Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  Stiffening her spine, she reached for the door handle. It was curiosity that made her so damn good at her job. Fearlessness was another trait. She wasn’t scared of shit. Certainly not some guy she went to high school with who was creeping on her parents’ front porch. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea giving him her number after all.

  Oh well. She’d scare him off and send him on his way with his tail tucked between his legs.

  Still clutching the door handle, she reached with her other hand and turned the lock as quietly as possible, undoing it before she threw open the door, hoping to surprise him.

  But she was the one who was surprised. Her mouth fell open when she saw who was standing there, a leering smile on his dirt-streaked face. His eyes were wild and bright, his clothes soaked from the incessant rain, and she tried to scream but no sound came out.

  He rushed toward her, his hand going to her mouth, fingers clamping over her lips so tight she started to panic, her arms flailing as she reached for his hand to pull it away, her bare feet scrambling against the slick tile floor.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he whispered harshly, thrusting his face in hers, his eyes huge, pupils dilated. “Keep quiet and no one else gets hurt. You got keys to one of those cars out there?”

  Hanging on the rack only a few feet away, yes she did. She nodded furiously, trying her best not to inhale too deeply. Too afraid he might smother her. And she could almost taste him—salt and sweat and dirt. His fingers tightened, his smile grew, and she screamed beneath his hand, trying to kick at him. He lifted his knee, fast and hard, jamming it in her stomach, and she bent over, trying to suck in breaths, her head spinning from the pain.

  “Let’s grab those keys and get the fuck out of here.” He jerked on her hair with his other hand, pulling so hard the sting was unbearable. It felt like he was pulling her hair out of her scalp. “Now, bitch.”

  She did as he said, trembling almost uncontrollably. How did he get out? When did it happen? Did they know he’s gone? And how did he find her?

  He smiled when she pointed out where the keys were and he grabbed the set with the Mercedes key fob. “Fancy car for a fancy girl?” His hand moved away from her mouth and she sucked in a breath, but it wasn’t enough. Her lungs seized, shrinking smaller and smaller, as if she couldn’t draw a breath, and she knew she was going to have a panic attack.

  “Get your shit together. We gotta go.” He hooked his arm through hers and led her to the still-open door. Her parents slept like the dead. Her mom always put in her earplugs and her dad used a white-noise machine. They couldn’t hear her.

  No one could.

  “I-I don’t have any sh-shoes,” she stuttered, indicating her bare feet.

  Aaron Monroe threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about? Funny how all you bitches freak out over the smallest things.” His laughter died, and there was an eerie gleam in his eyes. “Let’s go.”

  Fear slid over her, chilling her skin, her bones, her soul.

  She was as good as dead.

  I’m in bed with Molly snuggled against me, curled into the spot where my knees are bent. She’s warm and solid, a comforting presence in my otherwise empty bed. But I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, tempted to take the sleeping pills I keep in my bathroom drawer in case of an emergency. Not too long ago I’d been somewhat addicted to them—well, more like dependent on them. I finally went off them cold turkey, not liking how I felt when I took them. It was a strange feeling. Almost suffocating.

  But right now, I’m tempted. Anything to quit worrying about being alone and get some actual sleep. I have a busy week ahead with plenty of schoolwork to keep me occupied. Yet I already miss Will. It’s stupid; I shouldn’t be so dependent on him, either, but I am. I like having him lying next to me, always with an arm around my waist or my head resting on his shoulder. He’s a comfort, always grounding me, always making me feel safe and loved.

  Reaching up, I touch the guardian angel charm, my fingers slipping over the wings’ ridges. I love that he took the broken bracelet and added the charm to a necklace for me, that I can wear it closer to my heart. He promised he would come back to me in one piece and I know he will. He never breaks a promise.

  But will I remain in one piece while he’s gone? I already feel like I could shatter, and I hate that. Where’s confident Katherine? I’d been trying so hard to become her. To become the woman I wanted to be. Yet the cracks in my surface first appeared when Molly disappeared.

