Straw Man

by Patrick Logan

  She screamed again and the man smiled.

  “Save your breath,” he said calmly. “Save your breath, because you’re going to need it.”

  PART II

  The Girl in the Cage

  Chapter 27

  Fourteen Years Ago

  Hanna Whitmore lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She had been lying there in the exact same position for nearly three hours, ever since her mother had ordered her to go to her room without dinner.

  At nearly sixteen years old, this method of punishment was one of the worst that Lucy Whitmore could employ. Hanna was nearly an adult, after all, and her mother treating her like a petulant preteen stung deeply.

  The only reason the scowl on Hanna’s face had faded was because her chin and cheeks had started to ache. But she could remain here, silent, unmoving, for hours, which would piss her mother off even further. In the past, Hanna always broke first.

  That wouldn’t be the case this time.

  Soon, pale blue light slipped through the open blinds and streaked Hanna’s face. Shortly after the moon had reached its apex, she heard her parents make their way to the room at the end of the hall. Unlike in the movies, no shadow appeared beneath Hanna’s door, an indication that her mother was standing outside, fist raised, inches from knocking, only to change her mind at the last second and walk away.

  No, not Lucy Whitmore. She was far too stubborn for that.

  But Hanna could be stubborn, too.

  She waited for another ten minutes after hearing the faucet in her parents’ en suite bathroom shut off. A quick glance at her phone showed that it was just a few minutes after midnight. Lucy Whitmore was as predictable as she was stubborn.

  Hanna grimaced as she put her stiff muscles to work, rising off her bed and planting her feet on the floor. Pausing to listen for any sound—she didn’t expect any and wasn’t surprised when there was none—Hanna reached beneath her bed next.

  Her small backpack had everything she needed already inside: her wallet, complete with credit cards and bank cards; a pack of cigarettes that were probably stale; a lighter; and a bottle of water.

  Slinging the bag over one shoulder, Hanna moved to the window. She held her breath as she opened it concentrating hard on not making any noise. Despite her efforts, however, the window creaked loudly, and Hanna cringed.

  Still no sound from down the hall.

  She had thought about leaving her home, her mother’s insane attitude, her complete lack of involvement in Hanna’s life unless it came to punishing her, many times, but today was the first day she was actually going to do it.

  Today was the day that she was going to leave this all behind and become her own boss.

  She slipped one pale leg out the window, followed by the other. But she didn’t jump just yet. Foolishly, Hanna let her eyes drift downward. It was about a six-foot drop to the top of the awning over the porch and eleven feet from there to the grass below.

  It was the eleven-foot drop that scared her. If she broke her legs, not only would she not be able to get away, but her mother would be even more pissed at her.

  In the end, Hanna decided that it was worth the risk.

  Fuck you, mom.

  She slid her bum on the sill, moving toward the edge while at the same time extending her long legs. A moment of doubt crossed her mind—If I drop down to the awning, I won’t be able to climb back up—but before it could take hold, Hanna slipped.

  A gasp escaped her mouth, and then a whoosh as she landed unexpectedly on the awning. She teetered, but sat back, her backpack banging hard into the brick wall behind her. Then she froze, becoming as still as she had been on her bed moments earlier.

  What would her mother do if she rushed into Hanna’s room and didn’t find her there? Would she wake her dad? Would she call the cops—not to find her, but to report her? Would that bitch even do anything at all?

  Hanna bit her lip and moved toward the edge of the awning. In her mind, she counted down.

  Three… two… one…

  Then she did nothing.

  “Come on Hanna,” she chastised herself. “Just do it.”

  This had been her plan for months and tonight was the last straw. And yet for the second time that night, Hanna hesitated.

  She also looked down again, which was another mistake. If she jumped straight, she would most certainly land on the deck and either crash through or, perhaps worse, simply collapse on top of it. If she went to the right and missed her mark, Hanna would probably break some ribs on the railing.

  The left was more open, almost all grass, but it was a bit of a leap to get there. Hanna shifted her hips and aimed her shoulders to the left.

  And then she started counting down again, this time from ten.

  With every number, she bit her lip a little harder.

  By one, Hanna tasted blood in her mouth, which served as the final motivation she needed.

  Releasing her lip from between her teeth, Hanna pushed off the shingled roof and was airborne once more.

  The grass came much faster than expected, so much so that she didn’t get a chance to brace herself as much as she wanted. Her toes struck first, propelling her forward. Then her face slammed into the grass and she found her mouth now filled with blood and dirt.

  Hanna spat and rolled onto her back. All she could think of as she stared up at the stars and tried to catch her breath was how lucky she’d been not to break her legs.

  And her bed.

  How comfortable her bed was compared to the hard ground beneath her now.

  Hanna slowly sat up, did a rudimentary check of her body to confirm that nothing had indeed been broken, and then stood.

  She looked up to her room and saw that the light was still off. Whatever series of noises she’d made on her rough descent hadn’t been sufficient to wake her mother.

  Hanna spat again and then hurried across the manicured lawn.

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 28

  Hanna tucked her chin to her chest and walked briskly. It was almost three in the morning now and her legs were getting sore. She’d also finished her water long ago and knew that it would be a good idea to pick up more as soon as possible.

