Rocks is watching over my shoulder. “You don't need the Internet to answer bat questions, Beans.”
“I do because you never told me.” He frowns and I type the last word of my question in the tiny box.
—nipples?
“Do male bats have nipples?” I read loud and clear, hitting search, but my eyes are on the blushing boy beside me.
“Oh, not that again.”
“Well, do they?”
He pounces and those long fingers seem to be able to tickle way too much surface area. I fall back onto the bed, and Rocks is everywhere. There is just too much boy for me to have a hope of winning. My shrieks and laughter fill the whole house.
“Stop,” I scream. “Okay, okay, it's a nipple embargo.”
His tickling intensifies. “Swear on it.”
“I swear. I swear,” I yell. Rocks stops tickling for a moment. I’m out of breath. He’s half on top of me and looks down into my eyes. Suddenly, he springs off the bed and is upright faster than he flips.
“Shit. Sorry.” His eyes are wide. “Um …”
I curl my finger at him. “Come back here.” Patting the bed, I move over. I can’t explain why I feel so confident with him. But being alone with Rocks is easy. “Please.”
Rocks lies down next to me, but he’s balancing on the very edge of the bed. I scoot down the end and pull off his enormous boots. Grabbing our phones, I lift his arm and snuggle into the crook of his shoulder. My head rests over his heart and my sock-covered feet play with his leg—his feet are too far away.
His huge exhale let’s me know he’s okay with our closeness. I rest both phones on his chest, and we stare at the mistletoe canopy. He must have stripped every tree for miles.
“Hey, look. Mistletoe,” I say.
My head bounces up and down as he laughs. Leaning up on one elbow, I kiss him. Rocks pushes the hair off my face and curls his fingers around my neck. I swear the skin he touches will never be the same again.
We don’t leave my bedroom for the rest of the day, but it’s sweet and innocent and leaves me thoroughly wanting him even more.
* * * * *
Rocks behaved as only a nineteen-year-old from 1865 would if the parents of his girlfriend were out of town. He left my room late and slept down the hall.
The smell of burned pancakes is slowly being sucked into our range hood. Rocks pours more batter into the pan. The bacon is warming in the oven, and I’ve set the table. He walks over and leans down for a kiss. The poor boy is going to do his back in with our height difference.
Again, I swear he can read my mind. His hands circle my waist and lift me onto the kitchen island. He smiles. “Ah, that’s better.” I can look him in the eye. I drag my fingers through his hair pushing it back off his face. It falls back when I let it go. The space between us disappears. I waste no time throwing my arms around his neck and his lips meet mine. He tastes of raspberries. Time stands still when he kisses me. Nothing else matters—until the smell of burning batter forces us apart.
“Damn it.” He races to the stovetop, and another pancake casualty gets added to the trash.
Breakfast is a long affair, and afterward I send him up to my room while I get rid of the evidence that I wasn’t home alone all weekend. Detective Dad will look for the tiniest clue that Rocks was here. I know it.
Dragging the loaded garbage bag down the path, I feel eyes on me. Rocks is watching from my bedroom window. He offered to put the trash out, but I told him we’d be back making out even sooner if I handled the recycling instead. That’s a lesson for another day and Christmas recycling is out of control. Plus, I need to earn my allowance, and when Dad calls tonight and asks if I put the trash out, I won’t have to lie. I blow Rocks a kiss. Who am I? My heart flips when he catches it out the window. Who knew I’d turn into the soppy-in-love girl.
Love?
I turn away, stumbling down the path, the wine bottles clanking loudly in my ears. I need to breathe. Is this love? The first person that enters my brain each day is Rocks—even when we’re fighting. When he cancels his visits, my mood swings could alter the earth’s rotation. The tingles that erupt over my skin when his fingers glide up my spine are like nothing I’ve ever felt in my eighteen years on this planet. The times I sit and stare at him when he’s distracted by technology. The one person I cannot bear to lie to, and only one I ever want the very best for is Rocks. My lip aches from the pressure of my teeth.
I’m in love.