  Actually, those cracks appeared even sooner, when Lisa told me what Aaron Monroe said about Will using me. It still upsets me that I could doubt Will, though he has given me reason to not believe in him. I understand his reasoning behind the deception and I’m mostly over it.

  Mostly.

  I can hear the rainfall outside and I roll over on my side, careful not to disturb Molly too much. She’s doing so well, seeming to find her balance rather easily despite losing her leg. I’m proud of her, and so thankful we didn’t lose her. She was so happy to see us when we went to pick her up.

  “We’re going to leave first thing in the morning,” I tell Molly as I reach out and pet her head. “I’m too spooked here, girl. We need to go spend time with your grandma.”

  I sound ridiculous, referring to Mom as Molly’s grandma. Irritated with myself, I slip out of bed and go to the bathroom, opening the drawer and pulling out the bottle of prescription sleeping pills. I pop the lid and shake one capsule into the palm of my hand, then dry-swallow it, grimacing when I finally get it down. I go back to bed, pulling the covers up over my head.

  Within minutes I can feel the pill already working. My head feels like a cloud, soft and hazy, and there’s a giant moth fluttering over my face, its wings buzzing, brushing against my cheeks. I roll over on my back and let the moth take me, swallow me . . .

  My phone dings and I sit up so fast my head spins. I turn my head as if in slow motion, seeing my phone lit up where it sits on my bedside table.

  A text from a number, so someone I don’t know? But it’s one I faintly recognize. What if it’s Will? What if he somehow lost his phone and had to get a new number?

  Grappling for the phone, I almost drop it, my fingers squeezing around the edges to keep it from falling on the floor. I squint at the screen, trying to make out the words.

  Are you home? I need to talk to you.

  I frown and send a reply.

  Who r u?

  It’s me. Lisa.

  Wait, what? I frown even harder.

  Swanson?

  Yes, are you home? Can we talk? I’m at your house.

  I glance toward the hall, blinking hard, my heavy lids wanting to shut. I am not in the proper frame of mind for company. More like I’m ready to pass out.

  Can’t we talk another time? I’m in bed.

  No. It’s urgent Katherine. I have something I really need to tell you.

  Okay, this is some straight-up bullshit, as Will would say. I get out of bed, thankful I’m wearing thick socks because the bare floor is cold. I shuffle toward the front door, peering through the peephole to see that it’s completely blocked.

  I back away from the door, startled. So weird. I send a text to Lisa.

  Are you out on my porch? I can’t see you.

  “I’m here,” she calls from the other side of the door. She sounds strange. Her voice is shaky. I wonder if she’s been crying.

  Carefully I open the door to see Lisa standing on the doormat, wearing only a thin sweater and jeans, her hair a mess, her makeup streaked all over her face like she’d been crying. There’s a bruise around her neck, a red mark across her cheek, like someone hit her.

  And she’s not wearing any shoes. Her feet are completely bare.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobs, just before she’s shoved out of the way and the man of my nightmares suddenly appears, looming in the doorway. Clad in dark pants and a blue denim shirt, his clothes drenched through, cheap prison-issued slip-on shoes on his feet.r />
  That I’m able to catalog his clothes and shoes is just . . . odd. My brain is fuzzy and I blink at him, my heart seizing in my chest.

  Am I having a nightmare?

  “Katherine. We meet again.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes are dead, flat. Black as obsidian, they almost glitter in the dim light. He grabs hold of Lisa’s arm roughly and she cries out, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet of the night. This infuriates him and he backhands her, right across the jaw. I jump backward, about to shut the door on him when he thrusts out an arm, stopping me.

  “You’re not getting away that easily.” He grabs me, his fingers curling around the crook of my elbow, and I squirm against his hold, trying to break free. Lisa actually does break free when he turns to concentrate on me, sprinting toward the car parked in front of my house. She stumbles and falls knees and hands first on the driveway but picks herself back up, running toward the road.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters as he withdraws a gun from his waistband and aims it right at her, no hesitation when he pulls the trigger.

