by Hannah Jayne
Bex’s father’s head turned. “Oh, Bethy, this isn’t what it looks like. You don’t understand. It was Schuster. I had to get her away—”
Bex didn’t hear what he had to say. Her eyes were locked on the keychain hanging from his pocket. A tiny, slick silver bird twirled at the end of a lanyard, its pink, jeweled eyes catching the dim light.
Tourmalines.
Dr. Gold’s bracelet.
Chelsea whimpered. “Bex, please.”
Bex was pummeled by a memory.
Another girl with white-blond hair. She swept Beth Anne up and Beth Anne laughed, loving the tinkling sound of the woman’s laughter. Her mother’s laughter.
Then he came in. A black cloud in their sunshiny kitchen, with heavy black boots that left ugly scrapes across the white linoleum floor.
Beth Anne was pulled against her mother’s chest, where she was comforted by her mother’s soft, steady heartbeat and her fresh milk smell before she was wrenched away, yanked by an arm and roughly shoved into a dining table chair. She heard the slap of palm against skin, and when she looked up, her father was cradling his cheek, the dumbfounded look on his face slowly simmering to white-hot anger.
“You’re going to regret that.”
Bex snapped back to reality, rage surging through her.
“Let her go.”
A slow smile spread across Bex’s father’s face, his lips quirking up maniacally, making her blood run cold.
“Stay out of this, Bethy.”
She took a step forward. “I remember now.”
“Bex, stay back.” Detective Schuster was a hairbreadth behind but Bex shrugged him off, knowing that he had a gun trained on her father. She didn’t care.
“I was there that day in the kitchen.”
The grin that had looked so evil and so full of confidence faltered for a split second.
“Get out of here,” he spat.
“That’s what she told you,” Bex said.
She watched the hatred cut a red streak across her father’s face. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”
She could see Chelsea start to stiffen, could see her begin to blink her eyes, then squint. “Bex?”
“Let her go, Dad.”
The word caught in her throat, her bravado replaced by fear for Chelsea. He was her dad, and he was a murderer. She had put him away once. She would do it again.
“Give up.” In the floodlight around the school, Bex could see the police surrounding the building through the windows. Their guns were drawn. “It’s not your time to be free; it’s mine.”
Thirty-Eight
Everything happened in a blur. The police rushed in, and Chelsea and Bex were rushed out. They were each sitting on the tailgate of separate ambulances, Laney in front of Chelsea with Chelsea’s parents fawning over her. Bex by herself, an itchy blanket slung over her shoulders.
When Detective Schuster walked up, she looked away, embarrassment burning to the tops of her ears.
“I-I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
Bex looked up incredulously. “Uh, for hiding a criminal. For accusing you of being a serial killer.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Not the first time it’s happened.” He cleared his throat. “I want you to know that I meant what I said. We were looking out for you. You were never on your own.”
“How did you—”
“Keystrokes. We were following your keystrokes.”
Bex blinked, staring at her feet, at the tears that plopped onto the toes of her sneakers. When she looked up, Schuster was looking at her, hard.
“So you knew not to trust me. You knew that I would cave and try to save my father.”
“No. I knew that… Bex, what you did, you risked everything not once, but twice. I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for you. I wanted to give you every kind of support that I could. Truth is, I never really got over what happened ten years ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
Now Detective Schuster looked away, raked a hand through his hair. “I was young and stupid, a rookie gunslinger. I should never have involved you in your father’s case. It killed me to do it again but I couldn’t… I’ve spent the last ten years proud that I was able to protect you and guilt ridden knowing what making you talk must have done to you. I wanted the chance to make it right. I wanted to do it right this time, but your father…” He looked at Bex, his eyes glistening with moisture. “I was terrified that you’d be his next victim.”
“In a way, I kind of was.”
“Oh my God, Bex!” Denise came running, with Michael on her heels, followed by Trevor. They all swept her into a group hug. Bex didn’t hug them back, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do. Detective Schuster stepped out of the way.
“Hi,” Bex said softly.
“Hi?” Denise cradled Bex’s chin. “She staves off a serial killer and all she says hi?” She plopped a series of loud kisses across Bex’s cheeks and forehead. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”
Trevor stood beside her, looking like he wanted to kiss her too, but he took her hand instead. “You’re incredible.”
“Oh, my girl. I feel like I need to make you seven hamburgers. And pancakes!” Michael pulled her into a rib-crushing bear hug.
“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”
“What do you mean you want to cook for me? I… You know that…he’s my father. You don’t have to keep me.”
Denise looked taken aback. “You’re not your father, Bexy. And we know we don’t have to keep you. We care about you. We want to keep you.”
Trevor laced his fingers through Bex’s and pulled her to him. She inhaled his soap and cut-grass scent, for once thinking of only Trevor, of only that moment.
“And I get to keep you,” he whispered in her ear.
For the first time in her life, Bex Andrews knew she was truly at home.
Like I Know What You Did Last Summer and Lois Duncan?
Then you’ll love The Escape by Hannah Jayne!
