Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  “If you’d given me a chance, Beth,” he said, “we could’ve been together all these years.” He leaned in, his lips next to mine.

  “I’m not Beth,” I whispered.

  He pulled back, and his fingers moved to my neck. “You’re right. Beth told me to leave her alone and threatened to call the police. Said she was married, but I knew she was unhappy with your father. She stayed with him even though he was such an arrogant man. He took more than Beth from me; he took my future. He lied to the Dean of Students and had me kicked out of Princeton. But it wasn’t long after that . . . I showed him I was the master.”

  His grip tightened around my neck.

  “Beth should’ve come to me after he died.” Harrison tilted his head and leaned closer to me. “Instead, you left town, Beth. Changed your last name. Changed your appearance. That made it harder, but four years and five private detectives later, I found you. I suppose that gave me time to devise the perfect revenge with Chelsea. And I’m here now. Killing your husband didn’t work out, but maybe killing your daughter will.”

  I tried to swallow, tried to breathe, but he tightened his grip. My mind raced, analyzing everything he’d said.

  He loosened his grasp, and I gulped for air.

  “With Chelsea?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Harrison laughed. “She’s performed flawlessly, invading your life and taunting you . . . laying the groundwork to make everyone believe you’d gone stark raving mad.”

  Images flashed through my mind of Chelsea at the fair, in the broadcasting room, and at Clandestine Coffee.

  “The breaker box at the warehouse?” I asked.

  “And so much more,” he whispered.

  “The pink elephant?”

  He smiled and dug his fingers deeper into my neck. I needed to keep him talking. I needed to figure a way out of this.

  “You’ve been here. At least a year,” I said, but he pushed against my windpipe. “Why wait. So long?”

  “I told you. Perfect plans take time.” Harrison smirked. “Your father’s demise took years of stalking, and planning, and practicing my craft—”

  “My father?” Nausea flooded through me. Tears raced down my face, and I glared at Harrison. “You hypnotized him? Made him think he was crazy? Made him think he’d done horrible things?” The weight of the truth sank down on me.

  Harrison grinned. “But he was nowhere near as fun as you have been.”

  The light bulb above us burst, like the one in the warehouse had, casting us deeper into the shadows. Darkness filled my soul, and rage seeped through every pore. I kicked and flailed, because I wanted him dead.

  “My dad killed himself because he believed he was crazy!” I screamed.

  “So will you.” He shoved me against the wall. “When I’m finished, you’ll believe you killed this boy, and you’ll hate yourself for hurting everyone around you. You won’t be able to end your life fast enough.”

  “Have you hurt my mom?” I hit him again, but he laughed at my fruitless efforts.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s tied up right now, but she’ll be waiting center stage for the final act when we arrive.”

  He jerked my left hand up.

  “No.”

  He touched my fingertips.

  He lowered his voice and spoke in a rapid monotone.

  “From the tips of your fingers I want you to relax all your muscles.” His touch moved from my hand to my wrist.

  “No!” He did this to me the first time we met on the stage, but I still couldn’t react fast enough to fight his words.

  “As you relax I want you to feel an overwhelming sense of peace and goodness. I want only an immense sense of calm for you.”

  It was a lie, but my mind remained in his clutch. I tried to picture my safe place—the cabin, the flowers—but my anger painted everything with crimson red. I wanted John Harrison’s blood. He needed to pay for all of this, but my mind was bewitched by his monotone phrases.

  “Let go of your worries and relax. When I count to three you will slip into that deep resting place of serenity and comfort. One. Two. Three. Sleep!” He snapped, and my legs gave out from beneath me.

  I fell to the floor.

  My head bounced on the soft carpet, and my face landed inches from Plug’s. The metallic aroma of his blood overcame my senses. I was conscious, but I couldn’t move. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see a way out of this mess.

  Harrison walked away from me toward the kitchen.

  Swirls of smoke danced around Plug’s head. I moved my lips to yell and wake Plug, but my words were inaudible. The mist twirled above Plug, as if brushstrokes appeared on a canvas. A dark vertical cloud began to take shape.

