by Lisa Jackson
“Which is less than a hundred miles away. You won’t lose them. Not the real ones.”
“You don’t know that,” Jade charged.
“Let’s not argue,” Gracie cut in as she retrieved her spot on the scarred stool. “We’re getting a dog! And that’s like the coolest!”
“It is,” Sarah agreed and said, “Let’s have a toast,” then clinked her cup to both her daughters’. “To Rover.”
Jade groaned loudly. “Not Rover. Geez, Mom, you’re ridiculous!”
“Then Fifi. Or maybe Spot or Fido,” Sarah teased.
“God, Mom, you’re the lamest.” But Jade actually chuckled.
Sarah smiled. “Okay, we’ll wait until we meet him.”
“Or her,” Gracie said.
“Right, or her,” Sarah agreed. “Now, everyone who has homework better get at it.”
This time Jade’s groan was sincere, though Gracie, anxious to please lest Sarah change her mind about the dog, scrambled off her stool and headed for the dining room, where she’d tossed her backpack earlier. Jade’s phone vibrated loudly enough that Sarah heard it. Climbing off her stool, Jade began texting like mad as she too left the room.
Alone again, Sarah sipped her coffee in the kitchen and told herself she’d been irrational earlier.
There were no ghosts haunting this old house.
Nor had there ever been.
But as she carried her girls’ cups to the sink, she caught a glimpse of the marshmallows melting in Jade’s remaining cocoa—streaming, white, phantom-like strands of sugar—and Sarah knew she was kidding herself.
The ghost of Blue Peacock Manor had roamed these hallways for nearly a century and wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. Sarah had always known it at some level. The question was: what could she do about it?
Lying on his stomach in the brush, his elbows propped on a fallen log, he stared at the old house through night-vision goggles. He hadn’t been here in a long while, and even in the darkness it was obvious the house was in sad repair, not that he cared. He was just surprised that anyone would want to live in it. Especially because he’d been told that the place was haunted with restless spirits, that unthinkable acts had occurred within the walls of Blue Peacock Manor.
All the better, though.
For his work.
Ever since he’d spied Jade on the steps of Our Lady of the River, he’d decided to place her on his list of candidates. He only hoped she was more malleable than Rosalie, who had turned into an A-one bitch. He had the war wounds to prove it after her attempted escape. Shit, she’d almost gotten away, and that really pissed him off! But, he reminded himself, he needed a couple of girls with fire. A meek one would be necessary, of course, and he’d already chosen her, but Jade, with her sultry attitude and haunted eyes, would be a nice addition.
Adjusting the vision, he froze as he saw movement in his field of vision, then relaxed when he realized it was only a coyote wandering across what had once been the front lawn. The animal looked directly at him before skulking away. Once again he concentrated on the windows of the house, where lights from inside backlit anyone moving within. But he saw nothing, and even when he slid the night-vision lenses off and used his binoculars, training them on the glowing patches of light, no one appeared.
They were there, though; the Explorer was parked near the garage.
“Come on,” he whispered, wanting just one more glimpse, a little peek, and then he lucked out. As if someone inside had heard him and heeded his calling, a shadow appeared in the window. Not Jade, with her pouty mouth, big eyes, and pointy little chin, but the other one, the younger girl, who was not quite a woman, maybe twelve or thirteen, an innocent . . . a virgin?
Probably.
Oh, that would be good. Very good. He almost peed himself with delight at the prospect. Yes, yes!
The wheels in his mind began to whir as he considered, once more, the prospect of taking both girls. It would be tricky, probably not accomplished at the same time . . . no! One would become bait for the other. Oh, yeah, that would be it.
The scenario played out in his mind, and he smiled to himself. He would have to work fast; capturing this pair would become his ultimate goal, and then he’d move on. But if he found a way to lure the little one, certainly big sis would follow.