For more info and updates from this author visit:
http://www.hannah-jayne.com/
Like Lucy Christopher and Criminal Minds?
Then you’ll love The Cellar by Natasha Preston!
For more info and updates from this author visit:
http://www.natashapreston.com/
Love E. Lockhart and Pretty Little Liars?
Then you’ll love Six Months Later by Natalie D. Richards!
For more info and updates from this author visit:
http://nataliedrichards.com/
Like How to Get Away with Murder and I Hunt Killers?
Then you’ll love Frayed by Kara Terzis!
For more info and updates from this author visit:
https://diaryofateenwriter.wordpress.com/
Acknowledgments
As always, I have to acknowledge my incredible agent, Amberly Finarelli, who has always stuck by me, and Andrea Hurst, for being my cheerleader and my champion. Nothing gets by savvy editor Annette Pollert-Morgan, and for that, I am truly grateful!
I wouldn’t be anywhere without my Wednesday writing gang, my awesome SVRWA chapter, and my gym fans who keep me on track (and off the couch!). Extra special thanks to one of my favorite authors and friends, April Henry, for duping me into a kidnapping and stun gunning, all in the name of better stories. Special thanks to all my amazing Wattpad readers and to my summer Teen Writer’s Institute students for inspiring me, and the Hicklebee’s bookstore Teen Authors Board who throw great Halloween parties and let me write on the walls!
Special thanks to Victim’s Advocate Kasey Halcon for letting me pick her brain (your story is coming!), to Lee Lofland for providing me a steady stream of brains to pick, and to Jonathan Ha
yes for answering inappropriate questions about homicide.
You can’t run from fear…
DON’T MISS HANNAH JAYNE’S
THE ESCAPE
One
“Come on, loser!” Adam yelled over his shoulder.
Fletcher could hear Adam’s laughter echoing back at him as he pumped his legs, intent on keeping the deep green of Adam’s jacket in sight as he dodged through the forest.
There was no way Fletcher could catch Adam unless Adam stopped or dropped dead. Adam was the quarterback who brought Dan River Falls High School victory after victory, and Fletcher was the “weird kid” who sat at the back of the bleachers and drew in his notebook.
“Come on!”
A second wind broke through Fletcher’s chest, and he felt the burn of adrenaline rush through his legs. He fisted his hands as the cool air dried the sweat on his forehead. A loopy smile cracked across his face. He could see Adam. He was gaining on him—not fast, but steadily. Adam was caught in the crosshairs of Fletcher’s gaze.
“Who you calling ‘loser’?” Fletcher called, still grinning.
Up ahead, Adam stopped, head bent, shoulders heaving as he struggled for breath. He was doubled over, staring at something on the ground. “My God, Fletch. Dude, you’ve got to see this.”
• • •
It was just after six o’clock as Avery watched pink bleed into the sunny blue sky, casting a haze of twilight over the parking lot at the Dan River Falls Police Station. The cup of coffee that sat in front of her—more vanilla creamer than coffee—had long since gone cold.
A man strode into the room, his black uniform pressed so each crease was razor sharp. He was no-nonsense from head to toe: salt-and-pepper hair cut close to his skull, dark eyes focused, thin lips pressed together in a scowl. He walked past Avery and dropped a thick manila file folder on the giant desk.
“Dad,” Avery moaned, pulling out the word. “Can we go yet?”
Chief Templeton looked at his daughter as if just noticing her—as if she hadn’t been sitting there in that same spot for the last forty minutes.
“The line is going to be out the door. I’m going to starve to death while we wait.”
“Not now, Avery.”
“Fine. Then we’re hitting the drive-through with the lights and siren on. I’m pretty sure my stomach is eating itself.”
“Your stomach eating itself? Not happening, Avy.”
“It happens! We talked about it in biology.” It was a lie. Avery had no idea whether or not the stomach could or would eat itself. But it felt like it. She was going to launch into some other wild story to make the stern police chief crack a smile and bring him back to acting like her dad. But when he turned, Avery could see that there was no playfulness in his eyes. His lips weren’t going to quirk up into a smile no matter how hard she tried. She swallowed, fear inching up the back of her neck.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
• • •
He couldn’t remember the first blow, though his teeth were still rattling in his head. Had he been punched, shot, hit? His vision was a blur, and everything around him, every tree, every rock, seemed to blend together in one united mass of gray. He wasn’t sure if the sky was above or below him, if the trees were standing or if he was.
Another blow.
The pain was dense at first, then exploded into a blinding burn. He blinked, dumbfounded, and tried to face his attacker. But his body was leaden. It was as if his feet were rooted in the soft blanket of pine needles on the damp forest ground. He knew he should roll his fingers into a fist and take a swing, but while his brain worked, his body didn’t. Thoughts of action tossed around in his skull—run, yell, fight, punch—but everything moved in sickly slow motion except for the terror that overwhelmed him.
I’m going to die.
The thought came to him with a sickening dread.
I don’t want to die.