  “No,” I whispered. A black feather drifted down and settled in the pool of Plug’s blood. In the space above him, a shape formed out of the darkness. Featherless wings extended from the backside of a hooded robe. Bare-bone arms with claws reached toward Plug. This was not a hallucination. The buoyant beast loomed over Plug, and I pictured Plug’s chalk drawing of the screaming skulls. Plug looked nothing like the victims he’d drawn. His muscles were relaxed. His eyelids were closed. Except for the pool of blood beneath his head, I would have assumed he was sleeping. He couldn’t die. Not today. Not because of me.

  “Wake up, Plug,” I whispered.

  Footsteps moved across the kitchen floor.

  The house remained dim, but the dark spirit faded away. In addition to Chelsea and Harrison toying with me, evil spirits continued to taunt me as well. And I had to fight against them all.

  Harrison stepped next to me and set down two red gasoline cans. With gloved hands, he lifted me and sat me alongside the wall. He pressed my fingers around the handles of each can. Then he pulled out a cloth and wiped the things he had touched earlier, like the sculpture and the large shard of glass with Plug’s blood on it.

  “Hannah,” he said, “stand up and walk with me.”

  I didn’t want to, but my body surrendered to his command. I walked with Harrison, past Plug, past the broken display case, through the kitchen, and out to the garage. My plaid shorts snagged on a protruding piece of metal from Plug’s damaged El Camino. I pulled the fabric free and continued walking with Harrison out through the open front of the garage.

  Harrison’s sedan was parked in the driveway. He opened the door to the back seat.

  “Sit and stay put. Do you understand?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I sank onto the vinyl.

  Harrison slammed the door and went back inside the garage, closing the big door behind him. He didn’t even bother to tie me up. He was confident I was under his influence, which I seemed to be, despite my efforts to fight. But I refused to give up.

  I closed my eyes and worked to descend to that safe place in my mind—my cabin surrounded by cottonwoods, maples, and junipers. I needed to lock away Harrison’s suggestions, and then I would fight my way out of this. But a thick blanket of fog covered everything from the elevator to the grassy hill, and a wisp of black smoke extended from the roof into the foggy sky. It twisted and jerked like a cobra about to strike. I froze. This was supposed to be my safe place, but the black mist shot toward me, swirled around my feet, and coiled up my legs.

  “You cannot win,” a deep demonic voice said. “You’re not strong enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re not—”

  “At least I have a body!” I yelled. “You have nothing.”

  “A body you cannot control is worse than nothing at all!” the demon roared.

  I covered my ears. I knew he was right, but I had to find a way to help Plug. I had to somehow regain command of my body and get away from Harrison.

  I steeled my nerves and chanted, “Be gone. You have no power here.”

  The smoke receded a few feet. I chanted again, and it withdrew to the chimney of the cabin, but its laughter echoed in the hollows of the cabin.

  It bellowed back to me, “You’re too weak to defeat me.�
��

  I staggered and faltered, but eventually I found the ornate lock box on the porch of the cabin. I wrote Harrison’s hypnotic words on the small tablet, tore off the sheet, set it in the box, and secured the lid.

  Then I remembered more of Harrison’s words from earlier. He had said, Yes, Hannah, fight for your own free will. That will be entertaining.

  I grabbed the tablet, and I wrote those words in large black letters. I tore the sheet off, and I posted it to the front door of the cabin. I would fight. He’d given the command, and I would use it to my advantage.

  “You’re not strong enough.”

  “Be gone!” I yelled.

  The fog thinned. My thoughts became clearer. I leaned against the wall of the cabin, and a memory resurfaced. The hypnotist had called me by name on the stage in the arena. He knew who I was. He lured me behind the food truck at the fair. That’s when he planted the trigger phrase in my mind and told me to overreact to every little thing. That was also when he told me to always answer my phone when I saw his number on caller ID.