The light snapped off, and the girl in the window was no longer there. He took his time getting the lay of the land, making note of the outbuildings and lane, the cliffs, forest, and property lines, the river on one side, the Walsh property on the other, the county road bisecting the parcel, and government land backing up to the rest.
And while he waited, not one car came down the lane.
This would be an ideal place to nab them and far enough away from the stable to be safe.
Slowly he scooted away from the log, packed up his gear, and began jogging back to the spot where he’d hidden his vehicle on a forest service road. Through the brush and around a small, fenced-in plot was a cemetery, complete with overgrown headstones and a bigger tomb. The fence was falling down, nearly useless in places, but he skirted the graveyard anyway, not out of any respect for the dead, but because he didn’t want to disturb any lingering spirits. He told himself ghosts didn’t exist, that demons and witches and the lot were all created to keep people in line, but deep down the idea of spirits frightened him, and he wasn’t certain they weren’t real. How many times had he thought he’d seen a wraith or ghost, here, on this property? Hadn’t the people in town insisted that Blue Peacock Manor was haunted? And hadn’t his own mother warned him that malevolent spirits were about, existing among the living, and, of course, collecting in boneyards? Lucifer himself, she’d insisted, had visited the wooded plots surrounding the old house with its peculiar family. “Take a look at them,” Mother had advised. “Everyone who lives there. They’re touched in the head, I tell you. All a little bit off, and it’s because of the demons within.”
So now, as always, he gave the ancient cemetery a wide berth and made his way to his waiting truck.
It was time to step up his plans.
Rosalie’s eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep when finally the first streaks of dawn filtered through the grimy windows high overhead. Shivering from the cold, her body aching, she felt as if she would never escape.
So it was another day.
Rosalie silently prayed that this was the day that somehow her family would find her.
As if.
Her heart sank, and despair clutched at her as she stared at the dusty rafters supporting the ceiling. She’d seen the bruise developing beneath a long scrape on her side and abdomen where she’d fallen on the fence during her ill-fated escape attempt.
If only she’d gotten away!
She’d spent the hours since then lying on her cot, replaying the scene over and over again, wondering how she could free herself.
It was impossible she decided, tears filling her eyes. Whatever the jerk wanted to do with her, she was doomed. Yanking the sleeping bag closer to her chin, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking with the cold. Sniffing and angry with herself, she dashed the tears from her eyes as she recalled the ignominy of being hauled over the dickhead’s shoulder like a damned sack of potatoes.
If she could, she’d kill the bastard.
Instead she was stuck here, lying on the stupid cot, feeling sorry for herself, watching as morning light chased away the shadows and gloom of this sorry barn.
Get up, Do something, Anything, Do not let yourself become a victim! You’re not dead yet, but you damned well will be if you let this goon do what he wants to do to you!
Sniffing back the last of her tears, she tried to think. To plan. To find a way out of this horrible place, away from the monster—no, make that monsters, plural. The dickhead had Scraggly Hair, a man whom Rosalie instinctively knew was weaker, the follower. Maybe she could get him alone, plead with him . . .
Stop it! Neither of these jerkwads is going to let you go! Get real, You’ve seen thei
r faces, could ID them, Haven’t you watched enough cop shows on cable to know that criminals, at least those with any brains, leave no witnesses?
Her stomach tightened, and fear crawled through her blood. Just because they hadn’t killed her yet didn’t mean they weren’t planning it. And not just her; they’d mentioned others.
Do something, Rosalie, Don’t count on Mom or stupid Mel or even Dad to show up, This is on you,
Her bladder was about to burst, so she had to get up. With an effort, she kicked off the sleeping bag and rolled off her cot, only to wince as she straightened. Lifting her sweatshirt, she viewed the bruise. Bluish with green edges, it had spread along one side under her ribs. What if she were bleeding internally? Is that what this meant? Oh, Jesus, that sounded really bad.
Gently she touched the darkened skin and flinched when pain shot through her. Not a good idea to poke it much, especially since the shallow scrape was still raw. She decided to just take care of her bucket business and lie back on her bed of sorts to plot her escape. There had to be a way out of here. Had to.
