by Hannah Jayne
No one answered.
Riley tried the door and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. She dumped her backpack and went to the backyard, yanking the sliding glass door and trying all the windows. She was locked out—keys inside, cell phone tucked in her father’s desk drawer.
“Crap.”
She was coming around the front again when she noticed the black car parked across the street. It was a few houses down and with the headlights off, bled into the darkness.
Riley took a step, and the headlights flipped on. The gravel crunched under her sneakers, and the black car’s engine came gurgling to life.
A cold sliver of fear raced up her spine, and her adrenaline started to rush.
She fisted her hands and started down the sidewalk, aiming toward the glowing lights of the realtor office and the cheery faux neighborhood of houses behind it. Riley’s was one of the houses at the furthest end of the horseshoe-shaped development, so she walked with purpose, her heart hammering as she passed the bones of houses yet to be finished. She didn’t need to turn to know the black car was following her.
As she sped up, it did too, the patter of its engine swallowing up the sounds of her sneakers pounding the pavement. She sidestepped into the dirt, cutting through a gravelly front yard and slipping into a new model that was half studs, half walls. She dipped behind a piece of wallboard, and the black car flipped on its high beams. Blinding white light flooded over the house.
Riley was certain the sound of her heart slamming against her ribcage would give her away as she huddled down. The sweat beaded on her upper lip, and her teeth were chattering. The wallboard stopped about three feet to her left, and the rest of the houses were an unhelpful forest of narrow two-by-fours. Behind her, the wrought iron gate penned her in.
She was trapped.
The car engine revved and then all at once, Riley was plunged back into darkness.
Riley let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. The engine had cut too, and while her eyes worked to adjust to the pitch black, her ears pricked, trying to pick some semblance of sound out of the silence.
And then she heard it. The car door opening. The sound of a boot digging into the gravel. She heard someone suck on a cigarette, smelled the faint tarry smell as it carried on the breeze.
The man ground out the cigarette and took another step.
Riley rolled to her hands and knees, but her muscles felt slack and heavy. She willed herself forward, cringing as bits of wood splintered into her clawing fingertips and the toes of her shoes shifted debris underneath her. Her breath was coming in quick, short bursts. Her heart was pounding. Everything she did was loud.
“Come out, come out,” the man sang, his voice deep and eerie.
Riley crawled to another corner and quietly slipped off the house’s foundation. She was lying on her back, pressing her body into the dirt, trying to blend into the dirt and new construction.
She refused to think what was wriggling underneath her.
“Riley?”
Her skin crawled when he said her name.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
He took another hard step and the wood floor slab vibrated under his weight.
I have to get out of here, Riley thought. The tears were pouring from her eyes, rolling over her cheeks and wetting the earth on either side of her. If I don’t get out of here now, he’s going to find me.
“Come out, come out wherever you are…Jane.”
NINE
Terror, like a heavy weight, set on Riley’s chest.
“I need to talk about your parents, Glen and Nadine.”
Riley’s stomach turned over.
Now. Nownownownownow.
She shifted in the dirt, clenching her eyes shut when a pebble rolled away from her foot. The man stopped laughing, and Riley lunged forward, vaulting across the front yard and onto the sidewalk. She ran hard, her feet aching, her thighs burning. She kept her eye focused on the first house on the block, the one with glowing lights and a car parked in the driveway.
They’ll save me, she thought. They’ll let me in.
She could hear the man’s boots clatter onto the pavement behind her. She could hear his hard breathing, feel him as he closed the gap between them. Something inside her propelled her forward, past her burning muscles and pinching lungs, and she jumped over a shrub, her feet pounding across the pristine green lawn. The front door was only inches away.
Riley reached, feeling like her muscles were tearing, her fingernails scraping the door. When she got traction, she pounded with her fists, mashed the doorbell. She could hear the stupid, slow chime gently ringing.
“Let me in!” she screamed. “Please let me in!”
She grabbed the knob and miraculously, the door fell open.
“Call the police! Call the police!” The tears were streaming down her face now, and everything that she ignored came surging back, all together, paralyzing her body in one aching mess. “Call the—”
Riley stopped. All the lights were blazing, and a few pristine pieces of living room furniture were set in the main window, but nobody was there. The kitchen was set up with a bowl of fake fruit on a shiny wooden table and a telephone on the counter.
She bolted for it.
Her fingers closed around the receiver and she dialed 9-1-1 without waiting for a dial tone.
Nothing happened.
“Hello? Hello?”
She yanked the phone and it plopped right off the counter, thunking to the hardwood floor below. It had no wires. No telephone jack.
Her hands started to shake.
A crash against the glass door in front of her snapped her attention, and Riley could see the man, his fists slamming against the door. Each slam shook the glass and rattled the teeth in Riley’s head. The glare from the light cut across his face, and Riley knew that if she just stepped forward, she could see who he was—but she refused to step forward.
“Come on, Jane!”
She was close enough to see the spittle come out of his mouth. She took a staggering step back, feeling the phone digging into her ankle.
