Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  “Plug!” I screamed.

  He jumped off Manny as two police officers stepped out of the cruiser.

  We ran to the El Camino.

  “Stop!” one of the officers yelled, but we kept moving.

  Plug shoved the car into reverse and nearly ran over Manny in the process. Then Plug accelerated down to the other end of the alley. We had almost escaped when another police cruiser skidded into view. Plug pressed the pedal to the floor and slammed into the front fender of the cruiser. The tires of the El Camino spun. We were wedged between the bumper of the cop car and the corner of the brick building. Plug gunned the engine. The tires smoked. Metal scraped against metal on Plug’s side. Bricks snapped the mirror from the car on my side. The El Camino broke free and blasted down the street. A loud thud echoed behind us.

  I gawked back at them. The cruiser jerked forward and then stalled. Two other officers staggered to the sidewalk’s edge. One lifted a radio from his shoulder harness and spoke into it.

  “They’re going to follow us,” I said.

  Plug drove faster and ran a stop sign as he turned north onto Eighth Street. He barreled past smaller, older homes in the north end of Boise and headed toward the foothills.

  “Grab my phone,” Plug said. “Call Kyla and tell her we’re coming.”

  • • •

  Plug whipped into a newer, upscale neighborhood in the foothills and skidded around a corner. With one hand I gripped the belt across my chest, and with the other I dug my nails into the upholstered seat. The tires fought for traction on the asphalt as Plug took another corner too fast. Then he suddenly slowed and pulled into the driveway of a two-story house with manicured landscaping and a pillared porch. The garage door was up, and Plug drove straight in. Kyla waited at the interior door and pressed a button to close the garage behind us. Plug killed the engine and leaned his head against the steering wheel.

  My hands remained in a death grip, and my heart pounded against my ribs.

  “What are you two waiting for?” Kyla asked. “Come inside.”

  Neither of us moved.

  Kyla walked between her Mini Cooper and the El Camino and drew her fingers along the side of Plug’s prized possession.

  “What happened?” She tried to open Plug’s door, but it was jammed. She tugged harder. The hinges screeched, and the door opened halfway. Plug squeezed through and stepped around her.

  “Oh, Plug! Your face,” Kyla said. “Let me get something for it.” She hustled past him and into the house. Plug paced the garage like a kenneled wolf. I kept my distance.

  A piece of metal fell from the car onto the tiled modular floor of the garage.

  “Can it be repaired?” I knew how important the classic vehicle was to him, and restoring it would be a daunting task with the mutilated paint, dented body, and missing parts.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

  I approached him, and he stopped pacing. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “Cars are replaceable.”

  But the El Camino had been their oasis in a sea of chaos, as Kyla had called it when they’d invited me to join them for lunch.

  I chewed on my cheek. Manny said Plug had ruined me, but Plug’s face proved I was the one who’d ruined him. His lip was torn, his eye had swollen shut, and his hands were covered in blood. Neither he nor his car could be replaced as easily as we’d replaced the art book. I was destroying everything in my path.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go inside and see if we can figure a way out of this.”

  We met Kyla at the kitchen counter. She had the contents of a first-aid kit spread out on the polished granite. Near sliding glass doors, Nick sat at an oak dining table with my laptop in front of him. He did a quick double-take when he saw Plug and popped out of his chair to come over to us.

  “Dude.” Nick grabbed Plug by the shoulders and examined his face.

  “Manny wore a wire and brought the cops,” Plug said.

  Nick huffed, and the pit in my stomach grew.

  “Wired?” Nick said. “It’s not like Hannah’s a violent criminal.”

  “I’ve assaulted Chelsea twice, and I killed Jordan. So technically—”

  “Jordan’s death was not your fault,” Kyla said. She passed Plug an ice pack for his eye and began to wipe his knuckles with antiseptic. “And Chelsea has been provoking you.”

  “They wanted to record her confession to the arson,” Plug said.

