family, and it was next to the hill on which Mia was murdered.

  George opened the door and went somewhere. It sounded as if he dragged something with him as he returned. I don’t know how long I lay there, wiggling, shaking from fear, but it felt like hours. After a while, fear turned into frustration, and I began kicking the inside on the trunk.

  He then opened the trunk, and I realised he had gone to the garage to get gardening tools and was digging a grave, for me. Now, that I was incredibly scared of dying, and in the same vulnerable position as Mia had been, I begun to see her more as a person who had lost everything, instead of just a vengeful spirit.

  He removed my gag. “You can scream. No one will hear you.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” I asked.

  “Because you saw me kill Mia Brooks,” he said, “and now I have to kill you.”

  I did not want to become a ghost. I didn’t think George had a passion for killing, because on the night he killed Mia, he had clearly been upset. He hadn’t killed her because he enjoyed it, and he wasn’t planning on killing me for fun either. He planned to kill me because I was a threat. I tried to prolong my life by talking. “How do you know her?”

  “I met her through her modelling agency. I needed a model for my real estate business. At first our relationship was professional, but she was so beautiful, and she made things so easy...”

  I thought about the modelling brochure I had found in her room. Mia had left it for me. She wanted me to go to her modelling company, and I had. That was where I leaned that Mia had a man – George...

  Dimitri had also seen the modelling brochure and said that she looked familiar. He had most likely seen her with George before.

  “It became intimate, and she fell in love.” He sighed. “I know I should not have let things go that far, but my wife drives me crazy. Mia made me feel like a man. She supported me and was exactly what I needed for the time being.”

  “Why did you kill her then?”

  George looked at me with sad eyes. “I brought her here, to this house, for a weekend. We were stargazing on that hill when she told me some terrible news. She told me that she was pregnant with my child. I tried to convince her that the best thing to do was get an abortion. Then she got upset and she threatened me. She told me that she would tell my wife and sons.”

  I thought back to what she heard him say that night: “You bitch!” he cried. “You’ll tell them nothing!”

  He had murdered her because he was desperate and because he could not take responsibility for his actions.

  When I visited my aunt and uncle, I had seen Mia. I had asked, “What do you want?” When Mia had walked to the little baby, Emma, I had thought that she wanted revenge on all of us. What Mia had been trying to say was that she wanted her unborn baby. She had also awoken me to save Hanna’s life. Mia had not wanted to hurt either of the children. She had not wanted to hurt me either... She had wanted to make me understand.

  “I had no idea that you were there,” he said to me. “You weren’t supposed to witness that.”

  “We can act like I never did,” I said. “We’ve been doing so for two months now.”

  “But now you know
my identity,” he mumbled. “You will go to the police.”

  “I won’t. I have no proof.”

  “I can’t take that chance,” he said.

  I realized he had dug up the flower bed – the one with the cosmos. Mia had thrown our gardening tools in my room. Back then I had not known what it meant. Now I understood that Mia was trying to tell me that she was buried.

  I struggled against my bonds as much as I struggled to fight the panic. I had been a coward in the past, but I was not anymore. I was scared, but I was also courageous, and I could survive this.

  I am my own heroine.

  I will save myself.

  I sat upright in the trunk and moved to the opening. If only I could get my legs free, I would be able to run... George was digging...

  Was he going to bury me alive or kill me first? I struggled and struggled. I then lost my balance and fell out of the car. I cried out as I fell onto the ground. I had injured my ankle, and pain shot through it like a lightning bolt. I lay there in an awkward position while my breath came in rasps.

  George looked to see me on the ground. “You are going nowhere.”

  I am not a coward.

  I will not lie down and die.

  I tried to pull my hands apart for what felt like eternity, but I did not stop fighting. I’d never stop fighting. Then the impossible happened, and I managed to wiggle a foot free. I wiggled some more, and got my other foot free. My heart leapt. Just when I was about to work on my hands, George climbed out of the hole he was digging. He instantly saw that my feet were free and rushed towards me.

  “No!” I cried.

  He grabbed me by the elbow and lifted me to my feet. “It will all be over soon.”

  He dragged me to the grave. I looked into the big hole and saw a corpse. Mia Brooks was buried there and being eaten by worms.

  She had drawn me cosmos in my notebook. I thought it meant that Mia wanted me dead, but Mia had been trying to tell me that she was buried under them. When my family and I stayed in this holiday home, Mia had pointed downwards, and a hand had grabbed me. She was trying to say that she was buried there, where no one could find her. And if no one could find her, no one would know she was dead. There would be no proof that she had been murdered.