  I sank against the cabin’s porch and tried to catch my breath. The dark mists began to swirl at my feet. I hadn’t defeated the demon. I didn’t know how. And I couldn’t defeat Harrison, because I didn’t know how. I was losing this battle.

  But I still had to ascend from this place in my mind and try to save Plug. I stood and set my hand on the sheet I’d posted to the cabin’s door. The hypnotist had given me permission to fight for my own free will, and that little crack in the chains that bound me had to be the key for me to escape him. I emerged from my meditation.

  I opened my eyes and pulled in a long, slow breath.

  I was still slumped in the back seat of Harrison’s sedan, but my mind was more alert than it had been in days. I needed to move, but my limbs remained immobile. Maybe the demon was right. I wasn’t strong enough. But then the tips of my fingers and the tips of my toes began to prickle as sensation began to return. I scrunched up my toes and moved one finger at a time.

  A week ago, I only thought about starting my senior year of high school and preparing to leave for Princeton. I wanted to date Manny. I wanted everyone to get along and have fun.

  Now, I only wanted to save the people I loved and reclaim my free will.

  Harrison came out through the front door. He closed it behind him and wiped the knob clean. He slid into the driver’s seat of the sedan. Without a word, he shifted into reverse and drove out of the neighborhood. I couldn’t turn my head to see if Kyla’s house was on fire, but I knew he’d started it. He smelled like gasoline and smoke.

  • • •

  Harrison drove toward downtown. I rotated my wrists and bent my elbows. Each mile we traveled put Plug that much closer to death, if he was even still alive. I inched my hand toward the door. My heart beat faster, but I steadied my breathing. Up ahead I saw a busy intersection.

  We stopped at the red light.

  I bent my elbow and lifted my fingers to the handle. I kept my gaze away from the rearview mirror. Harrison could not know I was alert.

  The light changed, and Harrison accelerated. I had to escape before the car’s speed increased too much. With stilted movements, I reached for the handle, unlocked the door, and flung it wide open. Before Harrison could react, I grabbed the frame and launched myself out into the road. The asphalt caught me with unforgiving hands.

  The driver behind us slammed on his brakes that squealed as he honked. A minivan in the next lane swerved to avoid plowing over me.

  Harrison leaned out of his window and squinted at me, but he shook his head at the gathering commotion and drove away. The back door of the sedan swung shut as Harrison sped down the street.

  Tremors traveled throughout my body. I’d done it. I’d escaped. The driver from behind ran to me and helped me stand. My legs wobbled. I tightened my grip on his arm and watched Harrison make a left at the next intersection.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked.

  Road rash blanketed my bare legs and arms, but otherwise I seemed intact. No fractures. No major injuries. Cars honked and drove past. I had to find Mom. I had to help Plug.

  “Can I use your phone?” My voice was too faint, and he leaned in closer to me.

  “What?” he yelled over the traffic noise.

  I cleared my throat and tried again. “Your phone?”

  He pulled his cell from his pocket and offered it to me. I dialed 911 and told the operator about the fire at Kyla’s house. I read to her the address that Plug had written on the palm of my hand.

  “Hurry!” I said. “Eugene Polaski is unconscious inside the house.”

  The man next to me paled. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  I dialed Mom’s cell. I hoped Harrison had lied about having her. I hoped she was fine and with the police. She had to be okay.

  “We need to get out of the road,” the man said. I turned my back to him and waited for Mom to answer. Cars continued to honk.

  “Hello, Hannah,” Harrison said.

  My knees went weak, and I nearly dropped the phone, but the man behind me steadied me and looped his arm beneath mine.

  “You can stand in the road all day,” Harrison said, “but I’m coming back for you. If you contact the police, I will kill your mother today.”

  I ended the call and screamed at the top of my lungs until my throat ached. The man who’d been helping me took a step back and gaped at me. This couldn’t be real. Harrison couldn’t have Mom. It couldn’t be true. I chewed on my cheek and tried to concentrate. I dialed my home phone number and dashed across the busy street, dodging cars as I went.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

  “Who’s this?” I asked.

