The possibilities were endless. He could get her a forged ID and teach her about disguises. They could travel the world together when she overcame her claustrophobia enough to board an airplane. They could move someplace far away, and she could go to college. Maybe USC. Nobody would even notice one more gorgeous California blonde. He had enough connections, enough money, and enough skills to hide in plain sight. It might take a year or so for the intensity of the search for her to die down, but he could wait, especially if he had Harper onboard.
As soon as he arrived back from filling up the gas tank, Gabriel began washing the car. She put down her book, swung her legs over the side of the hammock, and walked toward the driveway. “Can I help?”
He smiled and handed her a polishing cloth. “You can dust the dashboard while I vacuum.”
Gabriel entered a meditative state as he began the ritual. First he vacuumed the interior. Then he applied leather cleaner to a couple of cloths. He gave one to Harper and kept one for himself. She cleaned the back seat while he did the front. After cleaning the seats, they rubbed them with leather conditioner until they were even more soft and pliable than before.
His favorite part came next: tearing open the cellophane wrappers on the big, soft, brand-new sponges. He took one sponge and gave the other to Harper. Instead of using dish liquid, he squirted the correct amount of proper car-washing solution into a bucket and filled it with warm water. After he had hosed the car down thoroughly, they dipped their sponges and spread the suds, rubbing the surface in careful circles. When he applied pressure, he could feel the shape of the car in the palms of his hands. His arm muscles expanded and contracted as he worked. Harper was equally focused on the sponge, the suds, and the car. Her eyes glazed over, and her smile was close-lipped and dreamy, like his.
Next, they scrubbed the wheels and the tires with old-fashioned scrub brushes. Then he hosed the whole car off with warm water. After, they dried it with chamois cloths. A quick wax job, and they were almost done. Last, they sprayed the insides and outsides of every window with glass cleaner and swiped them dry with blank newsprint paper, using careful, even strokes. The paper wasn’t easy to find, but worth the effort, much better than paper towels because it didn’t leave streaks.
He finished, stepped back to admire his work, and then announced, “I’m going inside to take a shower.” Before he opened the backdoor, he glanced over his shoulder to see what she was doing.
Harper stood perfectly still for a moment to admire the gleaming machine. Then she pulled a lawn chair over to the driveway, sat down, and alternated reading a few pages of her book and looking up to stare at the Hellcat, shimmering in all its newly cleaned glory.
Chapter 48
Harper
Midnight Madness
Something nudges me out of a deep sleep, and I stir and roll over. When I open my eyes, Gabriel’s bending over me. I didn’t even hear him walk into the room.
The images from the dream I was having slip away faster than my mind can grab hold of them. Only one remains. My mother’s copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, sitting on the bedside table, next to my Panda lamp and a box of tissues. I was back in my old life, living in my house and sleeping in my own bed. When I sit up, blink, and look around me, reality dawns. I’ve been living in the middle of nowhere with Gabriel Stone, and I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Too long.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” His voice is sweet and soft and fatherly. He probably used to wake Brittany up the same way. I try not to feel sympathy for him, but it sneaks in anyway. If emotions and thoughts were the same thing, I’d be all set. But they’re not. Sometimes I can control one with the other. Most of the time. Not always. Losing control is dangerous, though, so I need to be aware at all times. When my emotions start to take over, I need to stop and think and push them back. Like now. I can’t think of Gabriel as a loving father-type figure. I need to remember that he’s the psychotic serial killer who kidnapped me. Even though it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, he’s capable of ruthless violence and cruelty.
“What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
“What are you doing here? Is something wrong? What happened?” Adrenaline zips through my veins and into my brain and heart. A sledgehammer of panic hits my stomach. I’m wide-awake now.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine, Harper. I have a surprise for you.”
“A good surprise?”
“The best. Let’s go outside. There’s a full moon, and it’s almost as bright as day. I thought we could go for a run.”
I crawl out of bed, bring both hands up to my face, and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“We can postpone the run if you’re too tired. You can go back to sleep.”
