by S. Massery
I sit up straighter. “Where’s Caleb?”
A man walks into the room as I’m asking, and he raises an eyebrow. “He really fooled you, huh?”
I flinch.
The doctor stands, shaking his head. “Really, Masters? You’re supposed to wait for Angela—”
“I’m here,” she says, slipping in behind the detective. “Traffic. I was across town. Margo, how are you feeling?”
“I’m alive, so…”
“Detective Masters wants to chat with you about what happened,” she explains. “I’m here to be your advocate.”
I nod, and the doctor leaves. I’m sad to see him go—even if I didn’t catch his name, he was nice. The detective takes his place at the side of my bed. He drags a chair over and makes himself comfortable, adjusting for a moment.
He has dark eyes and a smooth head. His leather jacket doesn’t scream detective, but it definitely fits his personality. There’s a badge at his hip and a holstered gun on the other side of his body.
“As Angela so kindly explained, I’m Detective Jim Masters. I’m just going to ask you some questions about yesterday.”
I shoot up. “Yesterday? It’s been—”
“About twenty-seven hours since the accident,” he says. “Your abductor brought you in around five o’clock yesterday evening. You were unconscious.”
I frown. “Why would they do that?”
He leans forward. “They? Did you see anything that could help me?”
I shudder. I’d forgotten that part.
He held the cloth over my face.
I tried to resist it, I really did. But then, I made the mistake of opening my eyes.
I take a deep breath and meet the detective’s gaze.
It’s time to name my kidnapper.
“It was Matt Bonner.”
Past
The room was cold. The surface of the table in front of me was sticky. Spilled milk, maybe, or coffee that hadn’t been wiped away.
I avoided putting my arms on the table, keeping them crossed over my chest instead. The entire house smelled like spoiled food. Like death.
“Some lady is here for you.” The foster mom sweeps into the kitchen like she was the queen of the castle, and she didn’t notice it was rotting. “Not sure why anyone would want to visit with you. Did you even brush your hair this morning?”
I was fourteen, not four, but I didn’t bother pointing that out. I left my cereal—maybe that was the spoiled smell—untouched and went to the front door.
I yanked it open, more shocked than not to see my mom standing on the porch.
Houses like this always had porches. Big wraparound ones that made everyone else in the neighborhood jealous, but it was the inside that was bleak. Pretty outside, sick inside.
She fidgeted. There were spots on her neck, bruises. A scrape across her cheek.
I always took inventory when she showed up.
She hated me, but she checked up on me.
It was our little secret.
Her attention went from my face to the thrift store clothes, then down to my boots. They were falling apart. The laces broke the other day, and I had to duct tape them back together so I could keep wearing them.
Boots were more practical in everyday life than soft-topped sneakers. You could run in boots. Kick shit in them. Stomp on your enemies in them.
I cleared my throat.
Her gaze snapped up. “I heard you moved. How…”
“Shithole house,” I said, moving past her. Down the stairs, all the way to the sidewalk. It wasn’t often I got to take a deep breath of clean air. “The foster mom’s a bitch. Her husband is even worse.”
He leered.
They had sex in the middle of the night, the box spring squealing. She never made a noise, but he did. Grunts that filled our ears. The smallest girl would climb into bed with me, burying her head in my chest under the covers.
At my age, I knew about sex—but I didn’t want to think about it. And I definitely didn’t want to hear it almost every night.
Mom followed. “Karma’s a bitch, too.”
I snorted. “Gee, thanks.”
“They giving you an allowance?”
Part of me still wanted to be loved by my mother, and I would do anything to get her to stay. If I gave her money—like I had in the past—she would come back.
It wasn’t guesswork.
She would run out of money again, and then she’d show up wherever I was. Even if it was only for a few minutes.
But right now, I had nothing.
“Can you tell me about your adventures?” I stall. “Where you’ve been, or…”
“I’ve been dealing with a loss,” she told me. She kept tapping her finger against her arm. Crossed and uncrossed them. Shifted her weight. “And coping the only way I know how.”
I sighed. “What is it now?”
I knew it was drugs. Angela and Lydia had both told me, around the same time, that my mother was giving up her parental rights. She’d been checked into a rehabilitation center only a few months after Dad was locked up.
I blamed him for her addiction.
As much as I hated him, I couldn’t give her the same level of loathing. It wasn’t her fault.
I wondered who she lost. Dad, maybe?
“You could go see Dad,” I said. “If you’re feeling like he’s gone.”
She scowled. “No.”
It’d been four years. Maybe she saw him and didn’t want to tell me. She tended to be petty like that. She blamed me. Everything was my fault.
Sometimes I wondered how we got here.
“Margo, I need to go,” she said. “You were right. I’ve been traveling a lot. I’ve been working in the city. But I was late because my car broke down, and they fired me…”
“What are you hooked on?” I repeated.
She turned away from me. I hated the sharp angles of her body. She used to be soft—someone worth hugging. Now, her bones threatened to slice through her skin every time she moved. There were marks not only on her neck and face, but track marks in the crook of her elbow. I saw it even when she tried to hide it.