My body hums with a strange energy. I’m in love with Rocks. I giggle and turn back around, but he’s gone. How did I get this lucky? I want to get back inside and kiss him again. Opening the huge bin, I dump the first bag inside. I’m grateful for Dad putting them on the sidewalk, or we would’ve missed the collection for sure. Recycling might be good for future generations, but it pisses off the current one. The bottles and cans always get stuck in the hemp tote Mom stores them in. I dump it upside down over the bin and shake hard, doing my bit for the planet.
Clash. Clang. Crack.
I shake it again, freeing two more wine bottles from the long handles. Tires screech behind me. Between my trash dumping and their lousy parking skills, we’re going to wake the whole street. Hands grab my biceps, pinning them to my side. I look over my shoulder, but darkness engulfs me.
“Hey!”
Without my vision, I panic. Fabric has been shoved over my head. The covering reeks of stale cigarette smoke and mold. I struggle, but the iron grip on my arms tightens. Before I can let loose my best Horror Movie Girl scream, a hand clamps tight over my mouth, and I’m pulled against a human brick wall. The fabric is rough against my face, and the air leaves my lungs. My feet lift off the pavement. I kick and struggle, but before I make contact with the shins I was aiming for, my body is slammed down on a cold, hard surface. A dead weight lands on my lower back. My arms are trapped by my sides. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. My breathing is shallow and fast, but it’s not enough air. I think a man is straddling my body. I pray I’m wrong. What’s happening? My lungs aren’t cooperating. I whimper.
The hand leaves my mouth, and I scream but hear the door of a van slide shut with a thud. My cries for help echo harshly around me.
“Get off me! Let me go!”
“Shut it, or you’ll be sorry,” a gravelly voice growls.
I try to lift my torso, but it’s completely useless. I need air. I need my inhaler.
“Help! Rocks!” I yell and the weight on top of me pushes on my lungs. I can’t breathe or make any sound at all.
“You keep quiet, and I won’t have to crush you, Sophia.” The weight lessens but not enough. “Understand?”
“Who’s Sophia?” I say softly. My boobs are throbbing from his weight. The floor beneath me is ribbed metal and it’s digging into my chest and cheekbone. I’m pretty sure I’m in the back of that van.
He lets out a harsh chuckle. “So that’s how we’re going to play this, huh? I had a feeling you’d be a feisty one. Do you prefer Soph?”
“Oh, God, you’ve kidnapped the wrong girl. I’m not Sophia. Let me go. Please.” I whimper again. Tears are filling my eyes. It’s starting to make sense. I’ve been abducted by mistake.
“Well, you match the photo I got of Sophia Ascari.”
I gasp and try to swallow the bile in throat. Ascari. It can’t be a coincidence.
“Who the hell is Sophia Ascari?”
19.
Crushed
The van drives for so long that I have no idea how much time has past since I was blowing a kiss at Rocks. The constant whirring of the tires on the asphalt tells me we are on a highway and have been for hours. I’m a long way from home.
Rocks.
He wasn’t in the window when I last turned around, and the noise I was making with the trash may have dulled the van screeching to a halt. I pray that he’s hot on my captors’ heels, but then again, if they are linked to Enzo Ascari, I hope he’s as far away as possible.
�
��Next exit,” the voice beside me commands. After tying my hands and feet, he sat beside me but has kept a hand against my back the entire trip.
“I know,” replies the man up front.
The pair argues about the driver’s poor sense of direction, and I monitor every word looking for clues to my location. Nothing.
I slide forward until a fistful of my sweater is grabbed as the brakes engage. More arguments ensue about driving skills and competence. The four letter words being spewed back and forth indicate my captors respect for each other. A series of turns, a couple of stops and starts, and the vehicle pulls off onto crunchy gravel.
I try to stay calm, despite the thundering in my chest. My breath is hot inside the stale bag. Logic tells me that panicking will not help my situation. The uneven terrain suggests we’re in the country. I focus on the senses that I know Rocks would be relying on if he were in my position. I listen. I sniff the air, but the cover over my head masks any clues.
