Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  “Yes.” I tightened my fingers into a fist and repeated my own mantra in my mind. I was in control of my mind, body, and spirit. Nobody—not even Harrison—could come near it.

  “The pain is worsening. Imagine you stuck your left hand into the burning flames of a roaring campfire. The pain is excruciating.”

  I groaned and played along.

  “Yes, Hannah, it’s burning. Your flesh is falling away.”

  I gritted my teeth and tried to figure out what he wanted me to say.

  “Make it stop,” I whispered.

  “I can,” he said. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you willing to do anything I tell you?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Because I need to find you—you sorry excuse for a freaking human being. I imagined stabbing the long-bladed letter opener through his chest like a stake through a vampire’s heart.

  “I can make it stop, but only if you agree to kill your mother.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Hannah, the bones of your fingers are exposed to the flames—”

  “Stop!”

  “Do you agree?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hannah, the fire has died and a cool breeze lessens the pain. Your flesh rapidly heals, and soon your hand will be whole again. The pain is gone. Does it feel better?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Experience only peace now. Everything is fine as long as you do as I tell you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come to the fourth-floor lounge. Do you know which one?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Come through the main entrance. Don’t let anyone see you or stop you. Come right away.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Hannah,” he said, “if you defy my instructions, your hand will light on fire, and you will experience excruciating pain. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Goodbye, Hannah. I’ll see you soon.”

  I slammed the phone down. The skin on my left hand was pinker than my right. My chin quivered. The fire was an illusion. I steadied my breathing and hoisted the purse’s strap over my shoulder.

  The hallway outside the offices was empty. I ran through the back halls to the freight elevator so there’d be less chance of anyone seeing me or stopping me. I pressed the call button and paced back and forth waiting. Finally, the doors opened and I dashed inside. I pounded the number four button, but the doors stayed open. I poked it again, and the doors closed, slowly. The numbers ticked by slowly, and I slapped the wall.

  “Hurry up!”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the fourth floor. I bolted out into the hallway and darted around a corner.

  And smacked right into Mr. Holloday.

  “Whoa!” Mr. Holloday grabbed my shoulder. “Hannah?”

  I thrust my left hand into the purse and wrapped my fingers around the can of pepper spray. Mr. Holloday was a nice guy, but I had to get to Mom.

  “The police have been searching for you,” he said in slow, measured words.

  “Please, let me go,” I whispered. I had to get to the lounge. Harrison was waiting, and Mr. Holloday was delaying me. My hand heated up and began to sweat inside the purse. I blew out a breath.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  I let him turn me by the shoulders, and then in one quick motion, I shrugged out from his grasp, moved a few steps away, and shot the pepper spray into his face.

  He swiped the liquid from his cheeks.

  Then it kicked in.

  He yelled and rubbed his face.

  I bolted the other direction and resisted the urge to touch my own face. Tears streamed down my cheeks from being close to the spray, but I fought through it. I rounded a corner and raced down the hallway toward the lounge. The employee entrance was straight ahead.

  Harrison expected me to come through the front entrance.

  I swiped Mom’s key card and nudged the door open with my foot. I returned the card to the purse and clutched the pepper spray. The small backroom of the lounge had wall-to-wall lockers for the employees, and it was dark. The door closed behind me, and I let my eyes adjust.

  Movement across the room caught my eye. I tried to focus, but someone flipped on the lights and blinded me.

  But I shot the pepper spray in that direction anyhow.

  Chelsea shrieked.

  I gave her another shot of pepper spray and tackled her to the ground. She swatted at me, but then the pain of the spray became too much for her. I covered her mouth and stifled her scream. She scratched at her face and clenched her eyes closed. Snot ran from her nose, and she struggled to breathe. I lifted my hand from her mouth, hoping she wouldn’t yell. She gasped for breath and cried.