  “Did you confess?” Nick asked.

  I shook my head.

  “There’s another video you need to see,” Nick said.

  “You watched without us?” I asked.

  “We were making backups.” Nick moved over to the table.

  “It’s bad,” Kyla said without lifting her head. She continued to clean Plug’s hands, and Nick avoided eye contact with me. Kyla finished with Plug and washed up.

  I turned to Plug. “Have you seen it already?”

  “No,” he said. “I had only watched the one where you tore the book.”

  I sank into the cushioned dining chair. “Hit play,” I said, but Nick waited for Plug to join us. Plug held the ice pack to his eye and took the seat next to me. Blood and dirt stained his new T-shirt. With his free hand, Plug weaved his fingers with mine.

  Nick started the video.

  I hopped up from the chair and left my bedroom, which was a mess with the bedcovers and dirty clothes all over the floor. Less than a few minutes later, it sounded like the bedroom door had slammed shut. A man stepped into view of the laptop. He set the pink elephant on the unmade bed. Then he stepped out of view again.

  Nick reached out and tapped the mute button on the computer. “The hypnotist uses the same trigger phrase to hypnotize you. It’s perfectly audible in this recording.” The silent video showed me stepping back into the room and standing in front of my bed. Nick waited a few more seconds before increasing the volume.

  John Harrison leaned in close to me and said, “Open your mind and allow your subconscious to hear me. I want only goodness for you. Open your mind and let my voice in. Experience this peace.”

  My shoulders drooped, and my chin drifted downward.

  “Swallow this pill,” he said and set it in my hand. I did as he told me. Then the hypnotist spoke rapidly with a cadence to his words. “Imagine that you are more terrified than you have ever been in your entire life. The elephant has come back to haunt you. The accident was your fault. You killed Jordan.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes, listen to my voice, believe what I say. Imagine that the world is changing around you. Imagine your room perfectly clean. Your bed neatly made. Unlock your mind to the terrifying possibilities. Pick up the elephant and know that it is real. Feel how soft it is, but imagine yourself ripping it to shreds.”

  I snatched the elephant and screamed. My arms flailed as though I was tearing it apart, but I didn’t actually pull any pieces from the stuffed animal.

  “Imagine the smell of the car accident. The smoke. The putrid stench of death,” he said.

  I coughed and threw the elephant across the room.

  “Imagine being in the fire again, but this time your house is on fire. The smoke detectors are beeping. What are you going to do? How will you escape? Play out the events in your mind.”

  I ran out of view of the computer, and the hypnotist followed me. Doors slammed off camera.

  Nick reached out and fast-forwarded the recording. “Nothing happens onscreen for quite a while, but when you come back into the room . . .” He clicked pause and locked eyes with Kyla.

  “I’m not sure you want to watch this, Hannah.” A tear slipped down Kyla’s cheek. “It’s horrible.” She covered her mouth. Nick hung his head.

  “How can it be any worse than what we’ve already seen?” I said, and as soon as the words left my lips, I felt stupid. Of course it could be worse. Nausea welled in my gut, and I doubted my ability to handle the truth.

  “And he calls you Beth i
n the video,” Kyla said almost as a side note.

  “My mom’s name?” I stared at Kyla.

  “Did he rape Hannah?” Plug whispered the awful possibility.

  Nick rubbed his forehead. “He kept his clothes on.”

  Images from the bathroom incident flashed through my mind. The demon could have been manipulating a memory of something Harrison had actually done to me.

  “Hit play,” I said and steeled myself for the worst.

  Plug set the ice pack on the table and wrapped his hands around mine. “Hannah, you don’t have to—”

  I jerked away. “Yes, I do. How can I fight a monster I can’t see? Recover from a trauma I can’t remember?”

  “None of this is your doing,” Kyla said. “You weren’t a willing participant.”

  “Does the video capture his face?” Plug asked. “Is there enough evidence to show the police who this guy is and what he’s done to Hannah?”