  I’m paralyzed, fear and unspoken screams clogging my throat as I watch Lisa collapse onto the street. Aaron grabs hold of my arm, his fingers pressing into my skin as he drags me toward a newer-model black Mercedes sedan, the gun pointed straight at my head.

  “You say a fucking word, you scream, you do anything, and you’re dead just like that bitch out in the street.” He thrusts the gun against my temple, his face in mine for the briefest, most terrifying moment. The metal is cold on my skin. “Get in the fucking car.”

  He pulls open the passenger-side door and shoves me inside, then runs around the front of the car, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine, backing out of the driveway so fast the squeal of the tires makes me wince. He races past where Lisa lies in the road and I breathe a sigh of relief that at least he didn’t run her over.

  I wouldn’t put it past him if he did.

  “Damn it!” He hits the steering wheel, then stares into the rearview mirror, his eyes wide and crazy looking. “Stupid bitch had to go and mess everything up. I wanted to keep her, damn it! She was perfect!”

  He’s referring to Lisa. He wanted to keep her? How did he get out of prison? Did she help? I can’t imagine her doing that, but who knows? She was so sympathetic toward him . . .

  I think of how she said she was sorry just before he pushed her out of the way, the look on her face, the utter fear I saw there. No way would she help him escape from prison. She’s not that crazy.

  But now . . . I think she’s dead.

  I stare at the road stretched out before us, hear the way he mutters under his breath, every other word a curse, his fisted hand still banging against the steering wheel. His frustration is a living, breathing thing, seeming to consume the interior of the car, and I swing my heavy head toward him, my mouth dry as I blink, trying to focus.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? You on drugs or what?”

  “Sleeping pill.” I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. My head is literally spinning. This feels like a dream, like it really isn’t happening, but I know it is. I can hear the low hum of the engine, Aaron Monroe’s heavy, almost frantic breathing. I can smell him, sweat and fear and adrenaline. I recognize his scent. It hasn’t changed in all these years.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  “Where’s Will? Why didn’t he come out and try and rescue you? Have you got him that whipped?” he asks incredulously.

  “He’s . . .” I swallow, my throat like sandpaper, and I open my eyes, though I can’t focus. Everything is blurry. “He’s in L.A.”

  “Ha! Are you serious? He’s not even here?” He shakes his head, his mouth stretched into a thin line. “Well, this is gonna get interesting.”

  What does he mean by that? I don’t want to know. “Wh-what do you want from me?”

  “I was looking for my son. You stole him from me, you stupid little bitch.” He sneers. “Had one and then you wanted the other, just to sample us both? Is that how you operate?”

  My stomach lurches. Oh God, if he keeps this up I really am going to be sick. I can’t believe he said that to me.

  Actually, yes I can believe it. He’s a sick bastard with no regard for human life. Look at how easily he shot Lisa. He’ll probably just as easily shoot me.

  I reach for my necklace, my trembling fingers sliding over the charm. I close my eyes and . . . pray. I’m not a religious person. But right now, I need God. I need someone to save me. To find me. To make sure I get out of this alive. I think of Will. How this will destroy him. How guilty he’ll feel that he wasn’t with me, that he couldn’t save me. But it’s not his fault. It’s never his fault.

  We can’t control the monsters.

  Two in the morning and I’m woken up out of a dead sleep by my phone ringing. I grab it and see the call is from . . .

  Mrs. Anderson?

  I sit up, answering right away, and I can hardly hear her at first. There’s a garbled sound, men’s voices in the background, and is that a dog barking? Swear to God it sounds like Molly.

  “. . . And then they think he took her! Right after he shot Lisa Swanson in the middle of the street! That’s what woke me up, the sound of gunfire, like it’s some sort of war zone out here,” Mrs. Anderson carries on.

  “Hey, slow down, back it up.” I pause, push my hair out of my eyes.