  My own eyes stung from the lingering chemical in the air, but I refused to rub my face. I straddled her waist and snatched the duct tape from the purse. Using my teeth and hands, I tore off a long piece of tape and slapped it across her lips. She tried to rip it off, but I grabbed her wrists and twisted her onto her stomach. I sat on her butt, and she kicked me in the back with her heels. I wrapped the duct tape around her wrists several times. Then I taped her ankles together. I rolled her over. Her eyes were still scrunched closed. Her face was red and swollen.

  She struggled to breathe through her nose. I ripped the duct tape from her mouth, and she took in a huge breath. And another. Then she lay there and cried.

  I loathed the way Chelsea had weaseled into my anchor chair on the morning broadcast and excluded me from my own friends on the student council. I could let go of those things, but I could never forgive her for going along with her father’s plans to hurt my mom.

  In my head, I knew Chelsea was more of a victim of Harrison than I was, and in my heart, I doubted her ability to overcome the damage he had inflicted on her.

  My eyes burned. I dug through the purse and found the wet wipes. I scrubbed my hands and then my face. My vision was cloudy, but at least I hadn’t been shot directly in the face.

  I returned my supplies to the purse and moved over to the door to peer into the darkened kitchen. On the other side was the lounge. Light streamed in beneath the connecting door. I was about to cross into the kitchen when a cell phone vibrated against the hard floor behind me. I stepped back and closed the door.

  Chelsea squirmed, and her phone buzzed again. I searched her pockets. I searched the floor around her. Finally, I found it a few inches away.

  Two recent texts were from Harrison: Anything happening? Any sign of her?

  I texted him back: Nothing. All quiet.

  I tossed the phone into the purse. Then I stepped into the dark kitchen and tiptoed across it. I pressed my ear to the door of the lounge and listened. A few muffled noises made it clear someone was in there. I inched the door open and let my eyes adjust to the brightness. The spotlights were aimed at the wingback chair on the stage.

  Mom sat in the chair.

  Rope restrained her hands in her lap, and more rope lashed her ankles to the wooden feet of the chair. A white cloth gagged her mouth and stretched around to the back of her head. Her always tidy hair was disheveled. Her always perfect makeup ran beneath her eyes. She turned her head toward me, and her eyes locked on me. Her eyebrows rose, and she shook her head wildly.

  Every fiber of my being wanted to race over and free her, but I needed to figure out where Harrison was first. I fought the panic welling within me and scanned the perimeter of the lounge for him. Tables filled one side of the room. The stage took up a large portion of the other side, and the brass bar filled the remaining space. No Harrison.

  I studied the area again and focused on the darker places and the edges that lurked in shadows. Maybe he hid behind the bar, crouched down as predator waiting to strike. I checked the mirrors for reflections, for movement of any sort. Nothing. But the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  And then Harrison grabbed me from behind.

&
nbsp; His bulky hand covered my mouth and muffled my screams. His other hand dug into the road rash on my forearm. My vision blurred with the pain. He dragged me into the lounge and threw me onto the hardwood stage at my mom’s feet.

  Harrison paced and mumbled to himself. Then he stopped and faced me. His pupils dilated until the blackness overtook the pigment of his irises.

  I repeated my mantra in my mind. I would save my mom by any means necessary. I scooted up into a sitting position and leaned against Mom’s legs. She was trembling.

  Harrison came closer, cocked his arm backward, and slapped me across the face with his open palm. The force of the blow threw me against the floor. Mom fought against her restraints, her screams stifled by the gag.

  “I don’t know how you’re resisting the hypnosis,” Harrison said. “You may be strong-willed like your father, but the fact is I don’t need your compliance.”

  He wrapped his huge hands around Mom’s neck and squeezed. Her eyes widened, and her body tensed.

  I was strong-willed just like my father. The father I never really got to know because Harrison ruined him. The father Harrison’s insanity had taken away from me. I would stop him from taking my mother also.