It was August.
It was hot.
No one wore long-sleeve t-shirts in August. Only a drug addict.
“If you can’t help me, I’ll leave.” She took three quick steps back, her shoes scraping on the concrete.
“I don’t have anything,” I whispered.
Our little secret was about to end. If I couldn’t make her stay… she wouldn’t come back.
Mom shifted again, pulling at the hem of her shirt. She was backing away, shaking her head. Strands of dark hair slid from the clip on top of her head, getting caught in the wind.
“Take care of yourself,” I told her.
I stayed rooted to the spot until she was gone. Down the street, around the corner.
I glanced back at the house. It was shuttered, dark. Now that I knew what the inside was like, I could spot the flaws on the exterior. Cracked foundation and a crumbling roof. Ivy burrowed in the stucco walls, gripping like its life depends on it.
Me too, ivy.
They wouldn’t notice if I went for a walk.
All my belongings were on my back, anyway.
Mom didn’t want me. The foster system certainly didn’t want me.
Maybe I’d just keep walking until I found someone who did.
Present
The detective is skeptical.
Angela is clueless.
And my head freaking kills.
At my request, they turned off most of the lights. A single bulb glows behind my head. It illuminates their faces and hides mine—not that I mind that. The detective is staring at me in a way that tells me he thinks I’m lying. Ignoring that, I clutch a cup of water in both hands and tell them all about Matt Bonner.
Lion’s Head boy. Caleb’s secret friend and public enemy. Nice—or so I thought.
“A friend of Caleb’s?” He latches on to that.
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I shrug. “I don’t know much about it. He’s come over and said hi at football games.”
“You’re speaking about Bonner.”
“Yes.” I glance at Angela. “I have to use the restroom.”
She straightens. “Let me grab a nurse.”
Detective Masters and I are suddenly alone.
I shift in the bed. “You said my abductor brought me in, but you were surprised when I said it was Matt.”
He scoffs. “Come on, Margo. I know Caleb had something to do with it.”
“Caleb found me?”
Masters watches me. “He orchestrated the whole thing. He has motive and the arrogance to pull it off. You said you heard another voice. Was it Caleb?”
“No.” No, no, no.
No matter what dark hole you go down, I will find you and bring you back. Isn’t that what he promised me?
He kept that promise.
And now I’m going to keep mine.
“It wasn’t him, Detective. I know him. I know his voice.”
He opens his mouth but closes it again.
A second later, a nurse comes in behind Angela. She flips the blankets back, shooting the man a quick look before I swing my legs over.
She helps me stand. “Slowly now.”
I’m as wobbly as a newborn deer. The room slants and spins. We pause, allowing me to close my eyes for a moment.
“Head injuries do nasty things to our balance,” the nurse murmurs in my ear.
I heave a sigh. I really do need to pee—but I could also use a moment alone. Thankfully, the nurse agrees to my request for privacy. She tells me to ring the bell when I’m done and closes the door.
I hover by it for a moment, listening as hard as I can.
It’s quiet, and then, “He really carried her in here?” That from Angela.
My heart picks up speed.
“Her arms and legs were still duct taped. He really didn’t think it through.” The detective is disgusted. A personal vendetta against the Asher family?
Maybe.
My attention goes to my wrists. They’re red and angry. I touch one, surprised at the sticky residue still on my skin.
After Matt wouldn’t stop apologizing, I don’t remember much. Any of it, really. I don’t know what he knocked me out with, but it was like only a sliver of me was still with it. But the parts I need to remember slip away like sand.
Why they decided not to bring me to a hospital—since clearly Caleb found me, and he probably didn’t run into them.
Which means Matt is still on the loose.
I shiver. My fingers are still on my opposite wrist, scratching at the sticky residue.
“You okay?” the nurse calls through the door. Her voice is jarringly loud.
I step away from the door and reply, “Yep, almost done.”
The detective and Angela haven’t said anything else—probably because the nurse is hovering outside the bathroom door. I scrub my hands until my skin is pink.
I cast one look at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I’m going to find.
There’s a wound on my head that’s been bandaged—and presumably stitched underneath. Various scrapes across my face. There’s a bruise on my temple, coming down onto my cheek, and the skin around my eyes is puffy. If I had more time, I’d do a more thorough examination. But in this moment, I can barely stomach to see my bare legs and socked feet. If my ankles are in the same shape as my wrists, I don’t want to see.
I breathe. My ribs don’t hurt as much as they did when Ian kicked me, but there’s still a deep ache.
Enough stalling. I open the door and smile at the nurse. She doesn’t have to help much on the way back, and soon enough, I’m tucked back into bed, hooked back up to monitors and the IV.
The detective drags the chair back to my bedside. Angela is once again leaning on the wall.
“Can you walk us through the day? Everything you remember.”
“I got home—”
“Who dropped you off?”
“Caleb.”
“So he knew where you were going?”
I narrow my eyes. “Objection—leading the witness.”
