by Hanna Peach
The present…
“Repeat it,” Caden demands.
“I just did.”
“Repeat it again.”
“Weren’t you listening the first time?”
“Jesus, just repeat it or we’re taking off.”
“Fine.” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Call once. Don’t tell Dixie where I am or that I’m with you. Don’t speak for more than thirty seconds. If she doesn’t answer, don’t leave a message. When I’m finished, wipe down anything I touch so I don’t leave any prints. See? I didn’t miss anything.”
Caden stares at me with narrowed eyes. He leans over so he can undo the handcuff around my wrist. His arm brushes against my chest and I hope he doesn’t feel my nipples harden through his sleeve. I turn my head when I catch the smell of his musk and wood smoke, and I hold my breath.
Jesus, hurry up with that cuff already.
Finally my hand is freed. He pulls back away from me and I gulp at air. He jerks his chin forward towards the payphone booth I can see through the windscreen.
I almost bounce out of the car, but he stops me by catching me around the wrist. His firm hand around me reminds me of the restraints he uses in bed, causing a flush of lust to go through me. Stupid body. I told you I need protecting from him.
His eyes burn into mine. “I’ll be watching.” I’m sure you will.
I can still feel those eyes on me as I walk the short distance from the car to the payphone. When I turn my head to look back, he’s sitting forward over his wheel and sucking his thick bottom lip between his teeth. My first thought is that he looks nervous. On edge. Like he thinks I may run from him. My second thought goes along the lines of, Excuse me. May I suck on that lip for you?
He keeps sending quick glances at the rearview mirror, which I know must reflect the entrance of the gas station. I know he parked in that exact spot deliberately. Not just so he can sit between me and the exit, but so he could keep an eye on me whilst subtly keeping an eye on everything else.
Turns out Caden is just as paranoid as me. Scratch that, he’s even more paranoid than I am. He didn’t even want to stop to let me make this phone call. But I had to. I just had to.
Caden and I are at a gas station some miles out of the way of where we’re headed. He specifically drove out of our way just so I could make this call.
I curl the cord of the payphone around my finger as the dial tone rings. The sun is already hot and high in the sky, and sweat is beading across my lip and brow in this mini greenhouse of a payphone booth.
Through the scratched and dirty glass I can see Caden tensing as a car pulls into the gas station and parks near a pump. In my ear the dial tone clicks off and an answering machine turns on. Dixie’s voice comes on:
“Hey y’all, I’m not home so leave me a message.”
Jeff’s voice sneaks in, “And if you’re hot you’ll wanna leave one for me.” There is a clicking noise and I imagine Jeff making that silly little noise as he winks at the answering machine and clicks his fingers out like a pistol. God, I miss them already. I smile even though it hurts.
Then the message tone beeps. And I just can’t hang up. So I turn my back to Caden so he can’t see my lips and start to speak even though I’m not supposed to. “Hey, Dix, it’s me. I’m sorry about leaving like that this morning. Something came up.” Caden was what had come up. When he abducted me from Dixie’s house and just happened to leave my backpack with the only cash I had behind so I’d be reliant on him. Bastard.
I continue, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m−”
Someone picks up the phone. Dixie’s comforting drawl comes on the line and I heave a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, honey. I was just on my way out. Are you okay? Where the hell are you?”
Chapter Six
Three years ago…
“Where the hell is he?”
“We don’t know. He got away.”
“What do you mean, ‘he got away’?” I hear my voice screeching out as my mind struggles to process the new information that Senior Detective Moore just handed to me.
After my rescue I was taken back to another safehouse and my minor injuries – bruises, cuts, scrapes − were attended to by a medic. I never did get to say thank you to the man who risked his life to pull me out of the warehouse. He disappeared back into the line of fire after he took me to the medic van waiting nearby.
I had been told that the police had planted a GPS tracker in one of the shoes that they had given me and didn’t tell me. They said I couldn’t give away what I didn’t know, or something like that. The raid on the warehouse had saved my life and they had managed to capture most of Jacob’s men. But apparently not Jacob himself.
Senior Detective Moore stands in front of me now, his face calm like he isn’t giving me the worst news I could hear right now. “Don’t worry. We’ll get Jacob Tyrell.”
“But you don’t have him now. And he knows that I ratted him out. Which means he could be on his way here right now to kill me. Oh my God.” I’m shaking so hard that my teeth are chattering in my head like dice in a gambler’s cup. That is what going to the police had been, I realize. A gamble. I threw my dice in with the law because I thought they would protect me, but I lost.
Shit.
The detective wraps his hands around my shoulders. “Sit down, relax.”
I yank myself out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me.”
“We won’t let him get to you. We’ll put you in protective custody until we get him.”
“Protective custody? Protective custody? He managed to get past your fucking protective custody last time.”
“Only when you were being transferred. Your actual relocation was never compromised.”
“So you’re just going to dump me back into that shitty town?”
“Just until we catch him again.”
“Don’t you get it? The only reason you caught him in the first place was because he wanted to be caught. You’ll never catch him now.”