First things first.
She used the damned bucket; after emptying her bladder, she straightened and pulled her pants over her hips with difficulty because of the handcuffs. Working the zipper was worse, and when it was finally up, she let out her breath and scanned the room again, catching a glimmer of something on the floor, something that shined briefly in the weak rays of light. “What the hell?” She took a step forward, saw the glimmer tucked deep into the corner near the doorway to the stall. Across the tiny room in an instant, she bent down and discovered a bit of metal wedged into the crack between the wall and floorboards.
Quickly, she tried to pry it from its resting place, digging with her already-broken nails, attempting to loosen the slim, flat piece with her cuffed hands. “Come on, come on,” she whispered. What the devil was this metal strip that she could barely get her finger under? Biting her lip, she dug at the thing and eased it slowly and gently from its resting spot. Finally, it came loose and slid into her palm. A tiny little nail file, no longer than her pinkie, it had a hook on one end and a minuscule hole on the other. She turned it over in her hand and wondered where it had come from. Surely she would have noticed it before now.
Wait! Suddenly she remembered her struggle with her captor’s sidekick, Scraggly Hair. This must’ve fallen out of his pocket during the fight. It wasn’t much, but . . . used the right way, into an eye or ear or voice box, the little strip of metal could do some serious damage.
Revived, she started looking around the floor, hoping that something else had fallen out of the little man’s pockets and was rewarded with the actual clippers, in pieces, and a tiny chain. Again, they weren’t the best weapons, not much really, but they would have to do. For now.
With the element of surprise on her side, the clippers might just be enough for her to get in one good shot and wound her abductor long enough to get free. Next time she wouldn’t run blindly, but jump into his truck and drive like a bat out of hell. She remembered that when he’d brought her to this godforsaken place, he’d hauled her inside and left his keys in the truck. He hadn’t made that mistake when she’d tried to escape, but hopefully it was his habit to leave the keys in the ignition.
If so, she’d damn well take advantage of it.
Slipping all the metal pieces into the front pocket of her jeans, she felt slightly better than she had since her thwarted run for freedom.
For the first time since she’d been thrown back into this horrid prison, Rosalie felt a tiny ray of hope.
CHAPTER 15
Though it was obvious that Mary-Alice loathed her as much as Jade detested the two-faced “angel” she’d been assigned, Mary-A was impossible to shake. No matter which corridor Jade used at Our Lady of the River, the blonde appeared, always with a cheery, pasted-on smile, and she hung out with Jade as much as possible between classes. It was enough to make Jade sick, so she decided they needed to have it out.
“Look,” Jade said as Mary-Alice tagged along while Jade was on her way to her next class. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it is.”
“I don’t know why you have to be so nasty all the time.”
Here we go, Jade started down the stairs toward the math wing, where all the classrooms faced the student parking lot. “I’m just used to having my space, that’s all.”
“No, that isn’t all. You’re rebelling because you think it’s cool.”
Jade thought about it half a second and decided maybe honesty was the best policy with Mary-Alice, who was just half a step behind her. “Maybe, but having you puppy dog after me is creepy.” From the corner of her eye, Jade saw Mary-Alice’s lips tighten at the corners and her eyes flare a bit. “So you can just leave me alone and we’ll be cool.”
Mary-Alice kept up with her as they wended their way down the staircase teeming with kids hurrying to the second floor, the clatter of footsteps echoing in the stairwell. “I can’t. You’re my assignment.”
Ugh, Of course, They’d reached the first floor and were near the restrooms outside the auditorium. “You mean like you get an ‘A’ or something if you hang out with me?”
“If I introduce you around and, you know, get you interested in extracurricular activities or clubs or whatever, it goes on my permanent record, and so it’s something I can refer to when I apply for college.”