“No way. I want to do this.” Gently, I elbow my way past him and head out into the moonlight. He’s right behind me.
Outside the door to the kitchen he stoops down, picks up a gym bag, and hands it over. Inside are running shoes, thick socks, and a pair of gleaming, glow-in-the-dark spandex shorts. Always the gentleman, Gabriel looks away while I change.
“Okay, you can look now.” When he turns back around, I’m tying the shoes and stretching my calf muscles at the same time.
“Let’s head down that path over there.” Gabriel points toward a beautiful, moonlit path. For the first time, I notice he’s wearing running gear, too: a plain blue T-shirt, a pair of baggy gym shorts with pockets, and expensive-looking running shoes. I think about my dad and his collection of high-end sneakers, and tears rush to my eyes.
Gabriel notices and lifts the corner of his T-shirt to wipe them away. This makes me think of Shane, and more tears fall. “There, there, Harper. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
After I’ve composed myself, he ushers me over to a space between two giant pines. “This is one of my favorite trails.”
It’s wide and cushioned with pine needles and dry, crumbled-up oak leaves. We start out slowly, but I can’t control my body’s reaction to the clear path ahead and speed up. There’s enough room for us to run side by side, and we do for about a mile and a half. Then the trail loops around, so we head back. Again, I go full out, eyes aimed straight ahead, into the distance visible between the towering pines. I have two reasons for doing this. One reason is I want to. The other is because I need an excuse to appear exhausted and weaker than I actually am afterward. This might be the right time to attempt an escape, and tricking him into underestimating me is step one of my plan.
When we arrive back at the entrance to the path, Gabriel’s winded and so am I. But not nearly as winded as I pretend to be.
“C’mon. It’s time for the second part of your surprise.” He jogs on ahead of me, toward the house. I follow along, a few steps behind. He stops when he gets to the driveway in front of the garage. Bathed in the light of the full moon, the sleek, black Challenger twinkles and glimmers eerily, as if it were submersed beneath a clear pool of gently rippling water. If evil wizards drove cars, this would be it.
Gabriel takes the key fob for the Challenger out of his pocket and dangles it in front of me. My mouth drops open.
“I’m not ready to let you drive it yet. But I’ll take you out for a spin. Show you what it can do.”
This is the moment I’ve been anticipating. The moment I’ve been living for. The moment that’s kept my hopes alive for all this time.
Feigning out-of-control excitement, I launch myself two feet up, straight into the air, and come down hard. Then yelp. Stumble. Limp one step forward and start to fall. Gabriel lunges to catch me. He pulls my left arm over his shoulder and circles my waist with his right. His left hand is awkwardly gripping the Challenger key fob together with my left wrist. Perfect.
I rest my right hand against his chest, like I’m trying to steady myself, then move it up to the edge of the dip under his Adam’s apple: his jugular notch. As hard as I can, I jab two fingers down behind the notch. A stab of pain shoots through my hand, but it’s nothing compared
to the agony Gabriel’s feeling. Ignoring the pain in my fingers, I snatch the key fob and spin away just as he drops to the ground. He’ll only be stunned for about four seconds, so I need to quickly execute one more maneuver.
Because he’s left-handed, I want to immobilize his left side, so I drop to one knee, turn my fist into a jackhammer, and pound his brachial plexus. Five fast, strong punches deep into the area where his neck and shoulder meet. This will render him unconscious for seven seconds. When he comes to, he’ll have difficulty moving his left arm and leg. They’ll be disabled, just like the defendant’s left arm and hand in To Kill a Mockingbird. Thank you, Atticus Finch and Tom Robinson, for inspiring this brilliant idea.
Fueled by adrenaline, I spring up, click the key fob in the direction of the Challenger, and jump behind the wheel. After adjusting the seat a few inches forward, I push the ignition button, and shift into reverse. Top forties music is blasting out of the speakers, but there’s no time to switch off Gabriel’s favorite satellite station, because he’s starting to stir. He lifts his face up from the dirt, and I slam my foot down on the accelerator, back the Hellcat up, and smash into a tree. Damn. I shift into drive, pull forward a few inches, turn the wheel tight and fast, and bury the car deep in the branches of a huge rhododendron. Shit. I yank the gearshift into reverse, back away, shift into park, and pause to look around so I won’t crash into anything else. It sucks that I scratched up this gorgeous, kick-ass car.
