by Allie Gail
“Why do you want me to break the window?” I can't help asking.
“You want your friends back, don't you? A little assistance would help expedite the process.”
That so cleared things up.
“Fine. Whatever.” He's right – I'm struggling to stay awake at this point, and besides, trying to get a straight answer from him is a massive waste of time.
Barely thinking about what I'm doing, I grab a claw hammer from the TV tray – ugh, is that blood on the end of it? – and scan the room until I locate a box of old rags. Pulling one out of the pile, I fold it into a thick square so I can use it to muffle the sound. Russ is a heavy sleeper, and it's doubtful he'd be able to hear this from his room, but I'd rather not take any chances.
I stand on a big plastic storage bin, and even then I have to stretch my arms above my head to reach the window.
“No need to take out the whole thing,” Loc instructs helpfully. “Just a small hole will suffice. There's a good girl.”
Holding the cloth over the pane, I tap the hammer against it. The glass is thicker and more resilient than I expected. I have to hit it three times, consecutively harder each time, before it finally shatters. When I pull the rag away, tiny shards of glass fall loose and tinkle to the floor. Above my head is a sharp and jagged maw. I can feel the damp night air swirling in, chilling me to the bone.
Shivering, I climb down and return the hammer and rag to their respective places. I'm so tired, suddenly. More tired than I should be. My legs are heavy, my mind foggy. I feel disoriented. If I didn't know better, I'd almost be convinced that I'd been drugged. But that can't be. There's no way.
“Lovely, darling. That's perfect. Thank you.” The words drift to me through the cold, and I hug my arms around myself.
“Whatever,” I sigh wearily. “Can I go now?”
“Of course. My poor little kitten needs her rest,” he croons, laughter in his voice. “Run along, pet. You've nothing more to worry about. Sleep. Tomorrow everything will be put to rights, and then you and I can find our own way.”
What does that mean? I want to ask, but speaking would take more energy than I care to expend. It also takes way more effort than it should merely to shuffle up to the kitchen, padlock the door and make my way upstairs.
Why am I so exhausted?
After the cold gloom of the basement, my room is a welcome sight. The light from the lamp on my nightstand bathes the room in a soft glow that comforts me. Everything in this little space is safe and snug and familiar. Kicking off my slippers, I let my kimono fall to the plush rug with a dreamy smile. My warm, comfy bed never looked so inviting. I feel like I could sleep for days. Weeks. Just sleep, and forget...
I'm in the process of collapsing into bed when out of the darkness, a masculine voice calls out to me. “Girl...”
My heart leaps straight into my throat, the adrenaline rush snapping me instantly awake. I spin around defensively, though it only takes a split second to realize that there's no one here. It's just music coming from my stereo. The one I've had since fifth grade.
The one that shorted out years ago.
That just turned on all by itself.
And the crooning of the Urge Overkill cover – Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon – seems hauntingly appropriate considering the circumstances at hand.
“Cute. Real cute,” I slur, laying a hand over my thudding heart. There's little doubt in my mind that it's Loc, taunting me with an indirect reminder just for fun, though I have no idea how he's doing it. The same way he gets into my dreams, I suppose.
I cross the room and switch off the stereo before it has a chance to wake Russ. Then I pad back over to the bed, only to jump nearly out of my skin when the damn thing blares to life again, louder than before, this time with Go All The Way.
“Dammit!” I almost trip over my own feet in my haste, and this time I jerk the plug out of the outlet. I sure would like to know how he expects me to hold up my end of the bargain if he insists on giving me a massive coronary first. Wrapping the cord into a coil, I stuff it out of the way behind the stereo so I don't end up stepping barefoot on the connector.
I figure that's that, and yet somehow I'm not a bit surprised when the stupid thing promptly turns itself right back on. Without even a power source to feed it. How is that at all possible? Maybe I have been drugged. Maybe this is all a hallucination.
