The Revenge, page 13
“Hope!”
Daniel was furiously working the knob, the door shaking on flimsy hinges. My heart slammed against my chest as I heard his full body weight hitting the frame. The door seemed to bow, and I couldn’t tell if tears or sweat were clouding my vision.
“Open this door right now, or I’m coming in!”
I went for the medicine cabinet again, pressed a foot against the wall, slugged my body weight backward, but nothing happened. The damn thing was bolted into place. My heart continued to slam; my breath was ragged as the blood coursed through my veins.
But Daniel had gone quiet.
I took two tentative steps and leaned my ear toward the door. “Hello?” I whispered.
Nothing, but the thud-thud-thud of my heart, strangling my lungs, tightening in my throat.
“Open the fucking door, Hope!”
I scrambled backward into the pit of the bathroom. My feet tried to find purchase, my bloody, broken fingers scrabbling over the slick linoleum floor.
I heard the first piece of wood splinter—loud, sharp, like bones breaking.
“Hope!”
I yanked the top off the toilet tank as the door imploded. Daniel, red faced and furious, was standing in the splinters, an ax swinging low by his side.
“Come here, Hope.”
I crouched by the toilet, every muscle in my body coiled and on high alert, the lactic acid pulsing and aching. My bloody fingers were gripping the heavy porcelain top of the toilet tank.
“Come and get me, motherfucker.”
Daniel’s eyes rolled over me, a mix of rage, amusement, and confusion flittering through.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t answer, panting, teeth gritted.
“You promised you would just be a second.”
I didn’t lose my grip on the toilet tank lid even as sweat lined my palms. “I’m sorry. I’m not into keeping promises to psychopaths.”
Daniel looked genuinely confused for the millisecond I gave him before I leaped forward, throwing my weight toward my arms, toward the toilet tank lid that I swung over my left shoulder. I heard it make contact, a loud, metallic clank bookended by a thunderous grunt. I didn’t stick around to see what I’d hit. I bounded across the bathroom floor and vaulted over Daniel, feeling the sticky linoleum floor bruise the ball of my foot as I went.
I cleared Daniel.
I cleared the remains of the bathroom door. I didn’t stop when a shard of wood stood up and lanced through the back of my heel. I dropped the toilet tank lid and let the pain and blood at my foot propel me through the living room with the ancient, lined TV and into the dining room, where I could still hear the studio audience applauding something darling my parents had said to each other.
Rage burned in my chest.
I heard Daniel moan, heard him lurch.
Found the front door.
I was commanding my fingers to work, to grab hold of the chain lock that seemed minuscule in my fumbling fingers.
“Hope!” Daniel screamed my name, and tears poured from my eyes. I had my hand on the doorknob, trying to get a grip even though my palms were sweating.
It was locked.
I stared at the door incredulously, like I’d expected something else. Bile itched at the back of my throat as I heard Daniel push himself up from the hall and thump against the walls as he came toward me. He was fast, faster than he should have been. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, see that his hair was messed up, see that I left a four-inch gash over his left eyebrow. It looked raw and purple and angry, blood deeply red and thick dribbling over his eyebrow. He used a fist to wipe it away, and the blood swirled in the white of his eye.
“Don’t even try it, Hope.”
My eyes went to the door, to the neat row of locks spaced up the jamb.
“Hope.” Daniel took a slow step toward me.
My fingers felt numb as I yanked the first chain free, my other hand working the paralyzed knob. I pulled it uselessly, then worked the first deadbolt free, then the second. I glanced over my shoulder to where Daniel should have been, but he wasn’t there. I stopped for a heartbeat, my stomach going to liquid.
“There’s nowhere to run, Hope.”
He was closer then, supremely, terrifyingly calm while the panic ratcheted up in my chest, my breath coming out a strangled sob.
One more.
“Hope!”
I ignored Daniel, my lips pursed as the final deadbolt slipped free and opened with a click. I yanked open the front door, squinting at the sunlight and breathing in a big gulp of redwood air. I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder. I didn’t bother to look for shoes. I was over the threshold when the doorjamb exploded, pieces of wood splintering and showering my hair, the back of my neck.
I smelled the gunpowder.
I kept running.
I didn’t know how much ground I’d covered, but my feet were ripped raw. My thighs were burning, my calves tightening like fists with every step I took, but I wouldn’t stop. My heart slammed against my rib cage, and my throat was blistered dry, my lips cracked. I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop and collapse and fall and be home in my room, but I couldn’t because I didn’t know where Daniel was. I didn’t know how close he was.
I didn’t even know where I was.
I doubled over when the cramp overwhelmed me, a screaming pain from the base of my ribs tearing up through my lungs, stabbing my throat. My whole body heaved, my breath, hot and dry, was choking me, and my stomach constricted. I gagged, dry heaved, was forced to stop. I stumbled over my own feet, could see the mud and blood caked between my toes before I heaved again and my eyes clouded over with tears.
I took a deep breath, the smell of pine and dirt overwhelming me, the cool rush of forest air whipping over my teeth, past my parched tongue.
I had to stop. I couldn’t keep running. Had to stop at least for a second.