And then she was falling.
It happened in slow motion. She could see the roosters on the kitchen wallpaper arcing gently as her body went down, down. She felt the crush of her bones as she hit the floor, first her hip, then her shoulder, and finally her head. Somewhere, she heard the sickening smack of flesh against wood, and then the pain was pinballing through her. Her ears rang, and a blanket of red covered her eyes.
Vaguely, she heard footsteps. Then hands working their way under her arms. She felt the prick of her hair breaking as someone tried to gather her up. Riley knew she should fight. She knew she should scream. Those were the last thoughts she had before the darkness fell over her.
• • •
Riley opened her eyes and her body arced in pain. It screamed from her hip, from her arms; she felt like her lungs had been overinflated then popped.
“Mom?”
“Oh, Riley, thank God.”
Riley blinked, trying to clear the fuzz from her head. “What happened? Where am I?”
“You’re at home, in your bed. We were hoping you could tell us what happened.”
She pinched her eyes shut, the evening coming back in fragments. She remembered the man, the car, the clawing terror. “There was someone chasing me.” Riley cleared her throat and her mother handed her a cup of water with a plastic straw.
“Take it easy.”
“How did you find me?”
Her mother breathed in a deep sigh. “Someone from the realty office called your father’s phone.”
“And?”
She looked away. “Someone reported that there was a young woman running down the street, screaming. He said she went into one of the model homes.”
Riley struggled to sit up. “Did they get him? The man who was chasing me, did they get him?”
Mrs. Spencer’s eyes looked glassy and she blinked away tears. “There wasn’t anyone chasing you, sweetie.”
Riley’s breath caught. “Yes, there was.”
“The young man who called said he saw you run away from the house. He said you tried the door and then took off running. He didn’t mention a man.”
“Well then, he didn’t see him. But he was in a black car and he knew my name.” Riley clutched at the neck of her nightgown that seemed uncomfortably tight. “He knew her too. He was coming after me. He was pounding on the sliding glass door.”
Riley’s mother said nothing as a tear slid down her cheek.
“If you don’t believe me, just go outside. There has to be tire marks and, and, he was pounding on the sliding glass door. He was screaming. He was spitting.”
Her mother reached out and cupped her hand. “There was no one there, Riley.”
She snatched her hand away. “Yes, there was.”
“Why didn’t you just come home?”
“Because I left my keys here. And Dad took my cell phone.” Riley could hear the frustrated quiver in her voice. “You weren’t here. The door was locked. I couldn’t get in.”
Riley watched her mother press her lips together and look away then slide Riley’s backpack off her desk. She unzipped a pouch, and Riley’s heart stopped. Her keys and her cell phone were nestled in the front pouch, just like they always were. She shook her head.
“No, they weren’t there. They were here. I left my keys on the kitchen table and Dad took my phone.”
“He gave it back to you last night.”
“No, no, he didn’t. I didn’t have it.”
“Riley, honey, did you stop taking your pills?”
Riley could feel the flush of heat over her cheeks. “My pills?”
Her mother dug into the backpack and produced the wadded-up Ziploc Riley used to hide the pills she spit out each morning.
Riley swallowed. “I don’t like them.”
“That’s fine, honey, but you shouldn’t have stopped cold turkey. It’s dangerous. There are all sorts of side effects.”
Fire burned in Riley’s gut. “Like thinking I’m being chased? I was. I was!” She kicked off the covers and tried to stand up, but her legs were heavy and noodly. Her mother rushed toward her and helped her gently back to bed.
“Don’t stand up. I’ve given you something to relax.”
“What?” Riley’s vision already started to blur. “You gave me drugs?”
Her mother stood up and pulled the blankets to Riley’s chin, tucking them in all around her. “We’ve all had a rough day, Riley. Go to sleep.” She straightened and smiled, her palm cool against Riley’s forehead. “Don’t you worry about anything. Your dad and I have it all taken care of.”
• • •
The clattering of dishes in the sink woke Riley the next morning. Her muscles were raw and sore and her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
“Mom?” Riley took a tentative step then picked her way down the stairs. Her mother was scrubbing a dish, but she turned when Riley walked in.
“How are you feeling?”
“OK. Where’s Dad?”
Riley’s mom waggled a coffee mug. “Gone to get coffee. He really needed to clear his head. Riley, I—”
Riley stepped back, holding up a hand. “Can we not talk about it right now? My head is killing me.”
Her mother sighed, exasperated. But there was something else too—exhaustion.
“Can I go for a walk?”
“That’s not—”
“Please, Mom? Just around the block?”
“Ten minutes.”
Riley nodded and scrambled for the door, ignoring the pain in her limbs. Someone had chased her; she wasn’t going crazy. And she was going to prove it.
Riley crossed the street, crouching down on the blacktop and scrutinizing it. She followed the path the black car had taken until she reached the house where she had hidden. There was a litter of dirt across the driveway and Riley ran toward it, sure that it would have tracked the car’s tire marks.
