by Rebel Hart
I need to feel anything intense I can get my hands on to fill this gaping hole and fear and powerlessness. I have never been so irritable in all of my life.
My mind goes through the possibilities. I could run away. I could catch a bus out of town and just ride it until it stops somewhere interesting. I could drive my car until it runs out of gas and just stay wherever I break down at.
But no, that would never be far enough away to keep me safe from the Elites. I have a feeling no matter where I try to run to, they’ll hunt me down and find me. Especially now that I know they’re motivated by some vendetta against my father.
I think again about telling mom and Brendan. But that thought is quickly squashed by the memories of her playing nice with Trey and Vincent. She was friends with their mom. I doubt she has any clue what these kids are really like.
Unless of course the Elites were like this back in her day too. I hope she never treated people like this. I can’t imagine it. But then again, I can’t imagine her being with an Elite either. Then of course I have to kick myself, knowing full well that if Emmett could be kind to me I would be his in a heartbeat.
I feel like if I even try to tell anyone outside of the Elites’ range of influence, they’ll think I’m lying. Or that I encouraged Emmett’s assault in some way. I am convinced my attraction to him is written all over my face.
The thought of explaining what is really going on with Emmett to anyone makes me sick. Even Lily would judge me for that, especially now. My mom would probably think I’m a freak and disown me. Brendan would be ashamed. I’m sure they think I’m smart and strong enough not to fall for someone so fucked up who treats me so terribly. Hell, I used to think I was too smart and strong for that, too.
When I get home, I hear my mom and Brendan rustling around in the living room. They’re home early. It sounds like they’re putting on a movie and settling in with some popcorn. I want more than anything to join them, but I’m too upset. I can’t hide it, and I can’t tell them anything.
I feel completely helpless. And as tired as I am of going through this alone, the only time I feel safe is when I’m alone. And even then, I’m plagued with paranoia over what will happen next. Especially now with this tracking device in my arm. I feel broken. Like something is wrong with me. I don’t know how I can ever go back to living a normal life after this.
Thankfully, I’m able to avoid my parents as I race to my bathroom. The spot on my shoulder where they sewed in the implant is still bleeding, and I have to bandage it up just to keep the blood off of my clothes.
I decide to take a bath to soothe my aching muscles, filling the hot steaming water with every bath product I can find that might bring me some peace and comfort.
I lay back into the bath water, my body still tingling and my legs feeling almost numb. The lavender scented steam rising up should comfort me. But nothing seems to be able to do that anymore.
I think back on the life I had before coming to WJ Prep and this Elites nightmare. I had friends to hang out with. People to talk to and go to the movies with. We goofed off at the park. Took bike rides. I had friends to jog with. I had fun. But now it all seems so far away.
I would give anything to have my regular running schedule back. I thought I knew what torture was. With what I used to put my body through. The hard, painful monotony. But those kinds of words have taken on a new meaning for me now.
I miss the thrill and sense of accomplishment. Since the Elites got their hands on me, I haven’t felt like I could do anything right. I remember the way I would sweat and the way my muscles would ache. Those sensations come for very different reasons these days.
God, I miss running.
I miss the satisfaction of it.
The pain that was gratifying…not relentless and out of my control like what I’ve come to know.
When I ran, I was in control. How fast and far I went was all up to me. A kind of freedom and responsibility that has become almost foreign to me.
I wonder when all of this is over…if it’s ever over…how hard I’ll need to run to wash all of this away.
I miss my old routes in Oklahoma. The newness of Jameson wore off quick. Any thrill of it was chased away by the Elites. And I can’t let myself forget the role that Emmett has played in that.
I should have known better when I first received that phone call from the Headmaster of Weis-Jameson Preparatory Academy. That scholarship was too good to be true. I wanted to think I had earned it. But now I know better. It was all just a part of the set up. The game.
I miss how hopeful and surprised I felt before school started. The exciting challenge of Coach Granger’s workouts.
Those memories all vanish before my eyes into some far-off distant haze, like the Epsom salts in my bath water.
Once I’m clean, I stare despondently around my room. Unsure if I should try to sleep or face my parents long enough to get some dinner. Nothing sounds appealing right now.
Instead, I find myself staring blankly out the window at some kids playing in the yard across the street. I watch as one kid takes the other’s two before they break out into a playful, but angry, wrestling match. I wonder if it’s just human nature for us to be greedy and hurt others to get what we want. It sure seems to be around here. In the land of the Elites. Where no part of the town seems to be untainted by their evil ways.
I finally collapse back onto my bed, my eyes glued open wide but blank. I know I won’t be able to sleep even though it’s what I want the most. Instead I am stuck in a state of waiting. And I don’t even know what exactly I’m waiting for. I’m at the mercy of whatever gets thrown my way next.
Chapter Fifteen
BOOK 1
I am so close to finding escape through sleep. At least I think I’m falling asleep and starting to dream. I’m back in the classroom, pinned to the wall by Emmett. It’s just the two of us. He’s kissing me, but this time he doesn’t stop. I push his hand away as his fingers trail between my legs, but he slams my wrist to the wall and carries on with his other hand. I should be angry. I should feel violated. But instead I’m just incredibly turned on.