The ground cracked.
Gunfire.
I needed to run, but my knees locked and my breath clamped tight in my throat. Instead I pitched forward, dropped to my belly. I dug the pads of my fingers into the ground, yanking up dry grass and dirt, feeling pebbles dig themselves under my fingernails as I pulled my whole body forward, inch by painful, tearing inch.
Another gunshot.
That one sent a round of crows cawing and seemed to shake every needle off the pine trees around me. I had to move. I had to hide. Daniel was near.
Twenty-Eight
Tony
Bellingham was silent on the car ride home. My parents were quiet when they walked in the front door. Even Alice didn’t do much more than glance at me over the rim of her Happy Meal cup when I sat down at the table. The television was on again, another endless loop of voiceless heads nodding and looking upset while Hope’s picture flashed in the background. I sat up straighter when the picture of Hope dissolved and there was someone else there: Everly. She was standing on the steps of the school with one of the news reporters.
I leaned over and clicked the volume on.
“This is Everly Byer, and you are…”
Everly looked gorgeous, model ready in tight jeans and a slim-fitting sweater. Her hair was blonder than ever, brushed into big, soft waves; her eyes were more piercing, bluer than I had ever seen. She looked less like herself, less like the girl who had railed against Hope in my kitchen the other night.
She looked like Hope.
“Hope is my best friend,” Everly said, expertly commandeering the anchorman’s microphone. “I’ve organized this vigil tonight with Bruce and Becky”—she paused so the cameraman could flash on Bruce and Becky—“because we are going to bring you home, Hope. We’ll never stop looking for you.” Her voice cracked, her eyes going from that icy blue to glossy, misted.
“Everly, what do you think happened to your friend? There is some speculation that Hope possibly ran away.”
I had to give Everly credit. She was nearly flawless. Her eyes widened, the tears suspended on ultra-long lashes as she shook her head slowly from side to side, her blond curls swishing.
I sucked in a breath, waiting. Everly would tell the truth. Everly was on my side. She would let the world know—Pace, MacNamara—she would let them all know that Hope had staged the whole thing.
“Hope would never do that to us. She knows how much we all love her. I know that she would reach out if she could. Hope…” Everly’s voice trembled, and she turned her blue eyes directly to the camera, imploringly. “Please, whoever has Hope, please just don’t hurt her. Let her go. No questions asked. We just want Hope home.”
I felt my jaw tighten, my molars rubbing together. What?
“So you don’t believe there is any truth to the speculation that Hope may have left on her own accord?”
I thought Everly’s eyes would pop out of her head. “No, of course not.” She shuddered. “Why would someone even do that?”
The news anchor shrugged slightly. “Attention, maybe?”
Everly shook her head. “Not Hope. Hope wasn’t like that. Isn’t like that,” she hurriedly corrected herself, then shoved a fistful of white candles into the shot. “That’s why I’ve organized tonight’s vigil. Here, at the school. Everyone is welcome.” She offered a demure yet dazzling smile.
I flicked the channel—a baseball game, an ad for creamer, then Bruce and Becky on Channel 7.
“…miss you, Hope.” Bruce was in mid-plea, Becky holding on to his arm, her fingers spidered against his skin. “Please, if you have any information regarding Hope’s whereabouts, call the number on the screen.”
A number and website were superimposed over a black-and-white photo of Hope. She was wearing a white gown and looking sweet and angelic. My throat tightened.
Hope was missing, but she was everywhere.
The camera snapped back to Bruce and Becky. Becky leaned forward, her eyes wide and suitably dewy, but still camera ready. “A candlelight vigil will be held tonight at nine p.m. We will be assembling on the steps of the Florence High School library and walking over to August Woods.”
Bruce glanced at Becky and squeezed her knee. “August Woods is one of Hope’s favorite places. She loves to meditate in nature.”
I snort laughed. My parents whipped to face me, and even Alice went wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, clapping a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, but that’s just ridiculous. Hope never meditated. And if she were ever to start, it sure as heck wouldn’t happen in August Woods Park. She always said it was full of drunks and degenerates. And the closest she got to nature was walking on the field after cheerleading practice. Seriously, a ladybug landed on her sock, and she had her entire outfit sent out for dry cleaning.”
My parents looked at me stiffly, not laughing. My mother looked horrified, my father unreadable.
“Guys, I’m just saying. I mean, she was…”
My mother swallowed hard and scooped Alice onto her hip. “Let’s go get your bath, baby.”
“Dad?”
My dad rooted through the fridge, got himself a beer, and took a long, slow pull. He was a beer-during-football kind of guy. He was also not the kind of guy who would avoid his son, but that’s what he did now. He avoided my eyes, gave me a wide berth, and disappeared into the garage. My parents’ silent accusation clung to me and weighted me down.
Share Location?
If they were ever going to be able to look at me again, I had to end this. I had to come clean. I had to find Hope.
I grabbed my car keys, slid into my windbreaker, and stalked out the front door.
