The Uprising (Moonlight Wolves Book 3)

by Jasmine B. Waters

“You really don’t need to do that,” I said quickly. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

  I’d meant it almost as a joke but the cop didn’t laugh. He hustled me along the snowy walkway and into the puce-colored police station. The florescent lights overhead were harsh and bright, and I squinted in pain as the cop moved me down the hall and into an isolated room with a table and one chair.

  “Wait here,” the cop said.

  “Wait,” I said quickly. “Don’t go.”

  The cop turned around and put his hands on his hips. “What?”

  I licked my dry lips. “Can I please call my parents? And can I please have some water?”

  The cop shrugged. Then he left, banging the door closed behind him.

  It wasn’t until I’d been alone for half an hour that the panic began to set in. My hands had long since gone numb from the tight plastic cuffs, and I’d given up on trying to massage them back to life. I was freezing cold – the room apparently wasn’t heated – and I could see my breath hanging in front of me in clouds of white steam every time I exhaled. Obviously, I couldn’t look at my watch, but judging from the elapsed time, I figured it had to be after eight, or maybe even close to nine.

  Awhile later, another cop came inside the room and looked at me. He was holding a clipboard and a pen, and a strong sense of relief washed over me. ‘He’s going to write me up and then let me go home, I realized. Thank god someone finally came to their senses around here!’

  “You’re Elizabeth Hartsell, right?”

  “Yes.” I licked my lips. By now, they were so dry that they’d cracked and begun to bleed.

  “Age?”

  “I’m fifteen,” I said quietly.

  “Feel like telling me what you were doing out so late?”

  “I was walking home,” I said. “I’d just been with a friend.”

  “Who?”

  My stomach churned. “Why do you need to know that, exactly?”

  The cop glared at me. “I’m not here because I want to be,” he snapped. “I’m doing my fucking job. Now answer me. Who were you with?”

  My heart began to pulse nervously inside my chest and I shivered.

  “Steven D’Amico,” I said softly.

  The cop scribbled something down on the pad. “Okay,” he said. “That’s all.”

  “Can I call my parents?” I begged. “Please, just let me call home. And may I please use the bathroom?”

  The cop left the room, slamming the door behind him like he hadn’t even heard me.

  With a wail of frustration and pain, I sank down against the cinder-block wall and slid down until I was sitting on the cold floor. My hands and wrists were killing me, and my shoulders were starting to throb as well. Worse, there was a gnawing ache in my lower belly. I really had to pee, and there was nothing even resembling a toilet in the room. My stomach was twisted and cramped, and my throat was so dry it felt like I’d been drinking sawdust.

  I had no way of telling the time, but the hours slowly began to pass. I could tell from the voices. After I’d been locked in the room for a few hours, it grew quiet and the lights dimmed. Then, the voices outside changed. I shivered bitterly. ‘I bet they changed staff,’ I thought. ‘It has to be the middle of the night by now.’

  Eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in so much pain that I could barely move. I could feel the plastic cuffs pinching a tendon in my wrists, and by now, I was so scared and hurt that I started to cry.

  Crying wasn’t a good decision. Soon, tears and snot were dripping from my face, all down the front of my jacket. I’d pissed myself in my sleep, and I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be sitting there in my own waste, smelling like sweat and ammonia.

  When the door opened again, I almost started sobbing. A deputy – different than the one who’d taken me in – walked over and gave me a disgusted look.

  “You have someone here for you,” he said mechanically, roughly hauling me to my feet. I cried out in pain but he didn’t stop. When I heard scissors slicing the plastic cuffs from my wrist, I gasped with relief.

  “Out there,” the deputy said.

  Rubbing my hands, I ran into the hallway, expecting to see my parents. Instead, Monica was standing there. She looked at me with a worried expression, then turned back to the hefty man behind the desk.

  “I’ll be taking Elizabeth now,” Monica said. “She’s coming with me.”