The dirt was undisturbed.
She searched around the house and found a trail of footprints—size seven and a half, hers. There was only one set. Riley dropped down on her hands and knees and began searching, inch by inch. She was vaguely aware of time passing or cars driving by, but she was desperate to find something—desperate to prove she wasn’t crazy.
“Riley!”
Riley’s head snapped up as her father coasted to a stop and got out of the car.
“Dad!”
His hand closed over her wrist. “Come on. We’re going home.”
Riley tried to pull back. “I don’t want to.”
Her father cut his eyes to her. There was something in them Riley had never seen before—something hard, something fierce. Fear zinged down her spine. “Dad?”
“Do you know how panicked we were yesterday? Your mother was sick. We asked you to trust us.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I really hope you do.”
Riley blinked into her father’s eyes—mesmerized and paralyzed. She felt her feet moving. She fell into step behind him, his palm still closed over her wrist. He said nothing to her but he was standing too tall, too straight, and his posture spoke volumes. He was angry, frustrated, sad. His jaw was clenched, and Riley veered back, knowing better than to talk.
Instead, she let herself be led, closing her mind off to the wild possibilities that were ricocheting inside her skull: she was being led like a lamb to the slaughter. Like an unruly teen by her frustrated father. Like a victim with the man who stole her.
• • •
Riley sat in the front seat, staring silently out the windshield.
“Where did you go?” her father asked.
Riley pretended she didn’t hear him.
“Did you talk to anyone?”
Again, silence.
“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, Ry.”
She turned slowly, staring at her dad’s profile. “So are you.”
“We’re going to explain everything in a second. But, Riley, honestly, you can’t just go running off like that. Not you. Not now.”
Riley was sure she felt her heartbeat slow. “Who’s Tim?”
Her father’s eyebrows went up. “Tim? I don’t know any Tim. What are you taking about?”
Riley bit into her bottom lip, relishing the metallic taste of blood that filled her mouth. It was real. She wasn’t sure anything else was.
“Why, Dad?”
“What?”
“Why the secrecy? Why the lies? If I’m really Jane—”
Her father’s glare was sharp. “I want you to forget you ever heard that name, you hear me? Jane O’Leary is gone now.”
Riley turned in her seat, her glare as fierce as her father’s. “I’m right here.”
Her father clapped a palm to his forehead and dragged it over the back of his head. Riley noticed that his hair was thinning, something she hadn’t noticed before.
“Ry, you don’t understand what you’re dealing with. This isn’t a silly teenage thing. You’ve got to believe me. You’ve got to trust us.” He blew out a sigh that Riley swore hitched on a sob. “Please, honey, you’ve got to trust us.”
Something stabbed at Riley’s heart. This was her father. His hair was thinning and there were wrinkles around his eyes—not just when he smiled now, but all the time. She wanted to soften. She wanted all of this to go away so she could crawl in between her parents while they watched a black-and-white movie, eating popcorn while her father did some stupid impression.
But none of that was real.
Riley refused
to cry. She spent the rest of the ride staring straight ahead, back ramrod straight, her teeth digging into her lips, begging not to cry.
• • •
They were only driving a few blocks, but it seemed to take forever. The asphalt seemed to peel on, inch after inch, going achingly slow. When they finally crested the slope in front of her, Riley suddenly wished the ride were longer.
Her heart started to speed up again, and her stomach folded in on itself. She played with the automatic window button, sliding the window all the way down, gulping in a few breaths of fresh, ocean-tinged air, and sliding the window closed again. They turned the corner onto Riley’s street and ice water shot through her veins.
There was no one else in the neighborhood. Even the other house where a family lived was shut up tight. The sound of car doors slamming—Riley’s and her father’s—echoed against emptiness.
Riley’s throat was dry and she found herself reaching out instinctively, grabbing for her dad. Her fingers found the edge of his sweater and she held it like she did as a small child, her fingertips brushing over his wrist.
“I’m scared, Dad.”
She expected the word “dad” to sound wrong in her mouth—to look wrong on this man. But she felt more attached to him than ever.
He reached back and pulled Riley to him, crushing her in a tight hug.
“What’s going on?” Riley whispered again.
“I’m so sorry, Ry,” he breathed, kissing the top of her head.
TEN
Riley trailed behind her father, walking toward the house like a condemned traitor to a hanging. Halfway there, her father turned around and held his hand out to her. Riley rushed toward him and he pulled her into a hug. She wanted to rewind a week, back to when she was Riley Spencer and no one else, when she would skulk around her bedroom on Saturday nights because her overprotective parents wouldn’t let her go anywhere. But time had passed, and her father had aged, and Riley Spencer had no idea who she was.
Her mother was waiting at the front door, her hands crossed in front of her chest, holding her elbows. Riley wondered if her mother had always been that fragile-looking, always been that fine-boned. Her eyes were red-rimmed but she smiled at Riley anyway—a smile that was half welcoming, half apologetic.