Then came a gruesome thud followed by a sharp crack. The sound filled his ears before he registered that it was his bones breaking. Snap, crack. He knew another blow was coming and he tried to brace himself, balling up, wondering if the next hit would be the one that killed him.
Two
“Adam Marshall and Fletcher Carroll,” Chief Templeton replied.
Avery shrugged. “What about them?”
Adam Marshall was a jock at Dan River Falls High. He was a junior, a grade older than Avery, but she knew him—everyone did. Generally, Avery studiously avoided jocks and great-at-everythings, but Adam was different. Avery and Adam had been friends as kids, playing on the baseball diamond back when boys and girls and popularity didn’t matter. Maybe that was why he was nice to her now. He smiled at her, calling her by name. He ushered along the mean girls when they were poised to pick apart whatever shred of confidence Avery had.
Adam was everything Fletcher Carroll wasn’t. While Adam was a beacon of light with white-blond hair and a Crest-toothpaste smile, Fletcher was always hunched in his hoodie, hiding behind a mass of thick brown curls that were a half inch too long to be considered fashionably shaggy. Avery and Fletcher were neighbors. He was nice enough, but he kept to himself. He was the kind of kid who didn’t really fit in but didn’t really stick out either.
Chief Templeton drummed his fingers on his desktop, the sound like the rat-a-tat-tat of machine-gun fire. “They went hiking this morning and haven’t come back yet.”
Avery shrugged. “So?”
“So they were supposed to be back three hours ago. Fletcher’s mother is here; she wants to file a report. Adam’s parents are on their way as well.”
“They’ve only been gone a few hours,” Avery said. “They probably got drunk and passed out in a clearing.”
Chief Templeton raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you kids do out there?”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Not ‘us kids,’ some kids. Some of us starve to death because our fathers promise cheeseburgers that never materialize.”
But Avery’s dad wasn’t listening. He stared over her head at the graying sky. A little niggle of fear started at the base of Avery’s spine, and she shifted in her seat to follow his gaze to the thick clutch of pine trees off in the distance. If it was gray here, it had to be near pitch-black out in the woods.
“It’s too early to really be worried, isn’t it, Dad?”
• • •
He was thirsty. His lips were burning, and his throat was raw from screaming. His head pounded so severely that his vision would darken and then snap back to clear before fading again.
He couldn’t make out where he was.
He could feel the cold earth cradling him, a soft blanket of pine needles haloing behind his head. A multitude of scents bombarded him as he struggled to gain awareness: the biting scent of pine, the mossy smell of dirt, and something else. Something metallic and cloying. He tried to turn his head, but it was immobile like his limbs. If he could see properly, he could figure out what was holding him down and pressing the breath from his chest. If he could move, even just an inch, maybe he could get away. But all he could do was take in a glimpse of the darkening sky each time his vision cleared.
Not far away, a few feet maybe, he could hear footsteps. At least he hoped they were footsteps, not some bear or whatever had walloped him into his current supine state. The crunch of dry leaves and popping twigs was getting closer. He was sure of it. A wave of primal fear coursed through him. As his adrenaline surged, he dug his fingertips into the dirt around him. If I can push myself up, he thought, at least then I won’t be a sitting duck.
Though his spine felt as if it had been snapped in two, he pushed himself up with a slow groan that became a strangled, gurgling sound. Blood filled his mouth and trickled out his nose. Sweat bulleted his forehead and the thrum in his head grew more severe, like a talon in his skull, raking against the bone.
He
tried to cradle his aching head, but one arm screamed in pain while the other fell at his side, useless, his elbow bending the wrong way. His stomach went to liquid at the sight of his own wounds, and he vomited, spit and blood and puke splattering the dirt next to him.
When he fell back again, the blue above had turned into the blackest night.
Three
Avery could hear her father rustling around before the sun rose. She pushed herself out of bed and dressed quickly. She didn’t need to ask what had happened—she already knew.
Her father had been the Dan River Falls chief of police since Avery was fifteen. That was the last year her family had been all together. One of her favorite memories was when they rode in the Founder’s Day parade. The chief’s black-and-white SUV had been wrapped with red, white, and blue crepe-paper streamers, and she and her mother had practiced waving delicately, her mother’s lips upturned in a permanent smile.
Avery remembered the way her father had pulled her mother close, just before they turned onto the parade route. His fingers had tangled in her chestnut-brown hair as he kissed her. When they’d pulled away, her parents had both laughed. Her prim and pressed father had now sported bright red lips, a transfer of her mother’s lipstick. Avery had groaned or gagged at her parents’ unbelievably gross public display of affection, though secretly she’d liked that they were always touching, always smiling.
The next year, Avery and her father had ridden in the same car in the parade, but this time in silence. It was just the two of them driving slowly behind the marching band. Avery’s mother’s absence had been palpable, and Avery had gritted her teeth the whole time, trying to force a smile, knowing her father was doing the same thing.
After a few more blocks, the parade would be over, and Avery and her father would pretend they weren’t watching for the clock to strike eight seventeen, the moment Caroline Templeton had been struck by a drunk driver on her way home from the Founder’s Day barbeque, the moment she had been killed.