  In addition to her cards, she had cash, but not much. And as soon as her mother barged into her room in the morning and found her missing, the credit cards would be cut off. Her dad would probably argue that they should keep them active, that it was safer that way, but her mom would have none of it.

  Hanna could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head.

  So long as she lives in my house, she lives by my rules and can use her credit cards. But she chose to leave, so that’s her decision. Hanna leaves, so do the cards.

  It was always about her, of course—about Lisa Whitmore.

  Her needs.

  Her wants.

  Not Hanna’s. Not the spoiled only child who wanted just a little attention.

  Nobody gave a shit about her.

  Hanna grunted and picked up her pace again. It dawned on her that her ‘plan’ was flawed in one major way: she had nowhere to go. There was no friendly aunt or compassionate teacher whom she could stay with. She had no job and no close friends, aside from Jill.

  The latter, of course, was her mother’s fault. Her mother with her rules, which kept Hanna from having any sort of social life.

  Be home before ten, no parties, no going to friends’ houses if their parents aren’t home.

  The very first party Hanna had gone to had been Nancy Culligan’s. Nancy’s parents were away at their country house and she had decided to invite pretty much everyone in their entire school over Friday night. Hanna had made it home by ten—just barely—but some dickhead eleventh grader had spilled beer on her jeans. Hanna had thrown them into the wash immediately after slipping into her PJs, but her mother had somehow sniffed it out.

  And then she’d called Nancy’s parents.

  Apparently, Lucy Whitmore wasn’t the only one with
rules.

  Nancy had gotten grounded, but it hadn’t stopped there. Word got around and many other parents found out about the party and grounded their kids, too. Thanks to her mother being anything but subtle, it didn’t take long for her fellow classmates to figure out who was responsible for them being locked in their rooms for the next three Fridays. Deemed a narc, Hanna had felt the collective wrath of the ninth graders. While high school boys liked to get into fights to settle their differences, girls often resorted to far more vicious and sinister tactics.

  Destination or not, Hanna wasn’t going home tonight or maybe even ever.

  “Hey!”

  Startled, Hanna looked up. She didn’t recognize the neighborhood but immediately knew that it wasn’t the posh surroundings she was used to. Gone were the houses that required a slew of landscapers to keep the lawns looking perfect and in were the city workers hired to partake in the never-ending task of painting over graffiti.

  “Hey!”

  Three figures stood on the other side of the street, identical glowing red dots between their lips. It was difficult to tell as they were just out of the direct light of the streetlamp, but if Hanna had to guess, she would have put them around her age.

  One was tall and lean, wearing a muscle shirt that hung off his frame. Another was wearing baggy camo shorts and a white T-shirt. The third was wearing a hoodie and jeans. This last boy was closest to the light and Hanna could make out his blue eyes and peach fuzz of a goatee.

  And his smile.

  It wasn’t pleasant, and Hanna shuddered and averted her gaze.

  “Yo!”

  Her heart started to race in her chest. She wasn’t in Tremont—that would have taken more than a few hours of mindless walking—but this neighborhood didn’t seem much of a step above the notorious gang territory.

  Where the hell am I? Where’s a fucking gas station? A convenience store?

  “Hey, you got a smoke?”

  The voice was closer now, but Hanna resisted the urge to turn and look at the boys.

  It was three a.m., and they were still up.

  There was only one type of person who was up at this hour.

  “No, sorry,” she hollered over her shoulder. “I—I don’t smoke.”

  Don’t run, Hanna. If you run, they’ll chase you.

  “A light then? Do you have a light?”

  This question made cold sweat break out on Hanna’s forehead. She had seen the lit cigarettes dangling from each one of their mouths, including the boy with the smile twisted around the white cylinder.

  They wanted something alright, but it wasn’t cigarettes or a lighter.

  Her thoughts took a one-eighty.

  Run! Just run!

  But Hanna’s legs were tired, and she was mentally exhausted. Against her better judgment, she stopped and swiveled.

  The boys had since crossed over to her side of the street and were much closer than she’d expected.

  They were also younger than she’d first thought. The one with the peach fuzz goatee couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Even the creepy smiling guy was fifteen at the most.

  They were just kids while Hanna was almost an adult.

  “You got a light?” the boy in the muscle shirt asked.

  “What do you need a lighter for?” she shot back, her eyes drifting to the nub of a cigarette in his hand.

  “What are you? The fire department?” Cargo Shorts snickered.

  “No, it’s just—”

  The boy in the muscle shirt reached out and grabbed her backpack. It still hung over one shoulder, but Hanna must not have closed it after finishing the last of her water.

  “Hey!” she cried, but his hand was already inside. He pulled out her pack of smokes.

  “I thought you didn’t smoke, huh?”

  “I forgot,” Hanna said desperately.

  Cargo Shorts made a face.

  “You forgot that you smoked?” he chuckled.

  “No, I mean, I forgot they were in there. They’re not mine.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I keep them then?” he asked, his dark eyes narrowing.

  “No—no, go ahead. I have to go, though. I’m meeting someone up the street.”