  “His back is always to the computer,” Nick said. “Not once does the video capture his face.”

  “Hit play,” I said. I’d had enough. I yearned for my life back. I had to regain access to my own mind and make my own freaking decisions. I needed to see what I was up against.

  My phone rang.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said and plucked the phone from my pocket.

  “Don’t answer it!” everyone yelled.

  “Because I’m an idiot,” I said. I checked the caller ID. “It’s my mom. I have to—”

  “Put it on speaker,” Plug said.

  I did and set the phone on the table.

  “Hello?”

  “Hannah! Are you okay?” Mom asked.

  “No, Mom—”

  “Hannah, I spoke with Dr. James—”

  “Mom, I’m not schizophrenic. I have proof.”

  “Okay, honey, but Dr. James said that you may be experiencing an elaborate hallucination. Tell me where you are. Let me come and get you.”

  “No,” I said. “Mom, listen, I have proof that the hypnotist has been behind everything that has happened. It’s John Harrison. He’s Chelsea’s dad. He’s done horrible things—”

  “You’re cutting out, Hannah,” Mom said. “I’m in the hotel parking garage now. Reception isn’t great here. Tell me where you are so I can come and get—”

  Everyone in the kitchen shook their heads, silently pleading with me not to tell her. But before I could, Mom shrieked into the phone.

  “Mom?” I said. “Mom!” Silence. The call was ended. I grabbed the phone to dial her back.

  Someone pounded on the front door and rang the bell. Our heads jerked in that direction.

  “Police!” A man yelled from the front porch. “Open up!”

  Plug snatched my phone and pocketed it. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me out of the chair. I took one step and peeked out the sliding glass door.

  “They’re in the backyard,” I said.

  Nick and Kyla moved toward the sliding door and locked it. Nick snatched the flash drive off the table. Plug grabbed the laptop.

  “How are we getting out of this one?” Nick asked.

  “The more you help me,” I said, “the more trouble—”

  “I have an idea,” Kyla said. “You two go upstairs. Nick and I will hold off the police.” She pulled her keys from her pocket and gave them to Plug. “In case you need my car. Now go before they see you.”

  Plug pulled me out of the room, past a tall display case, and down a short hallway to the stairs. The police pounded on the front door again. Plug and I crouched at the top of the stairs and listened as Kyla opened the door.

  “They’ll find us,” I whispered.

  Plug brought his finger to his lips and glared at me with his one good eye.

  “Is Hannah O’Leary here?” an officer asked.

  “No,” Kyla said.

  “May we come in and ask you a few questions?”

  “No.”

  “Let us have a look around your house, and then we’ll leave.”

  “No,” Nick said.

  “Who are you?” the officer asked Nick.

  “I know my rights,” Kyla said, “and unless you have a warrant, you do not have the right to force your way inside my home.”

  “You’re both truant. We have every right to question you.”

  “Then take us to the station for questioning,” Nick said.

  They stepped outside, and the front door closed behind them. I heard their muffled voices through the door, but I couldn’t make out what they said.

  Plug and I crept into a bedroom facing the front street. We peered out through the edge of the curtains. One police officer milled about on the front lawn scanning the house, and another officer directed Nick and Kyla to the back seat of his cruiser.

  “Will they be okay?” I whispered. A total of four police officers returned to two cruisers and drove away.

  “They’ll be fine,” Plug said. “Kyla’s dad is a private investigator. He’ll—”

  “He’s a PI?”

  “That’s how she found the information on the hypnotist. She used her dad’s computer search engines.”

  “How’d the police get here so fast?” I asked. “Did they trace my mom’s call or track down Kyla because you’re friends?”

  “No idea.” Plug pulled my cell from his pocket and flipped it over. “Your phone probably has GPS tracking.” He popped it open and started to remove the battery.

  “Wait. I need to call my mom back.”