As I’m inching along, carefully avoiding the shrubbery, Gabriel swings open the passenger door, and I scream then crush the gas pedal down. The tires grab the driveway, and the Hellcat zooms forward. The momentum forces the door partway closed, launching Gabriel into midair. He loses his grip and lands face first in the dirt. Thank god he’s not up to his A-game yet. He manages to struggle onto his hands and knees. Before he can rise to his feet, I lean way over, pull the passenger door shut while the car’s still moving, and speed away, down the bumpy old dirt driveway.
The same obnoxious music is still assaulting my ears, stressing me out even more.
“Gabriel, how can you listen to this shit?” I poke at the controls, trying to find a different channel, and lose control of the car again. The Hellcat broadsides another rhododendron, and the sound of its branches screeching across metal blends right in with his crappy music. I straighten out the steering wheel and continue my quest for any station that doesn’t play the cheesiest tunes ever. During a lull in the music, something pings off the rear windshield. I check the side mirror and there’s Gabriel, lurching along with his left hand dangling limply by his side. In his right hand he’s gripping the pistol, pointed straight ahead. He pings another bullet off the rear windshield, but it doesn’t shatter. It’s a light-caliber gun, and you can’t bust a windshield with one of those, not at the distance he’s shooting from. That was bullshit about him being a bad shot. He hit the car twice, from far away, aiming with his right hand, and he’s a lefty.
I pick up speed, rocking and rolling over a few bumps, and swerve just in time to avoid crashing into a huge, solid oak. Laughing like an idiot, I turn on the headlights. What a stupid ass! To avoid further deforestation, I click on the high beams.
Damn! I seem to be forgetting everything I’ve ever learned about driving. I take a deep breath, settle down, and start easing into and then accelerating out of every curve in the driveway. The damn thing goes on forever. And it’s bumpy as hell, with thick shrubbery crowded along the sides and full-grown trees looming around every twist and turn.
Finally, the tires bump up onto a paved road, and I turn left. The Challenger responds to every flip of the wheel instantly and expertly. How I love this beauty! I’ve been dying to accelerate up over ninety and I do. The experience is everything I dreamed it would be. If I escape alive, maybe I’ll be allowed to keep the Hellcat.
The graveyard I whiz past looks familiar, but that might be because I’ve seen pictures of it on social media. Maybe on Snapchat or something. I think a bunch of my friends have hung out here, drinking and smoking weed. But I’m still not sure where the hell I am.
I have no clue how to get to the nearest police station from here, but if I keep driving at ninety-five miles an hour, maybe the cops will find me. For the first time in my life, I’m hoping to see those flashing blue lights in the rearview mirror. But I don’t. The street behind me is empty and quiet. I relax for a few seconds until the asphalt in front of me quivers like it’s morphing into liquid, and a violent tremble ripples through the car.
A series of vicious explosions booms through the night. Fireworks? Cannons? The steering wheel’s shaking, and I hang on for dear life. The sky lights up like noon on a sunny day. I shove the gas pedal down and try to put some distance between me and the catastrophe Gabriel has unleashed. He packed a parachute, all right. A big-ass, louder-than-hell parachute.
For a couple of minutes, I keep speeding in the same direction. After I’ve put some distance between me and the explosion, I turn off the radio to listen for sirens. Sure enough, there they are; at first they’re crooning eerily in the distance, but then they grow louder and louder until the sound screams through the night and a hook and ladder zooms past, followed by an ambulance and a hose truck. Next come a bunch of police cruisers with their blue lights flashing. One of the black and whites jerks to a halt, pulls a U-turn, and starts after me. Relieved, I gladly slow down and then stop.