When suddenly my phone starts ringing, jerking me awake.
“Great,” I think, rubbing my eyes as my hand blindly fumbles for my phone in the dark. “My only vacation from this nightmare is sleep, and I don’t even get that.”
I try to ignore the pool of wetness in my underwear as I answer.
“Hello?” I grumble, pressing the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I stretch.
Nothing. The line is silent aside from the faint shuffling that tells me someone is on the line. They’re just not saying anything.
It beeps and disconnects just as I am about to speak again.
Emmett wouldn’t call from an unknown number. He’d want me to know it was him. Any of the Elites would. And yet some mysterious person keeps contacting me. I’m fed up with not knowing who.
My heart stills with a chill that rolls over my skin. Vivian’s words echo through my ears. She had said my father was more involved in my life than I thought. What the hell was that supposed to mean? She obviously knows something I don’t.
He has to be the one calling and who sent the cryptic messages before. I used to think it was the Elites, but they have no reason to hide. They’d be much bolder in any attempt to make contact. They don’t fuck around.
No, this has to be my father. And I am not going to brush it off this time. After everything that’s happened, this fucker owes me an explanation. More than that, he owes it to me to do whatever it is the Elites are asking of him. Whatever it takes to get me off the hook. He has never done a thing for me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve to go down for whatever mess he’s gotten himself into.
My phone dings again. This time with a text. I race to light up the screen and read it, certain the message will be from my father.
You’re being watched. Close the blinds. Put on running clothes. Go to the living room and await further instr
uctions.
What the fuck. I hesitate to do anything some random mystery texter tells me. Especially without any kind of explanation.
My hands shake as I quickly type my response. Who is this?
No response. I look around nervously. Sure, I know the Elites are tracking me. But now I’m being watched by someone else too? I’m not even safe in my own home anymore.
I try again. Who the fuck is this?
Still nothing. My nerves get the better of me, and I decide there’s no benefit to the risk of ignoring their guidance. The Elites said we’re on a time limit. I don’t know how long they’ll give me to produce some kind of result, but right now I have nothing to work with. I’ll take what I can get. Any kind of stab in the dark to get some momentum.
I walk in the darkness and rush to close all of the blinds, looking up and down the dark streets as I go to see if any cars or people look suspicious. I see nothing out of the ordinary. The neighbor walking his dog. A woman taking her trash bin to the curb. Only the usual cars parked in their driveways. People carrying on with their ordinary lives. People who don’t have to worry about being stalked, tortured and tracked. I’m filled with envy.
I flip on my lamp and scramble to snatch up my nearest pile of running gear. I feel sick as I slide the clothes over my trembling body.
“Get it together, Ophelia,” I huff to myself as I shake my hands, wishing they’d steady themselves.
I check my phone again anxiously, but there’s still no further reply. With a few more paranoid, narrow-eyed glances out of my blinds, seeing nothing that gives away who could be watching me, I reluctantly make my way downstairs to the living room.
Mom and Brendan are still quiet and distracted with the couch and TV in the den. I try to be as quiet as possible, so they don’t rush in and start asking a bunch of questions.
My phone dings again almost the moment I enter the room, causing me to jump. Fucking ridiculous. They’re warning me I’m being watched while they’re watching me.
Drive to a McDonald’s and start running.
Perfect. That’s just what I want to do. I wish I could take comfort in knowing the Elites are tracking me. At least someone would know where to find me if I came up missing. And I have to assume they would come find me since they need something from me.
I blow a long, sharp breath from my cheeks, closing my eyes as I picture getting into my car at night and running from a dark and empty parking lot. With my luck lately, it’s the last thing I want to do. I’m convinced someone will be waiting to attack, but it feels like I have no other choice. I may be scared shitless, but I’m tired of being a pawn. This could be a way out, or at the very least, a way to get more information.
With a deep breath, I clutch my keys to my chest and swing my bag over my shoulder before heading out to my car. I don’t even turn on the radio as I drive. My thoughts and nerves are loud enough as it is. Any more noise would only make my never-ending headache worse.
Just as I was instructed, I drive to the nearest McDonald’s, park, and get out to look around. With no obvious threats around, I take off running. In a way, it’s exactly what I need. All of this drama has been leaving me too exhausted at the end of the day to take any evening runs. I have been longing for this kind of release ever since I laid soaking in the tub earlier this afternoon. And now here it is. If only it wasn’t under such crazy circumstances.
I relish in the feel of the night air swishing past me. The wind is numbing, biting at my ears and cheeks, but I love it. Right now I’ll settle for any kind of physical sensation that doesn’t come from the hands of the Elites…the hands of Emmett, specifically.
With each step, I want to feel like I’m closing in on something with this strange new development. This mystery caller. Maybe this will lead to a light at the end of the tunnel. Either that or finally put me out of my misery.
As soon as I get into a good stride and feel a moment of release, an expensive-looking black sports car rolls up beside me, speeding my heart to an alarming rate. As it squeals to a stop, I half expect the window to roll down and a gun to just start shooting. That’s how paranoid I’ve become.
