A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trust

by Reagan Keeter

  Paul was taking short, deep breaths. The lightheadedness that had set in about twenty minutes back was getting worse.

  “Stop breathing like that or you’ll pass out.”

  He hoped Gina was right. If he lost consciousness, he wouldn’t feel the pain anymore.

  She grabbed a water bottle—the only one they had been left with—and pressed it to his lips. She told him to take several deep gulps and then said, “Slow your breathing down.”

  He did, and she sighed with relief. She was afraid if he passed out or fell asleep he wouldn’t wake up.

  Cynthia harnessed her flashlight in her pocket and turned on her headlamp. She led the men into the chasm, carefully searching out places to hold on to and other places to put her feet.

  “How are you doing?” Martin asked, lying on the flat rock. “Is it safe?”

  Cynthia nodded but refused to take her eyes off the wall in front of her.

  “Bet you wish you had a stunt double here now, don’t ya?” Ethan said.

  “I’m doing all right.”

  “You’ll want one later.”

  Martin hit him in the arm. “Can we focus on getting out of here?”

  Ethan’s lips curled distastefully. “Sure.” After turning on his headlamp, as well, he pulled himself into the chasm.

  THEN

  MARTIN AND CYNTHIA walked back up the tilted roof and crawled in through the attic window. Then, they stepped around Christmas decorations and boxes of miscellaneous junk as they made their way down to the kitchen.

  Most of the house was decorated with artifacts from the fifties that Martin’s mom, Janice, had found at yard sales and antique shops. Everything was bright. Everything clashed. That was how she liked it.

  Times were simpler then, she said, and she had no interest in bringing the complexities of the present into her own little universe.

  Dinner was baked chicken and limp green beans. Janice poured the drinks and passed the food and asked how everyone’s day was.

  Gina shrugged. She was a freshman in high school and never had much to say at the dinner table. She thought her mom was a psycho, her brother a geek. What could either of them know about teenage boys?

  “And you, Martin?”

  “Got an ‘A’ on my math test,” he said through a mouth full of food.

  “That’s wonderful.” Then Janice smiled, and Martin—like he sometimes did—wondered what his father would’ve said if he’d still been around.

  Martin’s dad hadn’t been around for years. He had run out on the family after he found out Janice was pregnant with Gina. One was too many for him, and two was more than he could handle. Except for some pictures in a photo album and one Martin kept on his dresser, that was all that he knew about his father.

  “And acting class? How was that?”

  Martin and Cynthia glanced at each other. “All right, I suppose,” he said, and Cynthia agreed. That, however, was hardly accurate.

  “Mr. Campbell, I don’t even know why you come to this class,” Professor Baker had said in his fake British accent. “Your monologue was terrible. You’re a disgrace to the art. I sincerely hope, for your sake and the world’s, that, once this class is over, you leave the acting to those of us with talent.”

  Martin shrunk in his seat while students giggled around him.

  The teacher’s gaze shot upward so that he was looking at the whole class. “What are you laughing at? Do you think any of you are more talented than Mr. Campbell? I have been in theatre houses all across this country. I have seen talent. Trust me when I say there is none in this room.

  “Except for Ms. Cudrow. Ms. Cudrow, would you stand up, please?”

  Cynthia did as the teacher asked, her hands fidgeting on top of each other from embarrassment.

  “That is talent,” he said. “She has poise, beauty, skill. She is what every actor should strive to be.

  “Now, everyone, go home. And, for Heaven’s sake, try not to give me a headache on Monday.”

  NOW

  CYNTHIA WAS THE slowest to descend into the chasm. She was also the most careful. Ethan quickly searched out the crevices where he could put his hands and feet, moving in a way that, to Martin, seemed alarmingly careless. “Catch me if you can,” he dared Cynthia once he’d overtaken her.

  Then his fingers wrapped around a loose rock, and it fell. He scrambled for something to hold on to as the rock tumbled into the blackness below them. There was a soft thud when it hit bottom, and Martin told him to be more careful.

  Ethan hollered like a cowboy. “What a rush!”

  “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Not today.”

  Then there was another sound—a faint, high-pitched rustle.

  “What’s that?” Cynthia asked.

  “Don’t know,” Martin said. “Sounds like—”

  “Bats,” Ethan said.

  And it was. They came roaring up the chasm like a squeaking tornado. Everyone screamed. Martin closed his eyes and pulled himself as close to the wall of rock as he could. As the bats screeched past him, he felt their wings slap violently against his back. Then he heard Cynthia scream and, even though the bats were not yet gone, opened his eyes.

  Cynthia had lost her hold. She was sliding quickly down into the darkness. Jagged rocks punched at her face and ripped her jacket. She flexed her hands, desperately trying to grab anything that would stop her fall. The one thing she could get ahold of was Ethan. She clawed at his shirt, his pants—knocked the flashlight out of his pocket—until, her fingers locked around his ankle, pulling his foot off its perch, but also stopping her descent.