By the time I open the door, both cops are already out of the cruiser, whipping out their side arms as they run. In less than a second I’m looking down the barrels of two large handguns.
“Down on the street! Hands behind your head!”
I put my hands in the air and yell, “My name is Harper Flagg.”
“Holy shit!” the biggest cop exclaims as he holsters his weapon and rushes toward me.
“I just escaped from a kidnapper. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone.”
They’re Eastfield PD, not state cops, and I recognize the tall one, because his son’s on the track team. He reaches me first and lifts me up into a bear hug. I can barely breathe. A giant sob heaves out of his chest, and he croaks, “Thank God.”
The other cop’s practically screaming into her radio. “We need an ambulance. Now. ASAP!” And she gives our location.
“I’m okay. I don’t need an ambulance. I just want to see my father.”
A lot of emergency response teams are already on the way to Gabriel’s fireworks display, so she can’t find an ambulance anyway. “We’re not gonna wait. No way. Hop in, honey.” She opens the door, and I jump in.
On the way to the hospital, the cops keep apologizing for making me sit in the back of the cruiser like a criminal, but I don’t care. I’m going to see my dad soon. I’m not going to wake up in a strange house or, worse, a pitch-dark cave.
“Your dad’s on his way to the hospital. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Less if you step on it.” I know all about driving fast.
The cop riding shotgun turns around and smiles. Her smile looks so beautiful to me that I start to cry.
The second we pull into the ambulance bay at the hospital, my dad pounds on the window of the cruiser until the cops unlock the doors. Tears are flooding down his face. I tell him I can walk, but he picks me up. I bury my face on his shoulder and beg him not to let anyone give me any medication. I never want to be knocked out again. He promises to protect me as he carries me inside, where a medical team is waiting.
Inside the emergency room, a nurse takes my vitals, while Dad makes sure no one shoots me full of anything or hooks me up to an IV. I was right, too. I’m fine and don’t need any drugs. I beg them to let me sleep at home tonight. Dad swears I’ll be home soon, even if he has to stick me in a wheelchair and Rambo me out of there. He promises me that I don’t have to stay anywhere I don’t want to, ever again.
Chapter 49
Harper
The Aftermath
Dad refuses to leave my side while the FBI, th
e psychologists, and the medical doctors examine my mind and every single part of my body. An evidence team has bagged my clothes, and I have to wear a hospital johnnie. I hate it, especially the open part in the back. Finally the forensics experts finish collecting every molecule of physical evidence they can find on me, with their combs and tweezers and magnifying instruments. The medical doctors declare me to be in good health. All my vital signs are excellent. I’ve lost some weight, but when Grams gets home from North Carolina, I’ll gain it back fast. Shining his little light into my pupils, the doctor announces they’re dilating and contracting like they’re supposed to. The skin around my ankles was raw and chafed for a while, but it has healed quickly and doesn’t look too bad. I jabbed Gabriel’s jugular notch so hard, I sprained two of the fingers on my right hand. They’re swollen and discolored, but otherwise, I’m unhurt.
After a series of probing questions, a psychologist assures my father I’m probably not suffering from any kind of significant emotional trauma, like Stockholm’s syndrome. That’s when the captor brainwashes his victim into thinking what he wants her to think. I could’ve told them I hadn’t been brainwashed. Obviously. Nevertheless, the shrink recommends that I be carefully monitored on a weekly basis for at least a year. A year! No way. I’m fine, but I’ll fight that battle later.
I ask to use the bathroom and manage to close the door without feeling too freaked out in the small space. When I come out, a couple of FBI agents grab me and whisk me away. They stick me in a room and start questioning me like I’m a criminal. We’re only in there for a few minutes when someone starts pounding on the door. It’s my dad.
He yells, “Let me in, or I’ll kick this fucking door in!” Without allowing the agents any time to respond, he throws a roundhouse kick at the door, and it trembles. Before he can execute another one, the lead agent unlocks and opens the door. “Are you interrogating her without me and without a lawyer?” He’s in the guy’s face, yelling and backing him up against the nearest wall.
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