I slow down and look over to see the driver’s side window rolling down, revealing a familiar face.
Malcolm Henderson. A satellite Elite from school. And he doesn’t appear to have a gun. So at least there’s that.
“You!?” I yell out in exasperation, feeling even more confused than before.
“I’ve been sent by your father,” he explains curtly.
Of course. I knew it. I knew this whole thing had to be his doing.
“How the hell do you know my father!?” I quip back, feeling too strung out for niceties.
“Everyone here knows your father, Ophelia,” he glares ominously. “I thought you would have figured that much out by now.”
“I guess I’m starting to. But you’d think that’d make things a little easier on me. If he’s such a big and important guy around here,” I lament bitterly.
“Well…I said everyone knows him,” he raises his brows, tilts his head and lifts his fingers briefly from the car door. “I didn’t say people like him.”
“And what about you?” I ask, leaning over with my hands on my knees as I catch my breath. “Do you like him?”
“My father and your father are very close. So, I suppose you could say I like him. Or rather, we’re helping each other out at the moment.” He reaches to his passenger seat and grabs a bottle of water, quickly tossing it in my direction.
“I didn’t think my father had anything to do with this town anymore,” I explain, twisting the cap of the bottle with an appreciative nod. I know I should be more hesitant and distrusting with Malcolm, but I’m too tired to put up any airs. “I thought he was long gone.”
“Get in,” he commands with a flip of the car door locks. “It’ll all start to make more sense if you come with me.”
I roll my shoulders and step toward the road to walk around the car, but something stops me. I remember the last time I followed a boy into his car. I duck down and peek into the backseat for an arsenal of weapons or any sign that he plans to torture me the way Emmett would after inviting me to take a ride with him.
It’s spotless. I take a deep breath and get in, against my better judgement.
The car speeds off, leaving me at Malcom’s mercy. I watch the familiar increase of house size fly by my window. The landscaped yards and all their pretentious ornaments. Giant mansions. Filled with haunting secrets, most probably connected to the Elites. Everything in this town is, especially anything bad and hidden away.
I grow nervous as he takes a dark side road, avoiding a fallen powerline. I wring my clammy hands around my cell phone, noting its loss of bars as we drive further away from civilization. What have I done? I am completely screwed.
“Relax,” Malcolm says, his eyes darting at my shifting arms and legs as I squirm in my seat. “I’m not going to hurt you. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. Quite the opposite actually. This will shed some light on a few things for you.”
“Oh, forgive me for not being so trusting,” I quip back sarcastically. “This town hasn’t exactly treated me well since I arrived.” My fingers graze across my bruised arms before I turn to look out the window again. “So, the calls and texts from before? Were they all you?”
“Well there’s no telling what all has been sent to you, but yes. Most of them probably were. I was hoping you’d catch up to things in time,” he explains, shifting the gear to accelerate faster down a dark and winding road.
“Catch up to what!?” I groan, stroking my forehead in exasperation. “Everyone is acting like my role is so important in whatever is going on. But I don’t know anything. And no one seems to want to tell me anything.”
“Be patient,” he insists with a frustrated huff. “I said this meeting will help with all of that.”
“Can you at least tell me who you’re taking me to meet with?” I ask earnestly, but he sha
kes his head in silence.
I press my head to the window in exhaustion, trying to push down the nervousness bubbling in my gut. I wrack my brain for what Malcolm Henderson and I could possibly have to talk about on this little road trip, since he seems intent on not discussing any of the things I need to know.
“I guess the Elites did all of that?” He nods toward the bruises I had been fidgeting with just moments ago.
Well, I guess that solves the issue of what we should talk about. But it’s also not a very fun topic of conversation.
“You say ‘the Elites’ like you’re not one of them,” I grumble resentfully, remembering Lily’s little chart of hierarchy that featured Malcolm and his family prominently.
“I’m not,” he states bluntly. “We’re tolerated by the Elites. More so than someone like you that’s blacklisted, but definitely not regarded warmly. My family’s fortune was built from the ground up in more recent generations. We can’t touch the old money of the Elites. But they work with us so long as we provide them with something profitable.”
“And what is it that your family provides for them?” I ask curiously, secretly delighting in a conversation with someone that doesn’t involve beating or shouting. But of course, it still has to revolve around the great and mighty Elites. That seems to be all my life is about anymore.
“We own a software company that services the Jameson Automobile Corporation,” he explains. “Open the glovebox.” I pull the compartment open, grabbing a brochure that he motions to. “That tells you about our company.”
I nod in a sort of stunned silence as I flip through. The ties to Jameson Automobiles really are endless. It’s like the whole town is just one giant web with that one company smack dab in the middle. You either work for them, are controlled by them or hated by them. There doesn’t seem to be any other way to fit into this elaborate social circle.
Something resting beneath where the brochure just was catches my eye. It’s a strip of photos from the booth at the mall, featuring Malcolm making a series of funny faces. He must be a few years younger in them. But then I notice the face next to his in the photos that causes my hand to shoot out and snatch the strip up to take a closer look.