  Plug hesitated, but then he returned the phone to me. I dialed Mom’s cell. It went straight to voice mail.

  “Mom, call me. I need to know you’re okay.” I stared at the phone. Plug slipped it from my grasp and removed the battery.

  “Harrison did something to her,” I said.

  “She said there was bad reception.”

  “She screamed!” I said.

  Plug twisted a ring. “Maybe she’s with the police, and somehow she was startled, or they had to disconnect the call.”

  I shook my head. My gut told me she was in trouble.

  “We need to leave,” I said.

  “The police might still be watching the house.”

  “We can’t stay here,” I said. “Someone from Kyla’s family will show up. Or the police could come back with a warrant.”

  “Kyla only lives with her dad,” Plug said. “I’m sure he’ll go to the police station for Kyla before he comes here.”

  I plopped down on the edge of Kyla’s bed. Pages from her sketchbook were tacked to the walls of the bedroom. Magazines featuring the latest trends in hairstyles were stacked on her nightstand.

  “Where’s her mom?” I asked.

  “She walked out when Kyla was two. They’ve not heard from her since,” Plug said.

  “You’d think with their resources they could find her.”

  “Maybe they don’t want to find her,” Plug said. “Kyla doesn’t really talk about it, but she has a hard time trusting people because of it.”

  The contempt on Kyla’s face in the warehouse when I’d told Manny where we were made more sense now. She had befriended me, and I let her down. Now, she’d sacrificed herself to the police in order to continue helping me.

  “I haven’t done anything to earn her friendship or her trust,” I said.

  “I have, and she knows how important you are to me.” Plug lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. His broken stitches brushed my skin. “I meant what I said in the alley, Hannah.” He knelt in front of me and cupped my face. “I love you.”

  He waited for me to respond, but Manny’s words from the alleyway replayed in my mind, and I’d never forget the pleading in his eyes when he said he’d loved me longer. How could he say that and still lie to me?

  Because he believed I was schizophrenic.

  Or he wanted to help the police catch the arsonist.

  Plug stroked my fingers, and tingles ran along my skin. I craved more, but I was confused. What suggestions had Harrison plant
ed in my mind? After years of wanting to wait to be intimate with someone, it was senseless for me to throw myself at Manny and Plug the way I had this last week. But now that I knew those large, hairy hands belonged to the hypnotist, maybe he’d planted physical cravings in my mind—lingering instructions. I’d become his toy. My heart sank. I couldn’t breathe. What was real anymore?

  I pushed Plug away. He sat back on his heels and waited.

  I clutched my knees and tried to catch my breath. Maybe this was all a delusion. Mom said I was in the middle of an elaborate hallucination. Maybe I’d already been checked into a psychiatric facility. None of this was real. There was no hypnotist. No demons. No Chelsea. And no Plug.

  I sank to the floor and curled into the fetal position.

  “I don’t know if you’re real,” I whispered.

  Plug reached for my hands, but I tightened them into fists and pulled them into my chest.

  “I’m real,” Plug said. “The way I feel about you is real.”

  I stared across the beige carpet. Little uneven fibers extended up from the floor like a field of bleached grass. An ant emerged from the blades and explored. I reached out and pounded it to death with my fist.

  Then I leaned against the bed and wiped a tear from my face.

  “Hannah?” Plug said.

  “Ants have plagued me for days,” I said.

  Plug scooted closer to me. “Harrison uses ants in his hypnotic trigger.”

  I locked eyes with him. “I can’t remember.”

  “Maybe it’s too traumatic for your brain,” Plug said. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m becoming just like my dad, and I’m hurting everyone around me.” I rubbed my cheeks and cried.

  “Hannah,” Plug said, “You’re not hurting anyone.”

  “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

  Plug grabbed my hands, and I let him this time. “Hannah, forgive your dad for killing himself. And for having schizophrenia. You are not him.” He tightened his grasp. “We will find a solution.”