Two hands pull me out of the van and onto my feet, but with them bound, I wobble around. “Ow!” Fingers try to catch me by my biceps to prevent me from toppling over, but they come too late, and I land hard on my side. The cover flies off, and I squint as the harsh sunlight directly overhead blinds me.
“You idiot, look what you’ve done,” the driver yells. My feet are yanked in the air, and the cable ties cut off with a switchblade.
“Get up, Sophia.”
“I’m not Sophia,” I repeat, struggling to my feet. My eyes roam my surroundings left and right. It’s an abandoned farm—a huge rusted shed on the right, runs back further than I can see, and on the left is a wooden house that has a porch half fallen off. I listen for a familiar squeak, but all I hear is the wind rustling the leaves. I wish for my coat when I see patches of snow in the shadows, but I’ve got bigger problems.
“Save it for Joey. You’re old friends.” The driver’s voice belongs to an extremely rotund man. Relief floods me that he wasn’t the one to sit on my back. I chant their descriptions to myself—five foot something, sandy hair, tiny eyes that make his fat cheeks seem even bigger. I memorize every detail for the police.
I turn and see the one that grabbed me is a runner-up in the Mr. Universe competition. His muscles bulge under his shirt. I don’t think my fingers would fit around his neck if I tried. Baldy, Mr. Universe grunts at me, and I look away. His fingers remind me of hot dogs cut in half. Disgusting. He grabs my neck and shoves me toward the shed.
Now that the filthy bag is off my head, the smell of manure hits me the closer we get to the building. Feathers and grain litter the dirt near the small side door.
“Tony, get the door,” hot dog hands commands.
“Don’t use my name.” He steps in front, and the hinges whine in protest.
“Why? You the only Tony in Georgia?”
Relief that I haven’t left the state floods my system, and my eyes close in thanks. Inside the shed, the smell intensifies, and there’s a second odor that reeks of decay. If I could cover my nose, I would. Near the door is a large caged area that narrows to a funnel near massive amounts of machinery with hooks hanging from conveyor belts. I get pushed closer to the machinery, and I notice a massive blade. When operational, it spins and beheads whatever poor creature is hanging from the hooks.
“You give us trouble, and we’ll start that up. Got it?” He grunts. I sense he’s not kidding. I can’t look at the rusty metal saw blade a second longer. Threat understood loud and clear.
I want to be sick, and the world spins until I remember my phone is in my hip pocket. If I can get to it, I’m saved. We head across to the house, and the entry is more decayed than it looks. Tony’s foot goes through the first step, but his size may be responsible. The house is musty and dank. Black mold creeps up the walls and piles of leaves rest in the corner of the first room.
I’m taken to the basement, which is thankfully dry, and cable-tied—hands and feet—to a metal chair. Sitting on my phone is not going to help. Exposed pipes line the ceiling and stacks of rotting boxes litter the space. Sunlight pours in the high window at ground level and allows for a hint of fresh air.
Hot dog hands begins, “Tell us what you know about the trial, and what time do the Feds expect you to check in?”
I hear Tony lumbering about above and pray the floorboards hold his bulk.
“I’m not Sophia Escari. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I plead.
He glances at his watch. “Listen, I’m not one that likes to smack young girls around, but I will if necessary. Will you answer if I call you Samantha Foster?”
“Who’s that?” My voice is raspy. I need water.
“It’s what the Feds call you, or have you forgotten your new identity already?” He sneers.
“I swear to you I don’t know what you’re taking about.”
“Convenient amnesia. If only you could suffer from that on the stand.”
Our conversation continues in this manner until Tony joins us. The stairs creak and moan with every step. More talk of the FBI and whether they’re fools thinking I could be hidden with a suburban family. He informs Mullins—so Mr. Universe has a name—that Joey will be arriving after dark. They both stare at me knowing my game will be up once “Joey” arrives and clamber back upstairs.
Furniture is dragged across the boards, and from the loud commotion, I gather they upset a sleeping raccoon. I will not panic—not yet. The basement has absolutely nothing of use. No weapons, no escape.