  The cop had an odd, glazed look in his eyes. “Elizabeth…” He trailed off. “Who is that, exactly?”

  I narrowed my eyes at Monica. Something very odd was going on.

  “The girl that was picked up last night for violating curfew,” Monica said. “She’s coming with me, I’m taking her home.”

  “You’re taking her home,” the cop repeated.

  “Yeah,” Monica said. “Write it down.”

  “Are you a parent or a guardian?” The cop’s voice was stilted, strained.

  “No,” Monica said. “Just trust me.” She smiled and the cop seemed to melt. I frowned. This wasn’t like Monica at all. In the past, she’d made fun of girls who got what they wanted from flirting. Still, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with relief. At least someone cared enough about me to rescue me from spending another twelve hours in the police station.

  After a few more questions, the cop turned to me and blinked. “You were here all night?”

  I nodded, trying not to look angry. I held up my hands, pushing my sleeves away and showing the angry red marks around my wrists.

  “I was cuffed and alone in that room down the hall,” I said unsteadily. “Only two people came to check on me, and I wasn’t offered water or a phone call.”

  The cop frowned. “That does not sound good,” he said slowly, in a plodding sort of way.

  Monica grabbed my arm. “Come on,” she said. “We gotta hurry. I’m taking you home.”

  Outside, the sun was shining, and the weather felt warmer than it had in weeks.

  “What the hell was that?” I demanded as soon as we were away from the police station. “How did you do that? They ignored me all night,” I said, showing Monica my wrists again. She cringed at the sight of the bruises.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Monica said darkly. “Let’s just get you home and fed, okay?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re telling me what the hell happened.” I crossed my arms. “Those cops acted like you were their boss or something! How did you do that?”

  Monica rolled her eyes and kept walking. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “No,” I said, more forcefully this time. I grabbed Monica’s arm. “Monica, tell me: how did you get me out of there?”

  Monica sighed. “If I tell you, you won’t believe me,” she said coolly. “Just forget about it, Elizabeth.”

  “I can’t,” I said. Monica kept walking, and I groaned. “You’re my best friend,” I said quickly. “Come on, trust me. Just a little. Just tell me, okay?”

  “Fine.” Monica turned to me and smirked. “I manipulated them.”

  “Well, obviously!” I rolled my eyes. “But how? How did you do it?”

  “With my powers.” Monica stared sincerely into my eyes. “I’m a witch, Elizabeth. And I used my magic to help free you.”

  I blinked.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Monica said unsteadily. “I don’t wanna get into this with you, not now.”

  A cold chill ran down my spine, and I shuddered.

  “I know,” I said nervously. “But look, just tell me. One more time.”

  “I’m a witch,” Monica said softly.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I said quickly. “But if you really, truly are a witch…Monica, we really need your help.” I grabbed her hand in mine, ignoring the pain shooting up and down my wrist.

  “What?” Monica narrowed her eyes. “Who’s ‘we?’”

  “The town,” I said quickly. “Monica, the whole town is collectively losing its mind, and you’ve got to help me. We’ve got t
o do something before everyone goes completely mad.”

  Monica’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t,” she said softly.

  “What? Why not?” I glared at her. “Come on!”

  “Because,” Monica said softly. “I’m not strong enough.”

  Chapter Eight

  Monica walked me home. We made no mention of the fact that I’d pissed myself, or that the cops had held me illegally for over twelve hours. In truth, it wasn’t so much because I was embarrassed, but because I didn’t want to believe something like that had actually happened. It was horrifying to think about. I’d spent my whole life in this sleepy little town, and it seemed impossible to believe that things were changing so quickly – and so much for the worse – right before my eyes.

  I felt powerless. I felt helpless. And I felt terrified, even more so than I’d been when Monica had first disappeared and basically all of the adults refused to believe me when I said something sinister was going on.

  At my front stoop, Monica hugged me.

  “Promise me you’re not going away again,” I said. “Promise me. I couldn’t handle that, not after everything that’s happened.”