  “Hey!” the driver yelled. “Give me back my phone.” He started to come after me, but then he retraced his steps to his abandoned car in the middle of the road.

  Sirens howled in the distance.

  I stepped onto the sidewalk and paused, out of breath.

  “I’m a police officer,” the woman on my home phone said. “Is this Hannah? We’ve been—”

  “Is my mom there?” I asked.

  “No, but Hannah—”

  I hung up. I refused to accept the idea that Harrison had Mom. I scanned the area to get my bearings. Mom’s hotel was a few blocks away. I tried to remember the phone number. I dialed information instead. They connected me, and the hotel operator answered.

  “May I speak with the general manager, Beth O’Leary?”

  “I’m sorry, she’s unavailable this afternoon,” the operator said. “May I take a message?”

  I dropped the phone on the concrete, kicked off my flip-flops, and started running. Harrison had Mom, and I had to find her before it was too late.

  About a block before the hotel, I stopped on the sidewalk. A police cruiser was parked under the canopy. I assessed my options. On the left side of the road were office buildings. On my right was a church. Mrs. Santos’s face came to mind. She believed with absolute faith. A prayer can help. If you have faith, God will bring good things to you, but you have to invite him in, she had said.

  I needed all the help I could get. I stepped up to the alcove of the church, closed my eyes, and offered a silent prayer, pleading for God to listen and to help me. The sun-heated concrete began to burn my feet, and the road rash along my legs throbbed with pain.

  I opened my eyes just as Harrison turned onto the street. I leaned backward into the shade of the church’s overhang and hid from view. Harrison sped past me and pulled under the hotel’s canopy, right next to the police cruiser. Harrison tossed his keys to the valet, and then he entered the hotel. The police weren’t searching for the hypnotist. They were searching for me.

  The door behind me opened, and I stumbled backward. A pastor grasped my arm to balance me.

  “Would you like to come inside?” he asked.

  “I just need to sit for a minute,” I said. I needed to think. With the police at the entrance and with Harr
ison lurking somewhere inside, I had to find a different way into the hotel.

  “You’re injured.” The pastor motioned toward my bruises and wounds.

  “I’m okay.” I sank into an oversized chair in the foyer and leaned forward. I needed to catch my breath and figure out a solution.

  The pastor sat in the chair next to me and waited in silence. After a few minutes, he suddenly said, “You must open your heart to truly open your mind. Let the good light illuminate your path so you’ll no longer walk in darkness at noonday. He speaks with a soft voice and will guide you with inspiration.”

  I lifted my head. He spoke in riddles like Mrs. Santos had. I missed her comforting hugs and warm smile. It broke my heart that she thought I would intentionally set fire to her house.

  The pastor set his hand on mine. “Your sorrow brings Satan joy. He attempts to tie strings to your mind and body so he can manipulate you like a puppet. Take action, fight against the evil, and it will lose its energy. You have the power to dismiss Satan and his evil spirits. Have faith in your own abilities and listen to the still, small voice.”

  He squeezed my hand, and I wept.

  “I will get you a glass of water.” He rose and walked down the hall, but I didn’t wait for him to return.

  I wiped my face and headed back out onto the street. I had an idea.

  I stayed out of the sight of the police officers and darted down into the parking garage. I ran to the spot in back where Mom usually parked. Her red Toyota Prius was there. I checked doors, locked. But my foot snagged on a soft lump hidden partially beneath her car. I reached down and tugged out Mom’s purse.

  Harrison must’ve grabbed her here. On the phone, Mom had said she was about to leave. She was here when she shrieked on the phone.

  I had to find her.

  I rummaged through her purse and found her keys. I unlocked the car door and sank into the back seat. I lay on my side and tried to compose myself. I could drive back to Kyla’s house and help Plug, but I’d already called 911 and reported the fire. They should be there helping him. There was nothing more I could do to save him. But I had a strong feeling my mom was somewhere nearby. Harrison was here. She had to be, too.