“We will. In the meantime I promise you, you’re safe.”
Safe.
Even in this supposedly failproof, hidden and impossible-to-find safehouse I feel Jacob’s eyes watching me. I glance around and all I see are his eyes. My skin erupts into shivers as I run to the window.
“What are you doing?” Detective Moore calls out after me.
“He’s watching me. He can see me.” My voice cracks when I speak. I grab the blinds and drop them down, cutting out the daylight. Then I run to the next window and wrestle with the blinds.
Everyone’s eyes in the room are on me. Like Jacob’s are. The detective and the two sergeants there to guard me are just watching me. “Why are you just standing there? Why aren’t you helping me?”
One of the sergeants − his name is Charlie − is the only one who moves. He comes towards me, his hands up in a placating motion. “You have to calm down. Jacob isn’t here. He can’t find you.”
I turn my eyes towards Detective Moore. “What if he followed you here, huh? Or had you followed? Ever think of that?”
“I wasn’t followed. Relax. We’ll protect you.”
Now I can barely breathe. Oh God. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t.” I hear my voice falling into a repetitive chant. A progressive march into madness.
I want someone to hold me. I need it. I need the warm, reassuring touch of another human being. Something to anchor me. To soothe me. But Charlie doesn’t move any closer to me. Neither does Detective Moore. Comforting me is not their job. So the three men just stand there, watching me shake.
That night, I lay in one of the beds of the safehouse. It’s old and the mattress creaks. Every time I move I scare myself with the sounds it makes, like a footstep on a loose board. Tomorrow they’re supposed to be transferring me back to the house I have lived in for the last two years with my grandparents. I can’t bear the thought of telling my grandparents, my sweet old grandparents that they still can’t
go back to their lives. I can’t bear to tell them that they’re still in danger because of me. Just being around me puts them in danger.
What happens when Jacob finds me? He’ll kill them to hurt me. Or he’ll use them against me.
I can’t do it. I can’t risk it. I can’t drag them along with me further into this nightmare. I’m a danger to the ones I love.
So I have to leave. My grandparents are better off without me around. Without me there Jacob has no need to harm them. Yes, I must leave. I’m doing this to protect them. To protect me. No one will fight for me or protect me like I can. And the police can’t keep me safe from him. They’ve already proven that.
I’m all I’ve got.
I remember what my granddad said to me the last time I saw him… “In the depths of winter, you’ll finally find that within you there lays an invincible summer.”
It’s time for me to find mine.
In the middle of the night I sneak out of bed and dress. I shove my wallet in a backpack along with a few sets of clothes. I’ll stop at a cash machine somewhere and use my bank card for the last time. Otherwise I’d be too easy to find. I’ll withdraw what money I have left. It’ll be less than two hundred dollars but I’ll make it work. I’ll survive. Like I always do.
I slip on a pair of sneakers and make up the bed with the pillows so it looks like I’m still sleeping there. I doubt very much it’ll fool them, but I do it anyway. Keeping the light in my bedroom off, I creep over to the bedroom door, a small line of light shining in underneath from the living room outside. I squeeze the handle down and open the door a crack. Peering out I can see both officers sitting in the living room watching something on the TV that has been turned down real low. The one in the recliner is asleep, his soft snores slightly louder than the television. The other one is awake and he’s sitting so that if I open this door and try and sneak out, he’ll see me.
I’ll have to go through the window. I close my bedroom door and slip over to the other side of the room. I study the window. It’s a double casement window, one of those kinds that slides up to open. Thankfully we’re on the ground floor.
I open the lock and pull up the window, my heart thudding faster in my chest. The window makes a creaking noise as it slides up and I wince. Then it jams on a sticky spot. I try to ease it up but it won’t budge. I eye the gap. No, it’s not big enough for me to squeeze out.
I take a deep calming breath and shove the base of the window. It moves past the sticking point with a thud. Shit. I pause in a panic. My ears prick. I swear any second now the officers outside will bust into this room and catch me. Any second now…
But the door doesn’t open. Perhaps the thud was louder to my paranoid ears. Perhaps they didn’t hear it over the noise of the television. I turn back to the window and ease it up slowly until it’s wide enough for me to get through. I drop my backpack out first into the small bed of flowers around the base of the window. Then, checking that the coast is clear, I slip my leg over the sill then squeeze my body through.
I drop onto the ground below, crushing a few flowers, and they let off a soft sweet smell. I grab my backpack and slide around the house, careful of my step and ducking under any windows so I won’t be seen from inside. When I hit the pavement outside, I start to run. And I don’t stop running.
Chapter Seven
The present…
“You took your time,” Caden says to me as I climb back into the car.
“Whatever.”
“You spoke to her?”
“None of your business.”
His eyes narrow at me. I turn my head to stare out the windscreen. He leans over me and I press against the seat to try to keep distance between us. It’s not working. His proximity means my heart has already started thumping.
“Give me your wrist.”
“You are not handcuffing me.”
“This isn’t up for discussion. Give me your hand.”
“No.”
He leans in so close that all I can see are his eyes. “I will use force.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Not a chance.”