  Monica gave me a weak smile. “I wish,” she said. She sighed heavily. “The truth is, Elizabeth, most of the time, I can’t control it.” Her brown eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away, tilting her sharp chin to the cloudy sky. “The first few times I disappeared…well, it wasn’t because I went looking for them, you know?”

  My heart sank. I nodded. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I get it.”

  “But I’ll try,” Monica said fiercely. “Besides,” she added, “you’d still be in jail if it wasn’t for me.” She shuddered, apparently even more disturbed by that thought than I was. “I can’t disappear only for you to skip curfew again.”

  I shivered. “No,” I echoed, “you can’t.”

  “What happened, anyway?”

  I sighed. “I was with Steven. We drove out to the lake, and then his stupid car wouldn’t start, and by the time we got back, it was already past seven-thirty. I told him to let me out so I could walk. I figured his parents would care way more about the curfew than mine.”

  Monica wrinkled her nose. “So, things are going okay between two of you?”

  For a moment, I almost caved. I almost told her how irritated I’d felt with him recently, especially after what had happened the last time I’d been at his house. I almost told her about how he waited on Andrea hand and foot, like some kind of weird, obsessed servant.

  But when I looked at my best friend, I realized how stressed she was. Her pale face was more gaunt than usual, and there were dark circles under her round, brown eyes. She was glancing at me with a glimmer of hope.

  “Yeah,” I said finally. “Things are okay between us.”

  Monica gave me a hug, and I trudged inside, more conscious of my body odor than ever before. I’d hoped to slink up quietly to my room, but Mom was standing in the kitchen with her hands on her hips. The angry look on her face sent chills down my spine.

  “Elizabeth, do you mind telling me where the hell you’ve been?” Mom’s face was streaked with dried tears, and she looked awful.

  I started to shake. “A cop picked me up last night,” I said unsteadily. “I was walking home after meeting Steven, and it was just after seven-thirty.”

  My mom glared at me. “You expect me to believe that? Really, Elizabeth,” she said, throwing her arms in the air. “I’m starting to think that Monica is a bad influence on you!”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What the heck does she have to do with anything?”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “You know, Elizabeth. She’s so free spirited! She just runs off everywhere, and her parents don’t even care.” Before I could refute Mom’s claims, she wagged a finger at me. “And don’t think for a second that just because you’re turning sixteen soon you’re going to get away with the same behavior!”

  “Mom, it really wasn’t like that,” I said quickly. “Call downtown. They have a record of keeping me.”

  My mom sighed heavily. “You really got in deep, huh?”

  I frowned. “I’m not lying. This cop – some deputy, I don’t remember his name – pulled me off the street and took me downtown.” I held out my arms and pulled my sleeves up, showing my raw, bruised wrists. “They put plastic cuffs on me and kept my arms behind my back. Then they put me in this room. I was in there, alone, with no food or water or anything, for, like, twelve hours!”

  My mom frowned. She came forward, gingerly pressing her fingers against my wounded wrists. The anger on her face faded, and she stepped away, grabbing the kitchen phone and holding it tightly against her ear.

  I waited in silence as Mom called the police department.

  “Hello, I need to speak to whomever has your log book for the past few days,” Mom said. “This is very urgent.”

  My stomach sank, and I slumped down into a kitchen chair. When Monica had first rescued me, I’d been starving. But now I felt nauseous again, sick with fear and worry. It was crazy. I knew that I wasn’t lying; I knew that I’d been at the police station all night and some of the morning. But I still expected them to lie to my mother. I still expected her to hang up and punish me, ground me for some transgression I didn’t even commit.

  My mom was white in the face when she hung up the phone.

  “Elizabeth, there has to be something else wrong here,” she said sternly. “You can tell me. They didn’t provide much information.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I swear, I was just walking in the snow, and they picked me up.”

  My mom’s shoulders sagged. Fresh tears glinted in her eyes, and she shook her head.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Mom said slowly, “but try and stay out of trouble, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I swallowed and bobbed my head again, once more, for emphasis.