If it is, it's an incredibly vivid one. I've got Foreigner practically rattling the windows with Feels Like The First Time.
Subtle, isn't he?
Clapping my hands over my ears, I shout in frustration, “ENOUGH WITH THE STUPID SONGS ALREADY! I GET THE POINT!”
Mercifully, the stereo fades to silence.
Wham! Wham! Wham! My brother is banging on the wall separating our rooms, not that I can blame him. It probably sounds like I'm hosting a dance-off in here.
“HEY! Some of us have to fucking work tomorrow, you know!” His voice sounds hoarse and more than a little pissed off.
“Sorry!”
Muttering every profanity in the book, I flop into bed and jerk the covers up over my head. And even though I know it's just my imagination, I could almost swear I can hear the sound of the demon's laughter.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter Fifteen
“Jude. Wake up.”
Frowning at whoever is shaking my arm at this godforsaken hour of the morning, I huff and roll over without bothering to open my eyes.
“Lemme 'lone,” I mumble irritably.
“Wake up.”
Snuggling deeper into the warm covers, I ignore the voice. It's Russ. Probably wanting something stupid, like to ask if he has a clean work shirt or where his socks got off to. I knew I shouldn't have started doing his laundry for him. Now he's going to expect it all the time. How was he able to function on his own these past two years? Freakin' baby.
“Jude!” He shakes me harder.
“Quit it!”
“Wake up, dammit! Don't make me drag you outta this bed!”
“Mmph. Try it and die.”
In response to that, he gives the back of my head a rude smack.
“OW!” Rubbing my head, I scoot up in bed and scowl at him with a fury that I hope conveys just how much I'm going to make him pay for this later. “What?” I snap.
“Get up!”
“I am up, you asshole! What's your problem?”
“No, I mean up. I need you up. I have to talk to you.”
I blink at him, my bleary vision clearing. He looks worried. No, more than that. He looks overly keyed up about something.
“Russ...what's wrong? What's going on?”
“I just talked to Sky.”
Instantly I'm wide awake. “What? You did?”
“Yeah. At least, I think it was her. She was using someone else's phone, said she couldn't find hers. I mean, it could be some kinda setup or something, but it sure sounded like her.”
“What did she say?”
“She wants me to come get her. At the Express Mart over in Hastings. I don't know what she's doing there; not sure she does either. She sounded confused. But Owen was with her. And they're both okay. She said neither of them are hurt.”
My stomach does a queasy little flip. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but instant results weren't it. I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. Loc told the truth. He wasn't lying. They really are safe, and they're coming home. He did just what he promised.
“I...” Clearing my throat, I try to gather my senses. “Wow. That's good to hear. Did she happen to say where they've been all this time?”
“I didn't ask. We can talk about that later. Right now, my main concern is getting her home. Anyway, I'm about to leave...I just wanted to wake you up and let you know. Oh, and I'm taking Max with me. Just in case.”
Just in case, what?
Tossing back the covers, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay, gimme a couple seconds to get dressed. I'll go, too.”
“No. I'd
rather you didn't. If this turns out to be a trap, I don't want...” He shakes his head, then sighs. “There's something else.”
“What?”
“He's gone.”
“What? Who's gone?” My eyes widen as I realize almost instantly who he's talking about. “Wait. Price? What do you mean, he's gone? Where is he?”
“I don't know. He must've escaped sometime last night...”
Without waiting for him to finish, I bolt out of the room and dash downstairs, almost colliding with Max in the kitchen. Russ wasn't kidding – the basement door is standing wide open, like a testament to our failure to keep the monster caged.
Only I'm not so sure that he is a monster. Not anymore.
I hop down the wooden steps in bare feet – damn, it's cold down here – and pause at the bottom to take stock of the situation.
He's gone, all right. The manacles and ankle restraints lie unfastened and discarded on the floor, as if they simply popped open of their own accord. Or he somehow picked the locks. I do have to wonder how he managed to break through the thick, solid door without waking anyone, considering it was locked and bolted from the other side.