I flinch as his words stab me through the heart. No, he doesn’t, does he. He doesn’t trust me with his secrets, he doesn’t trust me with his heart. I feel my eyes well up with tears. I know he’s noticed it because he flinches back, and for a split second a look of guilt flashes across his face. I turn my head away from him and stick out my hand.
“Fine,” I mumble. “Cuff me if that’s the only reason you think I’ll stay.”
There’s a short pause. Then I hear a clinking. He’s put the cuffs away. “It’s fine,” he says and he starts the car. “You don’t need to be cuffed.” He’s not even looking at me when he speaks.
I yank my hand back and tuck it across my chest. I lean into the window and wish I were anywhere but here.
Since we left the gas station, neither Caden nor I have spoken. I have so much to say to Caden, so much to ask that I don’t know where to start. Who are you? How much of us is a lie? Do you love me?
We enter a city and I sit up as I read the sign: “Welcome to Palmdale”. Palmdale. For some reason the name of this city sounds familiar. But I can’t think of why. We drive through the outskirts and the familiar sprawl of suburbia begins.
Twenty minutes later we’re in what looks like a residential suburb. I haven’t recognized anything yet and I’m sure I’ve never been here. So why does the name Palmdale seem so familiar? This area is all huge blocks and high fences and there are no cars parked on either side of the road. This place is strange. Sterile, almost. Where are the laughing children on the road? Where are the garbage bins and stuffed letterboxes and any of those other signs of neighborhood clutter? Where are the cars parked on the side of the roads?
“Where are we?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer this question. Why am I surprised? Instead he says, “We’re almost there.”
I want to ask him where “there” is supposed to be, but I don’t. He won’t answer it anyway. This question, along with all the other questions, sits tightly in this crowded space inside me. How many more unanswered questions will it hold? And what happens when it won’t hold anymore?
We turn onto another quiet street. It’s lined with tall trimmed bushes that hide what’s on the other side. We pull in before a set of iron gates that start to swing aside, and my mouth drops open. Through the bars of the opening gate is a white stark-looking mansion, a long driveway leading from this set of gates to the front door. Between us and the mansion is a lawn of untidy, overgrown grass and weeds. I recognize this house instantly from the black and white picture in my memory.
This is the house that Caden grew up in.
No, this is the house that Harper Lexington grew up in.
What the hell? Does he still live here? My skin prickles with the thought. I realize this is why Palmdale sounds so familiar. This is Caden’s hometown.
I chance a glance at Caden. But his face is as stoic as the building we are driving towards. I stare at the unkempt lawn and remember how tidy and pristine it looked in that newspaper article photo. For some reason it makes me unbelievably sad that a garden could be so unloved and uncared for now. Does it mean that no one is left to care for it? Does he live here alone?
The driveway curves around a grey slate fountain set in front of the front door. The fountain doesn’t run and from the looks of things it doesn’t have any water in the pond. Caden doesn’t pull up at the front door but keeps going and hooks a left and into a large garage that is already open and waiting for us.
Sorry, did I say large? I meant that a small village could live in this damn garage. Holy Jesus. We basically drive across a football field of concrete and white painted bays of shiny cars before Caden parks in a bay nearest the left hand back corner next to a few motorbikes. I recognize the distinct red glow of a Ferrari. And that, my friends, is a shiny black Porsche Carrera. Whoa.
The garage door starts to close, an
d the daylight outside slides away, leaving us in a dim light. Dim because one of the lights in this garage appears not to be working. It looks like the light bulbs in here aren’t being changed frequently either.
Dear God. He bought me to his home. He brought me to his home, the space that he fills with the truest of who he is. Where he spends his most vulnerable hours when he sleeps. The space where he gets to be him without the world watching. The place he fills with what is important to him.
He brought me here. I must be important to him, beyond his job. Bringing me to his home is the most intimate thing he could have done at this very moment to show me that he is actually trying to open up to me. He wants me to know him, even if he can’t actually say it. My heart fills with hope that this strange silence between us can be filled.
I look to the left at the only door, which I assume leads to the house. I’m dying of curiosity and yet equally terrified as to what I may find inside.
Caden puts on the hand brake and he turns off the engine. But instead of opening his door, his hand goes back onto the wheel. He stares straight ahead, his beautiful profile pulled into the slightest of frowns. I can tell he wants to say something. There is so much that I want to say, too.
“You brought me to your home.” It tumbles out a breathless rush.
“Yes.”
“But this is... your home… where…” I trail off as I see a slight wince to his mouth and catch the whitening of his knuckles on the wheel.
“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.
Maybe it’s because I’m tired and my usual cautious internal censors have stopped working. Maybe I am just sick of withholding my questions. Or maybe I am encouraged because he bought me here. I ask, “Why did you stay here? In this home, I mean.”
The only indication that he has heard me is that he blinks three times in rapid succession. But he remains silent. So I talk to fill the space between us. “I mean, isn’t it painful being here with… you know, with what happened all those years ago…” my voice fades into nothing when I see his forehead crinkle. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked.”