  Aidan came downstairs, clutching his backpack. When he saw me, his eyes got wide.

  “Holy crap you were gone all night!”

  “Yeah,” I said miserably. “I was at the police station all night. They picked me up because I missed curfew.”

  Aidan’s eyes got even wider. “Whoa,” he said. “Cool!”

  “No,” I said sharply, pushing past him and running up the stairs. “Definitely not cool.”

  ---

  I was gladder than anything that school was out for winter break. Aidan was at some kind of all-day sports clinic, and obviously, Mom and Dad had to work. I was grateful for the time alone. Besides, I was in no mood to go sit for eight hours and listen to teachers drone on about things that mattered significantly less than real life. I know it sounds dramatic – all teenagers think their personal shit is more important than learning about the French Revolution and laissez faire economics. But right now, I couldn’t think of a single thing more important than saving the town I’d grown up in from absolute madness.

  After a long shower, I spent the day in bed, napping fitfully. I kept waking up hot and sweaty, twisted in my sheets. My wrists still throbbed, and I wondered if, at this point, the pain was purely imagined.

  Thankfully, at least, I didn’t dream. When I woke up for the last time, it was after four. The house was still silent, and I yawned and stretched before reaching for my phone and texting Monica. Honestly, I was surprised to hear back from her. Despite our conversation this morning, part of me wondered if she was planning to take off again, maybe this time for good.

  ‘Not that I could blame her,’ I thought darkly as I pressed ‘send.’ ‘I don’t blame her for wanting to get away from here. The whole fucking town has gone insane.’

  A loud knocking at the door made me jump. I pulled on my bathrobe and ran downstairs, half expecting to see Steven, or even Monica. When I opened the door and saw an official from the church as well as a cop, I almost screamed.

  “Hello,” the cop said. He glanced down at his clipboard. “Are you Elizabeth Hartsell?”

  I swallowe
d in fear. “Yeah,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why? What’s going on?”

  The cop exchanged a glance with the church official. It wasn’t someone I’d met before, but he looked intimidating in long, white robes with a white collar at his throat.

  “You’ve been reported,” the cop said. “By an…Aidan?”

  My stomach plummeted to the ground. “Aidan?” I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. “That’s my brother,” I said quickly. “I can’t believe he would’ve done something like that.”

  “You’ve been reported for having inappropriate relations,” the church official said. He leered at me, leaning in close. “And we need to speak with your parents.”

  “They’re not home,” I said quickly. My mind was racing, and my palms were sweating. If they tried to take me back to jail, I had no idea what to do. Mom wouldn’t be home for hours, and if Aidan really had reported me, I couldn’t trust anyone in my own family.

  “May we wait for them?”

  “No,” I said quickly. I slammed the door in their faces. “Go away!” I yelled loudly.

  I locked the door and pushed the deadbolt through the bar before running into the kitchen and making sure all of the windows were latched. Thankfully, every room in the house was secured. But now that fear had struck again, I couldn’t calm down. I was sweating and panicking, and my heart was blipping fast in my chest, as if I’d just run a long marathon.

  I shuddered. I could still hear the cop and the church guy talking outside the door in low tones. When I pressed my ear to the door, I couldn’t hear anything above murmurs. ‘Go away,’ I begged silently. ‘Please, just leave me alone and forget all about me!’

  After what felt like an eternity, I heard footsteps fading away. Sickened with relief, I slunk into the kitchen and sat at the table, staring dully at my phone. Angry, confused thoughts were swirling around in my head. Why had Aidan, my own brother, reported me to the cops? And for what? I hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, they were the ones who owed me an explanation.

  The sound of another knock at the door made me jump out of my skin, and for a moment, I wanted to run upstairs and throw myself into bed.

  “Elizabeth, it’s me,” Monica called loudly. She knocked again, her tiny fist gently pounding on the door. “Come on, let me in!”