Although none of this surprises me, really. After our recent conversation, I knew it was coming. But what I failed to anticipate was the rationale behind the broken window.
It was for the crow.
I go over and crouch down, lightly stroking the bird's shiny black feathers. He hasn't been dead long, poor thing. His body is still limp and slightly warm. And his beak – that's the part that has me cringing. It's all cracked and bloody. He must have been pecking away at something with a frantic desperation.
I tilt my head to look up at the ceiling.
The pentacle's outer ring has been broken. In a small, almost inconspicuous area, the black paint has been chiseled off the drywall. The marred spot is just beyond a pipe that extends from the wall. The crow must have perched on the pipe and chipped away at it until the circle was rendered incomplete.
I straighten and turn to look at Max, who is standing quietly behind me.
“Any idea how he got out of the restraints?” I ask.
“The pentacle was the only thing keeping his strength at bay. I guess when that was no longer an issue...” He shrugs. “Still not sure how he managed to break the window. Or coax the bird in here. Guess it doesn't matter now.”
I nod silently, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering. The temperature must've really taken a nosedive last night. Judging from the cold air drifting in through the shattered window, I'd be surprised if we didn't get a frost.
“I don't think he'll be back,” Max reassures me, unexpectedly folding me in the warmth of his arms. “He knows we have a lead on how to kill him now. Probably why he left in such a hurry.”
I get the feeling he's misinterpreting my jaded reaction as fear. He thinks I'm scared. And maybe I am, in a sense, but not for the reasons he assumes.
I slide my arms inside his jacket and hug him. Ah, this is nice.
“Come on,” he says. “You're gonna freeze your backside off down here.”
My fingers brush against something tucked into the back of his jeans, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what it is. “What's the gun for?”
“Just a precaution.”
“Against what? You know bullets won't kill him.”
“Might not kill him, but they'll do a good job holding him off.”
“And if he brings friends?”
“Guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“I don't think it's a setup,” I tell him.
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it a hunch.”
My brother's heavy, impatient steps come clomping down the stairs. “What the fuck are you doing, man? I've been waiting in the car for ten minutes! Get your ass in gear, chop-chop, let's go already!”
“I'm going with you,” I doggedly announce, once we're back upstairs.
“The hell you are, Mighty Mouth. You're staying right here.” Without even bothering to look at me, Russ stalks out of the house, leaving the front door wide open behind him.
Max hesitates, obviously torn between bringing me along and leaving me behind. “Could you do me a favor? Could you get dressed real quick and go into town for a couple of hours, you think? Do some shopping. Go to the library or something.”
“Why? Now suddenly you're afraid he's coming back?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I don't know why he would. But it wouldn't be a bad idea, just in case. It would make me feel better. Humor me, kiddo. Please?”
“Oh, for the love of...” Seeing no point in arguing, I relent with a sigh. “Okay. Fine.”
“We'll be back soon.”
“Right. Uh...be careful.” I throw that in not because I'm concerned, really, but because it seems like the appropriate thing to say. Like them, I should be worried that they're heading into an ambush. I'm not, of course, because I know that isn't the case. Loc is merely following through with his end of the bargain. Doing exactly what he promised.
And when, I wonder, will my debt come due? Today? Tomorrow? A month from now?
Something tells me he won't wait very long to collect. I'm trying not to dwell on it too much. Every time I think about it, my stomach clenches and it becomes hard to breathe.
Because I'm afraid? Oh, believe me, I'd love to chalk it up to that. Just like I'd love to blame this whole situation on altruistic reasons. But the truth is, I'd have given in for a lot less. There is some wild, wicked part of me that wants this. That's just aching for an excuse to submit to him, let him have his way with me, allow him to fill the empty void that's been spreading darkness within me ever since I first laid eyes on him.