“Are you insane?” Jade demanded. “Clubs? No! I’m not—oh, for the love of God!” Before she could think, Jade wrapped her fingers around the other girl’s skinny arm and dragged her into the women’s washroom.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mary-Alice gasped.
Jade propelled her around the privacy partition blocking the doorway to the area around a row of stainless steel sinks. Paper towels littered the floor. One sink dripped. Hastily written crude comments and/or vows of love covered the back side of the partition and the walls around the mirrors. Cozy, it was not. Jade didn’t care. It was time for Mary-Alice to hear her out. “Permanent record? Really?” She dropped Mary-Alice’s arm. Mary-A quickly took a step back, rubbing her upper arm and glaring at Jade as if she were the devil incarnate. “I’m not joining any clubs or going to be on some stupid dance committee or whatever it is you think I might get into. I don’t like one thing about this school, and I really don’t like being someone’s ‘project, ’ so don’t start talking up drama club or pep band or whatever it is you do around here. I’m not interested, and it’s not happening. I’m not your project, so get over it. Find someone else to mold into a little mini-you, cuz it’s not gonna be me.”
Mary-A crossed her arms under her chest. Her cheeks were flushed a vibrant angry red. “You have a horrible attitude.”
“That is a fact,” Jade agreed.
“You just don’t care!”
Jade took a step closer to the popular girl, and though she knew she should shut up and quit while she was ahead, she was so irritated and frustrated and just plain mad that she couldn’t stop her tongue. “You know what else is true? You’re a fake, Mary-Alice. A back-stabbing, smile-to-your-face fraud.”
For a second Jade thought the other girl might slap her, but Mary-Alice gathered herself.
“You’ll be sorry you ever said that,” Mary-Alice hissed in true drama queen fashion.
“Yeah?”
“I can make your life miserable here at Our Lady.”
“You mean more miserable?” Jade didn’t doubt it, but lifted a shoulder as if she didn’t care. “Bring it on. I don’t give a shit.”
“You’re dead at this school.”
“Dead. Okay. That sounds sort of like a threat,” Jade observed.
“I mean it. I can . . . I can . . .”
“What?” When Mary-A couldn’t seem to complete her thought, Jade said in a tight voice, “So, here’s one back at ’cha. I have friends in low places.”
“You’re threatening me?�
�� Mary-Alice squeaked.
A toilet flushed, and a stall door swung into the sink area. A plump, worried-looking girl Jade didn’t recognize stepped into the area near the sink. She had to have heard the entire exchange.
“Not a word of this, Dana,” Mary-Alice warned her with a deadly smile.
“Of what?” Dana blinked innocently. “I didn’t hear anything.” She ran her fingers under the hot water, stripped a paper towel from the dispenser, and stared into the mirror, where she caught Jade’s gaze. For a second she seemed anxious and ready to shrink away, but somehow she managed to get her case of nerves under control. Flipping her streaked hair over one shoulder with forced confidence, she twisted pink lips into a photo-ready smile that was as practiced and phony as Mary-Alice’s. “No,” she assured the more popular girl, “I didn’t hear one thing.”
After tossing her towel into the overflowing bin, Dana hastened around the graffiti-laden partition to the swinging doors to the restroom.
In those few moments Jade’s irritation had cooled slightly, and she realized she’d said more than she should have; that was the trouble with her temper. “Okay, let’s not get crazy. Just back off. Your duty, or whatever you call it, is over. I can find my way around the school by myself, and I don’t need your help making friends.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Don’t care.” Jade hiked the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
“I was just trying to help,” Mary-Alice insisted and, like a chameleon, changed her colors, going from fury to contrition.
“You were just hoping to make yourself look good.”
“You’re seriously twisted,” Mary-A said angrily.
“Probably.” Jade lifted a shoulder in indifference.
“I don’t know why I bother,” Mary-Alice said.
“For your permanent record,” Jade responded, but Mary-A, as if deciding another second with Jade was too much, had already rounded the partition and shoved through the doors.