  It was a terrible lie, but Hanna didn’t know what else to say. She should’ve listened to her instincts and just run, but she stupidly stood there waiting to see if they would call her on her lie.

  And they did.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “No, it’s true. I—I—I gotta go. Have a good night.”

  Hanna started to turn before the smiling boy grabbed her upper arm.

  “Oh, we will,” he said, his smile growing.

  “Let go of me,” Hanna gasped. She started to struggle, but then stopped.

  Gone was the cigarette in the smiling boy’s free hand. Instead, it had been replaced by something similar in shape, only longer and considerably sharper: an eight-inch switchblade.

  Chapter 29

  “What do you… what do you want?” Hanna demanded, her eyes locked on the knife.

  “Just what you said: to have a good night,” Cargo Shorts replied.

  “Yeah,” the boy in the muscle shirt chimed in.

  Despite their ominous words, the one who scared Hanna the most was the smiling boy. It wasn’t just the fact that he was the one holding the knife, either, but there was something dark behind his eyes.

  “Please,” Hanna begged as she tried and failed to break free of the boy’s hold. “Let me go.”

  “What else do you got in that bag there?” Cargo Shorts asked.

  Hanna didn’t hesitate. She thrust the bag at the boy, and he stumbled backward.

  “Take it,” she spat, tears welling in her eyes. “Take my credit cards, cigarettes, whatever—just let me go.”

  “Oh, we will,” Cargo Shorts said, clearly answering the former part of her instructions and not the latter.

  Hanna watched as the boy found her wallet and opened it up. Instead of going for the cash, he surprised her by pulling out her school ID.

  “Hanna Whitmore, huh?” he said, inspecting the photo. “Cute.” He threw her ID on the ground and then went for the credit cards. He held both of them for his friends to see. “What’s the limit on these cards?”

  Hanna sniffed.

  “Five hundred bucks each. But it’s only for emergencies.”

  “Each?” the man’s eyes bulged, and he looked at the boy holding the knife. “You hear that, Robbie, that’s a thousand bucks, man!”

  The one named Robbie, the one with the knife, didn’t appear interested; his gaze was firmly locked on Hanna.

  “Take the cards, please. Just let me go.”

  “Shit, this is going to be a good night,” Muscle Shirt said. “Robbie? Robbie?”

  Robbie was leering at her and the knife was inching ever closer to her face.

  “Please,” Hanna sobbed. Her arm was starting to ache where the boy was holding her.

  “Robbie, just let her go.”

  Thinking that she was about to be released, Hanna tugged again, but Robbie tightened his grip. She whined and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Robbie, come on,” Muscle Shirt said, backing away. “Let her go.”

  “No,” Robbie said flatly.

  “No?” Cargo Shorts said. “C’mon, Robbie. Let’s hit the gas station, get a couple cartons of smokes.”

  “No,” he repeated.

  “Please, I don’t care about the purse. I don’t, really.”

  Hanna’s pleas went ignored.

  “Robbie…”

  “She said she wanted us to have a good night,” Robbie reminded his friends. “We don’t need no money for that. All we need is her.”

  Hanna looked away from Robbie and stared at the other two boys. There was as much fear in their eyes as she felt building in the pit of her stomach.

  I should never have left… I should have just stayed in my room.

  “You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.
“My arm… please.”

  Robbie flicked his wrist and the knife shot forward. Hanna saw it glint and cowered. She expected it to slide effortlessly into the soft skin beneath her jaw, slicing through her carotid. Then Robbie would finally let her go and she would fall to the ground where she would slowly bleed out.

  With her luck, Hanna’s last thoughts would probably be of her mother.

  “No…” she moaned, but the blade didn’t slice her skin. Instead, in a surprisingly deft maneuver, one that indicated a high level of practice and or experience, Robbie cut her shirt from the collar all the way down to the end of her sleeve without even grazing her.

  Horrified, Hanna watched as her T-shirt flopped open, revealing her left breast now only covered in the black fabric of her sports bra.

  Cargo Shorts looked terrified.

  “Robbie, what the fuck are you doing?”

  Robbie turned and pointed the knife at his friend.

  “I’m going to have some fun. What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Leave her alone,” a voice demanded from the shadows.

  All eyes turned to a figure that appeared at the side of the road.

  Hanna hoped it was a police officer, but was quickly disappointed. Not only wasn’t it a cop, it wasn’t even a man.

  It was a girl.

  Hanna pegged her as about the same age, maybe a year or two older than herself, with black hair that spilled out from the sides of a hoodie that was pulled over her head.

  “What the fuck are you going to do about it?” Robbie demanded, leveling his eyes at the newcomer. He made sure that the knife was in plain view. Hanna thought that she might use this distraction to finally break free of the boy’s iron grip, but he pulled her even closer.

  “Call the police, just call the—” Hanna shut up when her arm was squeezed so tightly that she thought her skin was about to burst.

  “What am I gonna do about it?” The girl stepped into the light and Hanna gasped when she saw the handgun. “Let her go. Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

  “Aw, fuck,” Muscle Shirt said. “She got a fuckin’ gun, Robbie. Goddamn. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”