He jerks, then laughs.
“Caleb dropped me off, then left. Robert and I went to the prison soon after that. I visited with my dad for the first time in…” I shrug. Not relevant. “I left, got in the car with Robert, and we were hit.”
I try not to think about the crunch of metal. The car flipping. Or the way he hung upside down. He’s in the ICU while I’m being interrogated.
And what about Caleb? Did they arrest him?
Is he sitting in a jail cell?
“We were off the road. I had hit my head, so everything is kind of blurry…”
“Just do the best you can,” Masters says.
“Someone helped me out of the car.”
“Did they unbuckle you?”
I frown. “No… I think I did that. I was right-side-up, about to check on Robert, when…”
I was dragged over glass.
“They kept apologizing. Saying it was going to be okay.” My fingernails are on my wrist again, scratching. “I believed them up until they put something over my face. It hurt to breathe.”
“They took blood,” Angela tells me. “The hospital is running a full lab to figure out what happened.”
I slowly nod. “I woke up once, when I heard the voices talking. Matt… he wanted to take me to the hospital. Someone else didn’t.”
Detective Masters leans forward. “I need specifics here, Margo. Tell me about that other voice.”
“They…” Searing pain flashes through my head. I cover my face with my hands and groan.
My heart monitor shrieks.
A nurse rushes in, followed by the doctor who helped me.
“Out,” he orders the detective. He puts the bed back flat, his hand on my shoulder. “Margo, it’s okay.” He guides my hand away, showing me a clear mask. “Oxygen. Okay?”
He lowers it over my nose and mouth.
I’m so sorry—
It’s too similar to what just happened to me. My head is searing. A ringing noise fills my ears. It takes a second to realize I’m the one screaming, pushing at the mask.
A sob breaks through me like a crashing wave.
Is it too much to ask for a little peace?
“I’m giving you something to help you sleep,” the doctor says.
Ice rushes into my vein through the IV. It spreads, rushing through my body, weighing it down.
Panic still crushes my chest, though. Just because I’m about to be dragged under, doesn’t mean all my fear goes away. No, it’s being pulled down with me… right into my own personal nightmare.
My memories.
6
Caleb
Mr. Black meets me outside the county jail, and I can’t say I’ve ever felt like more of a miscreant. I’m just glad it isn’t my uncle waiting for me.
After our ‘interview’, the detective said he had enough cause to hold me without pressing charges. So there I sat, while Margo was in the hospital without me.
“I found her,” I say once we’re in the car. “And they just—”
“He already suspected you. When you showed up with her at the hospital, her arms still fucking bound…”
Eli’s dad isn’t a swearer. He drinks expensive whiskey when the occasion calls for it—after a big day at work, maybe—but otherwise, he doesn’t like alcohol. For years, I’ve been trying to find his vice. Smoking, gambling, women.
There had to be something.
Instead, I found a good man. He went to church with his wife on Sundays and tried not to disappear into his office on the weekends. He was present. At the games, cheering us on. When we were younger, he’d pick us up from school and we’d grab ice cream.
Eli’s family was more like mine for a long time.
He hands me my phone. “Your uncle called.”
I grimace. “I was hoping to avoid telling him I
’m out.”
“Did two nights in jail make you delusional?”
“Maybe.” I fiddle with it. “How is she?”
It’s been just under seventy-two hours. Almost three days exactly since I saw her. And every moment of it has been hell.
“She told the detective it wasn’t you.”
I didn’t expect anything different. It wasn’t me.
“Is she still in the hospital?”
His grip flexes on the steering wheel. “I think they were discharging her this morning.”
“Now?”
“She could be home already.”
I scroll through the missed calls and texts. Falling off the radar doesn’t go unnoticed in Rose Hill. But I’m only scanning for one name in particular.
Riley: It’s Margo. I’m home.
An invitation if I’ve ever heard one.
“Robert is still in the hospital,” Eli’s dad offers unexpectedly. “They moved him out of ICU, but I hear Lenora is trying to be in two places at once.”
I glance over at him. “Margo shouldn’t be alone. Not with a kidnapper on the loose.”
And Unknown still harassing us.
They knew I was going to get arrested. Knew I’d find the barn… but how?
He nods. “I figured you would say that. I checked with her case worker and made some calls. Riley and her mother are going to stay with Margo while Lenora stays at the hospital.”
Not good enough, I almost say.
I swallow. “Is the detective going to come after me again?”
“Apparently…” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. Margo told the detective she saw who took her.”
Something funny happens in my body. Every muscle gets tight. Alarmed. A lump forms in my throat, and it’s hard to breathe.
“Even more reason to stay with her,” I manage. “Who—”
“They were being tight-lipped about it. And,” he glances pointedly at me, “the charges were dropped, but Detective Masters is still considering you a person of interest.”
Mr. Black is a badass defense lawyer. He has sway in the prosecutor’s office and all over the county. Hell, half of New York City knows of Josh Black. I don’t think the district attorney has ever had a worse record in court against one lawyer.