  “Will, your Katie is gone. Your father broke out of prison and they believe he kidnapped her again!” she yells.

  My heart cracks into a million little pieces at her words. “What?” I croak, blinking hard. I need to wake up, I need to fucking focus. What is she saying?

  “Here, talk to the policeman. He’ll explain everything.” She hands off her phone—I can hear her talking to Molly, telling her to stop barking—and a man gets on the line, identifying himself as FBI.

  “Is this William Monroe?” the man asks.

  “Yeah, I’m Will. Where’s Katie?” Fear clutches me hard, cramping my muscles, making my stomach hurt. If she’s dead, so help me God if my father is responsible for this . . . I close my eyes and hold my breath.

  “Your father escaped. He complained of feeling ill and the guard was afraid he was having a heart attack. He even collapsed, but they were able to rouse him to consciousness. There was no doctor on duty since it’s a holiday weekend, so they decided to transport him to a local hospital.” The FBI agent pauses. “During the exchange into the vehicle he stabbed the guard with a concealed weapon, grabbed his gun, and used it to shoot at the other guard, hitting him in the stomach.”

  “He escaped San Quentin.” I can’t fucking believe it.

  “He went to Marin, to Lisa Swanson’s parents’ house. The mother discovered Lisa was gone, along with their Mercedes, and called the police. There’s an APB out for the vehicle now.”

  “And what about Katie? How did he get her?”

  The FBI agent sighs and proceeds to explain the story as best he knows it. Somehow my father gained access to the house and took Katie. For whatever reason, Lisa Swanson was shot and left for dead in the middle of the street. Just as Mrs. Anderson said, she called the police when she heard the gunshots and once she decided it was safe—yeah, how the hell the old woman knew it was safe, I don’t know—she went to Katie’s house. She found the door wide open and Molly sleeping on the bed. No Katie in sight.

  And a dead Lisa Swanson in the middle of the street.

  “Your father shot and killed Lisa Swanson,” the FBI agent reiterates. “We’re fairly certain he’s abducted Katherine Watts, considering she’s nowhere to be found.” His voice lowers. “We’re going to do our best to find her. You’re in Los Angeles? The neighbor told us that.”

  “I’m leaving.” I’d already been roaming around the hotel room as the agent told me the story, gathering up my stuff and throwing it in my suitcase. “I don’t know how I’ll get my ass back there but I’m going to find a way. I need to find
Katie.”

  “Sir, we don’t want you to interfere in this investigation. Your father could be in search of you. You’re not safe—”

  “Katie is the one who’s not safe if she’s with my father,” I say, cutting him off. “I can’t just stand by and wait for him to kill her. Because he will, trust me. He’s still pissed he didn’t get the chance the first time around.”

  I end the call, tired of wasting my time. Methodically I change into jeans and a T-shirt, tug my favorite hooded sweatshirt over my head, and slip on my shoes. I have no idea what I’m going to do, how I’m going to get to Katie.

  Collapsing on the end of the bed, I bury my face in my hands and just let the fucking tears come, my chest tight, my throat raw. Why can’t we ever be free? Why is my father so hell-bent on destroying us that he’ll break out of prison so he can hunt us down?

  I lift my head and wipe my face, reaching for my phone once more. I hit my friend Jay’s number and he picks up on the third ring, sounding wide awake. Thank God for musicians staying up till all hours of the night.

  “Tell me you have a connection to a private plane. Even if it’s some puddle jumper that’ll scare the shit out of me,” I say to him in greeting. “I don’t care what it is, I just need to get home. Now.”

  “What’s going on, bro?” There’s genuine concern in Jay’s voice and for a quick second, I’m tempted to crumble apart all over again and spill everything.

  But I need to keep my shit together. I need to form a plan and get the hell out of here.

  “I’ll tell you later, just . . . do you know someone with a plane?” Jay has all sorts of connections with all the people he knows in the music business. I know he’ll help me if he can.