  “What the hell!” Ethan shouted, as the last of the bats made their way past them, and his whole body jerked, shifted, twisted, trying to rebalance for the new weight so that he didn’t fall as well.

  Cynthia didn’t respond. She held tight, took several deep breaths.

  “If you don’t get off me, I’m going to fall, too!”

  After another moment, she said, “All right, just give me a second.” She reached out to the wall of rock in front of her, one hand searching for purchase.

  “I’m serious,” Ethan said. “Hurry this up!”

  Then, just as she thought she found what she was looking for, just as her fingers were working her way into the crevice and she was shifting her weight away from Ethan’s leg, his other foot slipped. Ethan managed to hold on, get his foot back onto the rock where it had been. But the sudden movement was enough for Cynthia, who was searching for a place to put her own foot, to lose her grip on him and once again start sliding into the darkness.

  This time, though, there was nothing to stop her.

  THEN

  MARTIN HAD NOT ended up in the caverns underneath Misery Rock because of Diane Banks. Not directly, anyway. But if he’d had a chance to think about it, she was part of the reason he was there, wasn’t she?

  He still remembered when Diane had marched up to him and announced that she was pregnant.

  They had dated on and off for more than a year, and Martin had finally broken up with her for the last time.

  He grabbed Diane’s arm and led her to a secluded corner of the campus library. “What? Are you sure?”

  “I found out a couple of days ago. I did one of those home pregnancy—”

  Then Martin interrupted her to ask the one question that he would regret for years to come: “What makes you so sure it’s mine?”

  She glared at him. She didn’t have to say she hadn’t been with anybody else. Martin could see it on her face. Besides, part of him already knew she hadn’t been with anybody else. What she did say was, “I thought you would want to know.” Then, almost soft enough to be a whisper: “I thought you might be happy.”

  NOW

  They were closer to the ground than they realized. Martin watched Cynthia’s headlamp as she fell and then crumpled into the earth like an accordion. She had fallen perhaps twenty feet.

  “Cynthia!”

 
No answer. No movement.

  Martin called her name twice more and asked Ethan, “Do you think she’s dead?”

  Ethan didn’t answer.

  Then Martin saw her head move ever so slightly—actually, he saw the light on her helmet move—and he knew she wasn’t.

  THEN

  MARTIN ATE A quiet dinner in his room because he didn’t want to talk to anyone. His mom asked what was wrong, and he said, “Nothing.”

  Then he locked his bedroom door and called Diane. If she was going to have his child, they were going to have to talk.

  “I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said, and slammed the phone down.

  NOW

  CYNTHIA’S HANDS AND face were nicked and bleeding, but she assured Martin that nothing was broken. “Hurray for small miracles, right?” She smiled her perfect smile, and Martin pushed a few stray hairs away from her face.

  He wanted to kiss her. He didn’t care that Ethan was watching, pacing. But he didn’t, because they were just “good friends.”

  As deep, black jealousy boiled up inside him, he turned to pick up the flashlight that had fallen from Ethan’s pocket. He clicked the button on it several times. Nothing happened. “Guess it’s dead,” he said, and tossed it back onto the ground. Since they didn’t have any extra batteries, there was no reason to bring it with them.

  Then a passage as wide as a city bus took them north and up a gradual incline.

  THEN

  DIANE NEVER HAD the baby, because there was no baby to have. What she did, instead, was wait outside Martin’s house night after night until Cynthia finally came over to visit.

  Diane was certain Cynthia was part of the reason Martin had broken up with her. She didn’t know if they were dating, but she wanted to make sure Cynthia was there for the second part of her plan, just in case either she or Martin was planning to move the relationship in that direction.

  After Cynthia arrived, Diane gave them thirty minutes to get settled before knocking on the door.

  Martin’s mom answered.

  “Is Martin in?”

  “Sure. He’s just watching a movie. Come on in,” Janice said.

  She led Diane to the living room.

  Martin and Cynthia were sitting on the sofa. Gina had positioned herself in a nearby recliner. A bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. A frozen image of a barn on the TV. The movie—whatever it was—had been paused.

  Martin and Cynthia shifted in their seats to see who had arrived. Gina needed only to turn her head.

  Showtime, Diane thought, and said, “I did it. I had the abortion.”

  A heavy silence set in while everyone processed the information. Then, suddenly, they all started talking at once.

  Janice: “My baby got somebody pregnant?”

  Cynthia: “Martin, why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were best friends.”

  Gina: “This is so cool.”

  Martin: “Diane—”

  Diane: “Well, you wanted to know, didn’t you?”

  Martin jumped to his feet. “Come here,” he said to Diane, and led her back to the front door, and then onto the porch. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “This is my fault now?” he said. He was furious. How dare she barge into his house with an announcement like that? Something like that should have been handled more discreetly.

  “I’m not the one with the sperm,” she snapped.