Twenty-Nine
Hope
Every step I took into the forest sent a new shiver down my spine. The temperature dropped, and another dark fingerprint of night clouded my vision. I tried to remember everything I had learned in self-defense classes, tried to recall everything I’d seen characters do in survival-type situations. I cocked my head and listened for civilization—cars on a road, hikers calling out to each other—but there was only silence.
The quiet was all encompassing. Deafening. Even the sounds of nature were mute. There was no breeze, no rustling leaves or crackling twigs. For that I should have been grateful, but all I could think about was being alone—alone with Daniel somewhere out here. I tried to get my bearings, racking my brain for any clue that would tell me which direction I should be going, but there was nothing. To my left, the trees were huge, heavy branches thick with pine needles, some scraping the ground. The tree trunks were massive, some burned out, some so choked with thorny vines that I couldn’t see where one ended and the other began, but I knew I couldn’t go through them.
To my right, the tree trunks were thinner but the forest was denser, just inches between some trees with the occasional boulder interspersed, a thick blanket of moss covering everything. I shrunk into my T-shirt, wishing I still had my hoodie and my shoes, but the thought of Daniel, of going back to that house—to his weird, plaintive eyes and flat mouth—made my blood run cold. I had to keep going, to keep walking. I had to make a decision, to pick a direction and just go. But when I heard the twig breaking behind me, I was paralyzed.
I stopped, praying for that once-deafening silence, but suddenly there was noise everywhere: Blue jays cawing. Something small scrabbling through the pine needles and dry brush. The thud of my heart. The rush of my blood.
He’ll hear me.
I didn’t dare breathe, the sound a ragged tear through my lungs, but my lungs constricted and burned, and I let out a half groan, half breath.
He’s on to me for sure.
I dug my toes into the wet ground and pushed off, hands fisted, legs pumping, running again. Pine needles were slapping at my bare skin and felt like they were slicing across my arms.
There!
Through the trees. A snatch of color zipping by.
A car.
My heart swelled and slammed against my rib cage.
There was a road up ahead.
I couldn’t hear the motors, the tires on the road, but I knew they were there. They had to be there. Up ahead, a little farther. There was a clearing, and I dropped to my knees, crouching down like an animal and looking wildly around. I paused, listening for Daniel. Leaves breaking, twigs cracking, footsteps across the soft, moss-covered earth?
Nothing.
I pushed myself forward on hands and knees. I could feel twigs and tiny rocks pressing against my knees, cutting into my palms, but I didn’t care. I left a trail of blood. I kept pressing on. It seemed to take forever, but finally I was at the edge of road. I felt like I could breathe for the first time.
The first car whizzed by and I wasn’t ready for it, but the breeze it created—a thick, hot wind twinged with cold from the night air—slapped my face, and I laughed.
I was saved.
I pushed myself to standing, stumbled to the middle of the road. The blacktop was still vaguely warm on the bottoms of my feet, and I waved my arms over my head in the darkness. My heart was still thundering.
I kept waving.
No one was coming.
There were no streetlights, and the dark that was just a mild smudge was closing in, was squeezing out every inch of daylight. I could feel my feet on the concrete. I could feel the cold settling into my fingertips.
But I couldn’t see anything.
I couldn’t hear anything.
The air left my lungs. My entire body deflated, and I crumbled to my knees and rolled to my side, trying to absorb every bit of the cement’s heat into my body. I was shivering now, and crying.
No one was coming. I was all alone.
Thirty
Tony
There must have been a thousand cars in the school parking lot. Every spot was taken, and people had commandeered the pockmarked back forty, making it into an overflow lot. I edged my car into the only bare stretch of lawn I could find, glad that there was a fire lane and frontage road for a quick escape. I put my hood up and hunkered down in the dark, glancing around surreptitiously, but trying to hang back and let the darkness shroud me. I didn’t want to be noticed. Not here. Not at Hope’s candlelight vigil.
A group of girls were huddled in front of me, pushing their candles together. I didn’t recognize the girls until someone struck a match. Then I saw Everly, her lips drawn, the hard planes of her face illuminated in the orange-yellow light. She saw me and smiled. The other girls turned then and noticed me too. They bristled.
“What’s he doing here?” I heard one say.
“I think it’s sweet. He still cares for Hope,” Everly said.
“He’s the reason Hope’s missing.”
Ice water shot through my veins.
I ignored the girls and kept walking.
If there were a thousand cars in the parking lot, there were two thousand people gathered on the steps of the school library. I recognized most of them from school, but there were also adults from town, people who were looking around incredulous, like they were at some sort of show, and others who clamored close to Bruce and Becky and the Channel 7 camera crew. There were flowers flanking the steps—big, ugly arrangements—and a banner stretched across. Pictures of Hope. Reporters. News anchors. Uniformed police officers. Pace. MacNamara.
If everyone in the police department was here, I wondered, was there anyone out there looking for Hope?
“Hey.” Everly broke away from her clutch of girls and handed me a candle rolled in a paper plate. “Want me to light you?”
I took the candle from her and nodded silently. She cupped her hand over the wick and struck a match.
“I’m surprised that you’re here.”
“I’m a little surprised that you’re here too,” I told her.