  I dug into the purse for the letter opener, and then I spiked it into Harrison’s calf. The metal sliced right through his jeans and lodged into his flesh. Blood spread in a circular pattern, darkening the light blue denim. He howled like a wounded animal and recoiled. He twisted and yanked it free. Blood dripped from the edge of the metal onto the floor. He lowered his chin, licked his lips, and glared at me. Utter madness radiated from him.

  He was going to kill me.

  I clutched the purse and sprinted for the other side of the lounge. I foraged through it for the pepper spray but found the heavy-duty staple gun. I spun and chucked it at him, but he batted it away. My meager efforts were nothing against him.

  He came at me with the letter opener raised high.

  I thrust my hand into the purse again and caught hold of the pepper spray.

  I yanked it free and shot at him.

  His upper lip peeled back, and he bared his teeth like a rabid canine. The letter opener clattered to the floor. Harrison covered his eyes and yowled in pain. He used his shirt to wipe his face, and he spit onto the carpet trying to clear his sinuses.

  I dropped the pepper spray and bolted back to the stage. My eyes had swollen, and I struggled to see, but I reached for the pocketknife. I popped the blade open and cut the ropes on Mom’s wrists. She snatched the knife from me and finished freeing herself. Snot ran from my nose, and I struggled to breathe.

  Mom reached behind her head to untie the gag, and without any warning, Harrison lurched forward and stabbed the letter opener into the meat of Mom’s upper thigh. The gag fell, and she screamed. Her fingers went rigid, and her arms shook.

  Harrison grabbed me by the hair and threw me backward like a toy. A clump of my hair fell from Harrison’s grasp and drifted to the floor. I was inconsequential. My head hit the hardwood, and everything darkened.

  I control my mind, body, and spirit.

  Nobody can come anywhere near it.

  Using any means necessary I’ll rescue my mother.

  Because I am in control, none other.

  Mom’s screams abruptly stopped.

  I lifted myself up in time to see Harrison press the pocketknife to Mom’s neck. Her skin moved with the edge of the blade. She still sat in the chair, clutching the armrests. The letter opener protruded from the muscle of her thigh. Harrison whispered something in her ear and yanked at her hair with his free hand. Perspiration beaded along Mom’s forehead.

  “I never loved you,” Mom said to Harrison. “I changed my name and moved across the country to get away from your stalking. You were a delusional idiot back at Princeton, and you are still—”

  “Shut up!” Harrison yelled at her. “I was smart enough back then to manipulate your husband, and you, into thinking he was schizophrenic. I was smart enough to convince him to kill himself.” Mom’s eyes widened in horror. “And I’m smart enough now to do the same thing to your daughter. She will never—”

  Mom kneed him in the balls, but he was relentless. He only grimaced and kept the knife to her throat. If she struggled against him more, the blade would cut her. There was nothing else she could do.

  “You killed my husband?” she whispered. Mom’s eyebrows creased and her face flushed crimson.

  Harrison nodded. “And now I will kill you and your daughter.”

  “You’ve been manipulating Hannah the same way?” Seeing the pain in Mom’s eyes knocked the wind out of me.

  Harrison let go of her hair and stroked her cheek.

  Mom caught my eye and yelled, “Hannah! Run!”

  Harrison angled his head and glared at me with the beady demon eyes I’d seen in the car accident.

  He was evil incarnate.

  His lips curled upward into a sinister smile. Snot oozed from his nose. His eyelids were pink and swollen. But none of that stopped him.

  He wrenched Mom’s head to the side and pressed the blade into the side of her neck. Blood trickled down her skin in tiny beads at first, but then they formed a long train racing down her neck.

  Rage boiled up from depths I’d never felt before. I screamed at the top of my lungs and flew across the stage, slamming my body into Harrison’s. He was bigger than me, but I knocked him to the floor. The chair tipped to the side, and Mom fell free. The pocketknife skidded across the stage, and I ran for it. Harrison grabbed my ankle and jerked me down to his level. I thrust out my hand and barely grasped the end of the knife before Harrison pulled me toward him. I whipped around, moving with the momentum, and flailed my arm forward. My fingers tightened around the casing of the pocketknife, and I stabbed it into his neck.