I'm such a fool. For not listening to my brother. For ever thinking I was the one in control. For letting lust cloud my judgment.
Such a fool that I know I'd do it all over again, given the chance.
And yet, not fool enough to deny the fact that I will surely end up regretting everything.
I get dressed, but I don't go into town like I promised. Instead, I grab a shovel from the storage shed behind the house and dig a hole for the crow. Once I've buried the bird, I keep myself occupied by nailing a piece of plywood over the broken window. As soon as things are back to normal and I've got a steady paycheck coming in, I'll hire someone to replace the glass. Right now, it's not a priority.
Each bang of the hammer resonates in my ears, sounding louder than it should. Everything is still and silent. The chilly air hangs heavy, as if it's frozen around me, though the outdoor thermometer says it's warmed up to forty-six degrees. I keep looking behind my back, half expecting Loc to show up demanding payment. But the minutes, while they drag, are uneventful.
I hurry inside as soon as I'm done. Something feels strange out there, something I can't put my finger on. It's as if I'm the only person left on earth, and yet I have the eerie sensation that I'm not alone. That there's something else here. Watching me. Stalking me like a hungry wolf, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Overactive imagination. That's all.
But I think of the thin man, of his dark sunglasses and ghoulish smile, and have to resist the urge to bolt every door in the house.
I'm in my room making the bed when I hear the front door slam shut. Dropping the comforter in my arms, I fly downstairs and immediately break into a broad smile when I see the four of them, safe and sound.
He kept his word!
“Owen!” Punching the big guy lightly on the arm, I playfully scold, “Dude! Next time you decide to take an impromptu vacation, how about giving us a heads up? We were worried sick about you!”
“Heya, squirt.” His voice sounds hoarse, like someone with a mild case of laryngitis. Or someone who's been doing a lot of shouting. He also smells like he hasn't touched a bar of soap in days. “Long time, no see, huh?”
“Everything okay here?” Max demands, his alert eyes scanning the room. I
don't know what he expected to find.
“Yeah, everything's fine,” I assure him.
“Thought you were going into town.”
“I was, but...I had some stuff to do here.”
He frowns slightly, but says nothing.
“So no problems, then?” It's a superfluous question, but I'd rather deflect the attention away from me. He's probably ticked that I didn't leave, but I just didn't see the point. There's no place for me to hide. When Loc decides to come for me, it won't matter whether I'm here or in Saskatchewan. He'll find me. No doubt about it.
“None so far.” Clapping Owen on the shoulder, Max steers him in the direction of the kitchen. “How about a beer?”
“Now you're talkin', man.”
Russ is guiding Skylar over to the couch so she can sit down. She looks dazed and exhausted, same as Owen, but otherwise unscathed. I'm dying to know where they've been all this time, but of course now is not the time to bombard them with questions. Even if I really, really want to.
“Can I get you anything, Skylar?” I offer, a bit awkwardly. I barely know her, but the few times I've been around her she always had this way of making me feel inferior. Whether intentional or not, I can't say. “Something to drink? Are you hungry?”
She looks up at me with glazed eyes as my brother wraps a throw blanket around her shoulders. The perfectly highlighted blonde hair is hanging limp, more unkempt than it's probably been in her entire life, and her smudged pants and pink cashmere sweater look none too fresh either. If I had to guess, I'd say they're the same clothes she was wearing when she vanished.
“Ice water would be nice,” she rasps, adding as I'm walking away, “With lemon, if you've got any. And do you have anything for a headache?”
We don't have any lemons, but I bring out a glass of water with crushed ice and a bottle of ibuprofen. I watch as she tosses back four tablets and gulps down almost all the water, then crunches on a piece of ice.
“Are you feeling okay?” Sitting beside her, I reach out with a tentative hand to check her forehead. She doesn't seem feverish. To Russ, I suggest, “I think you should take her to the hospital. Just to get checked out.”