  “I didn’t tell you to get an abortion.”

  “But you didn’t tell anybody I was pregnant, either.”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Wait,” she said, her hands out in front of her as if trying to slow down the conversation. “You didn’t want me to keep the baby, did you?”

  “I don’t know. I—”

  “And I gave it up?”

  Martin didn’t know what to say. Somehow the conversation had turned against him.

  “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t been such a jerk when I told you . . .” She trailed off, and then ran from the porch to her car.

  “Wait. Diane!”

  She cranked the ignition and was gone before Martin could stop her.

  Martin went back inside for his keys. Now, more than ever, he needed to talk to Diane. He needed to make sure she was getting counseling. He needed to know if he could do anything to help her get over the abortion. After all, this was partly his fault, wasn’t it?

  Back in the living room, the TV had been turned off. Cynthia was sitting on the couch beside Janice, trying to calm her down. “I’m sure Martin can explain all of this,” she said. “We just need to talk to him.”

  Then she hugged the trembling, upset woman and looked past her. Martin was almost to the stairs when their eyes met, and he said, “We’ll talk later.”

  He grabbed the keys off the desk in his bedroom. Gina stepped quickly out of his way when he came barreling back down the hallway. She was already on the phone with a friend, gleefully speculating about what he had done.

  Martin left feeling hated and unwanted and felt no more welcome when he arrived at Diane’s.

  “Go away!” she shouted from the other side of the door. He knocked louder, which was exactly what she expected him to do.

  Diane was thrilled by Martin’s response. While he pleaded to come inside, she went into the bathroom to get the eyedropper she had bought a few days before. She filled it with tap water and carefully pumped several drops into each eye. They rolled down her cheeks like tears. Then she opened the door.

  “I’m sorry for overreacting,” he said. “I should have been there for you when you told me about the baby.” The words were empty because he knew he had tried to be there for her. He couldn’t make her talk to him. But he also knew it was what she wanted to hear.

  “Why weren’t you?”

  He apologized some more, and eventually Diane moved from the doorway to let him inside.

  Her apartment was one of seventy-five lofts in the Brentwood Building, all small and poorly designed. Carpet had been laid down because it was cheaper than wood, and there were still nails in the plaster from where the previous tenant had hung photographs.

  She scooped a pile of clothes out of a chair and threw them on the floor. Martin sat down. Diane sat cross-legged on the bed, still close enough to make the conversation intimate.

  She wiped away the fake tears and sniffled. Then she waited for him to speak.

  With a deep breath, he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She exploded. “That’s it?” she said, genuinely shocked that he didn’t have anything more sincere to say. “That’s what you came here to tell me? Because it’s not going to be okay. It’s not ever going to be okay. I thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Giving up that baby was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and all you can tell me is that it’s going to be okay?”

  “No, Diane, I’m . . . Well, I’m worried. Are you getting counseling?”

  “What for?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? She had just given up a child. She had just given up a part of herself. (A part of him, whispered a voice in the back of his head.)

  He knew that nobody could go through something like that without psychological repercussions. And the only way to handle them was to get professional help, which he summed up by saying: “To deal with this.”

  “You think some overpaid shrink is going to be able to help me?”

  “I don’t know. But you need to talk to somebody.”

  Diane’s face suddenly tensed. She cried into her hands. “God, I just feel so alone.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  Then in a whiny voice, she said something Martin couldn’t understand, and he reluctantly walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. He put an arm around her shoulder, feeling sad and guilty. Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough before to talk to her. Maybe if he had
knocked a little louder or come by more often things would have been different. But he hadn’t; so maybe, in some strange way he couldn’t quite figure out, he had abandoned her.

  Jesus, pregnant and alone, and I abandoned her.

  It wouldn’t happen again.

  “I promise you’re not alone.”

  “But you have your mom and Cynthia. I couldn’t tell anybody. I don’t have anybody. My parents would have been furious if they found out—”

  “Hey,” Martin interrupted, “you have me.”

  “But you broke up with me.”

  Martin could feel his chest tighten with guilt. He squeezed Diane’s shoulder. “I didn’t know it would hurt you so much. Look, I’m here now. Doesn’t that count for something? I care about you, and I don’t want to see you like this.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I’m always here for you.”

  She smiled a weak smile and kissed his cheek. He could feel what remained of her tap-water tears against his face when she hugged him. “You’re really here for me?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  She pulled back just far enough to stare into his eyes, like an animal sizing up her prey. Holding his face tightly in her hands, she asked, “You promise?”

  “Always.”

  Then she kissed his lips.

  He was never sure whether it was sympathy or lust that made him kiss her back, but he did.

  They kept kissing until their clothes were off and they were asleep in each other’s arms. Martin knew it was a mistake even while it was happening, but it wasn’t until the next morning that he knew he was trapped. He was back in a relationship with Diane. If he left her again, everyone would be angry with him.

  BEYOND

  TWILIGHT