  His eyes went wide.

  I jerked out the knife, and blood spurted and arced away from him. His body flopped backward to the floor. What had I done?

  My gaze darted from Harrison to the knife. His blood covered the blade. I loosened my grasp, and I noticed for the first time that Dad’s name was engraved in the casing. The knife had been my father’s. And my mother had kept it all these years.

  It fell from my hand and clattered to the floor.

  Harrison’s back arched and his mouth opened, as if he was silently screaming out in horror. A black mist surged from his gaping mouth. It spiraled upward, growing in size. For a brief moment the mist took the shape of decaying flesh and rotting talons as I’d seen in the bathroom mirror at home. I was not hallucinating. Not then and not now. Harrison had been possessed by this demon, and they’d acted together. But then I remembered what Kyla had said about Harrison getting kicked out of Princeton for messing with demonic rituals. Had Harrison commanded the evil spirits or had they commanded him? And for how long? The man who knew the answers lay dead in front of me. He had committed atrocities that I could barely fathom. But in some small way had I taken a step down the same path? I’d opened my mind to outside influences, and because of that my fingers had ripped Chelsea’s shirt; my hands had set fire to the Santos home; my distraction had killed Jordan. Of course, I could claim innocence and say the devil made me do it, but a part of me had wanted revenge against Chelsea; a part of me had envied the Santos family; and another part of me had wanted to be rid of Jordan.

  The demon returned to its blackened mist form and swirled toward me. I stared it down and refused to flinch or turn away. It hesitated. Then it spun upward and dissipated along the ceiling. Maybe it realized my mind was closed to its games. I’d reclaimed my power.

  The room brightened as though someone had turned up the lights.

  I sat in shock for a brief moment. Then I snapped out of it and scrambled over to Mom.

  She had her hands wrapped around her neck, but blood seeped between her fingers. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She said nothing, but her eyes begged me to help her. I tugged the crocheted scarf from the purse and pressed it to Mom�
��s neck. Her body relaxed, and she closed her eyes.

  “Mom!”

  Her eyes fluttered opened. I grabbed her hands and pushed them against her wound.

  “Keep pressure. I have to call for help.”

  Her fingers tensed.

  “Do you understand?” I pleaded with her, and my tears fell onto her blood-soaked skin. I needed her to help.

  She pressed her hands against the scarf, which was changing from gray to red.

  I dug Chelsea’s phone from the purse and dialed 911. Then I darted over to the house phone behind the bar and dialed zero. Both operators answered at the same time.

  “I need help!” I said. “John Harrison cut my mom’s throat. Beth O’Leary. He stabbed her thigh. Please. Send the paramedics. We’re in the lounge on the fourth floor of the Main Street Hotel.” I dropped the house phone and ran back over to my mom. I switched the cell phone to speaker and set it next to me. I wrapped my hands around Mom’s to help stop the bleeding, but she went limp beneath me.

  “No, Mom!” More tears flooded down my face and mingled with her blood. I’d been so mad at her for lying about Dad and how he died, but she didn’t even know the truth herself until now. “Mom, you can’t die.” She moved us across the country, not to get away from the memories of Dad, but to get away from Harrison. She was trying to protect us.

  She struggled to open her eyes halfway, but then blood dripped from her mouth. My heart sank.

  “Mom, I love you. Please, hold on. Help is coming.” I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to hers.

  In the background the 911 operator asked questions, but none of it made any sense.

  I lifted my head when Mr. Holloday burst through the main entrance of the lounge with a security guard on his heels. Mr. Holloday ran behind the bar and yanked out towels from beneath the counter. He darted over to us and knelt next to Mom, applying the towels to her neck. His face was red and swollen from the pepper spray.

  The security guard checked Harrison, who lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.

  Mr. Holloday pressed two fingers to the side of Mom’s neck searching for her pulse. “Does she have other injuries—”