My brain is scrambling for answers. Nothing is making sense. Why would Enzo come after me after eighteen years? Was it because I visited Josie? What on earth has the FBI got to do with it all? Aren’t they trying to arrest him? I close my eyes and think of all the times I ignored my dad reading out the news of the day. My real dad who didn’t just raise me as his own but loves me and would rescue me if he had any idea that I have been kidnapped.
Tears well up as thoughts of Mom and Dad fill the hole in my chest. They’re in West Virginia. Day one of their reunion is coming to a close. I imagine them laughing and reminiscing with their friends, Mini running around with the other toddlers. The tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I ache thinking of how terribly I’ve treated them since that letter arrived. They never did anything to deserve my anger. I just want to tell them how much they really mean to me. My sobs echo around the empty basement.
What time is it? Looking over my shoulder, the window alerts me to the fact that the sun has gone down. During Georgia winters, the sun is gone by five thirty usually. The basement is dark and growing colder. My eyes have adjusted. The only source of light is shining down the stairs.
Rocks should have arrived if he followed me. How fast can a Camazotz fly? So many questions I never got the chance to ask him. I rest my chin against my chest. Crying is pointless and a runny nose will make my situation worse. I take three deep breaths, will my tears to cease, and start to count—one thousand and one, one thousand and two. I will monitor the time if nothing else. There are three thousand six hundred seconds in an hour. Focus.
Buzzing on my butt cheek has me jumping the mere inch I can move. In two seconds, my stupid annoying ring tone will follow the vibrating. Fudge! It fills the basement and I wince when loud footfalls run to the stairs.
The men appear at my side arguing about whose job it was to check me for a phone.
“If I don’t answer it, my parents will know I’m in trouble!” I yell. Then my brain kicks in. I don’t want to answer so they will know I’m in trouble. My only lifeline and I screw it up. Why did I pick this moment to tell the freaking truth?
Those disgusting fingers bring out my phone, and the picture of Dad in his new abseiling helmet fills the screen.
“Tell him you’re at the movies,” Mullins orders, pulling a revolver from his jacket. I stare down the dark barrel. Frozen in place.
All I can do is nod.
I wish speakerphone was never invented. Hearing my Dad’s voice hurts me. He’s happy a
nd he wouldn’t be if he only knew. My eyes never leave the gun.
“Connie, sweetheart, you missed the best day up here.” His voice is so relaxed and excited. I can hear laughter in the background. I will not cry.
I follow my order and tell him all is well and of my movie plans. He asks if I’m getting sick because my voice sounds strange, and the knowledge that he knows me so well cripples me. How could I ever think that man didn’t love me as much as Mini? I fight more tears as Mullins ends the call.
The phone is switched off and dumped on a stack of boxes. Alone again. My fingers are stiff, the plastic cuts into my wrists when I make fists to get the blood flowing. I keep seeing the gun pointed at my head. These men mean business. I don’t want to die. I sit and wait and listen. I start to count and another hour passes.
My hair blows across my eyes and movement flashes in my peripheral vision. I scream into the darkness. My nerves are on a very short fuse. The sound hurts my ears as it bounces off the hard surfaces. I was so focused on counting each second that whatever it was startled me.
When I run out of air, I look around to my right, but there is nothing there. I know I felt something. My eyes move down and what little air was in my lungs leaves it.
Rocks.
He must have flown in behind me, and now his little bat body is flat across the floor behind the boxes. My throat is closing up, and I can’t get enough air. What have I done?
Boots thunder to the stairs, and all my practice lying is suddenly put to the test. The bare bulb above flicks on and I blink.
“Shut it!” Tony hisses in my face, whiskey fills my nose. “Why did ya scream?”
“I’m going to wet my pants.” Those months of lying have come in handy. His nose screws up, and he takes a step back. “You think Joey will be impressed if he has to question me standing in urine?”
By the looks of Tony, he isn’t too bright, and the thought of upsetting a bigger fish clearly has the cogs in his brain trying to turn. The knife appears, and I’m freed and dragged upstairs. When I return to the basement, I slide the chair forward in line with the boxes before I sit down. Tony secures me and Rocks remains undiscovered. His little body hasn’t moved.
Sanguine Mountain Page 29