Undone: The Complete Duology, page 27
First trimester. This was a report about Gracie. Had she been pregnant? When? What had happened?
Dread churned in my gut. There was more to her feud with Thorn Tree and this, right here, was a piece of that, though I wasn’t sure how it fit in. Was Grace a mother with a vengeance? Had she been? Should she have been?
The more I knew…
I shoved the paper back into the folder then lowered to the floor, easing up on my ankle, to reach for one of the loose papers.
A boot slammed down on my hand. I halted, fear draping over me as I lifted my head.
I found myself eye level with the barrel of a shotgun. Behind it, Arthur the Headmaster stared down at me with all the confidence of a man who owned the world.
He smirked. “You looking for something?”
8
GRACE
On my knees, I leaned my forehead on my arm against the rock wall and tried to rest. The cavern left little room to get comfortable as it was, and with most of the floor covered in icy water, there was even less. I perched on a narrow rocky edge with the toes of my shoes skimming the puddle.
In his chair, Bobby dozed, lolling forward then snapping back. I’d secured his arms but left his feet untethered. Not like he was going to charge out in the snow barefoot. In his current state, Bobby didn’t seem to have much fight left in him at all, but it was only a matter of time before he got his second—or third—wind.
I squeezed my eyes shut harder, like I could keep out the memories that played behind my eyelids. The night I’d found this cave, everything had changed. I would have sold my soul to the devil, but as it turned out, I already had.
She came to me instead. She’d told me who was, what I could do.
What I needed to do.
Now I was so close, almost ready to bring the plan to fruition. I just had to keep dumbass Bobby alive a little while longer.
My thoughts were loud, and I realized the storm outside had quieted.
With a groan, I eased off my knees, little pains darting through my joints, then waded through the puddle to peer out the doorway.
White covered the world, but the wind and snow had stopped. If I intended to get out of here and return to my camp, this would be the time.
I patted Bobby’s face as his head drooped to the side. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try not to die.”
His eyes remained closed, though they moved back and forth. I couldn’t tell if he was resting peacefully or struggling to stay conscious.
Hardly mattered. I couldn’t do much for him right now.
Removing just the top layer of logs, I leaned over the stack and sidled my way through the opening. I dropped to the snowy ground on the other side in a crouch, fingers pressing into the snow, then launched towards my jeep.
The seat was freezing, and I turned on the heat. As warm air puffed from the vent, I contemplated hauling Bobby out to the jeep and letting him defrost and dry off a little before I left.
Too complicated. He had already bashed me up a few times since his capture. I couldn’t risk him getting the upper hand, especially with how weak and exhausted I already was after being snowed in.
I would worry about saving all his appendages after I’d thawed mine.
The jeep crunched over the snow and found traction as I made my way towards camp. Mac might return anytime if he headed back the moment the storm took a break. Hopefully, I would beat him to it, or I would have to figure out how to explain to him where I’d been.
Soon, his brother would be dead and we wouldn’t have this secret about keeping his brother hostage between us.
We would have other secrets, for sure, but not this one.
My tent came into view. I pulled up a few yards away but left the engine idling for the heater. My hands itched, and I rubbed at the back of my hand and over the finger with the ring.
I should take off the ring. Mac might ask about it. Besides, it had done its first part while I was wearing it, and now I just needed to keep it safe until it was time for the spell. The ring still had a purpose to serve.
Movement among the trees caught my attention. I opened the driver side door, leaning out for a better look.
If it was Mac, he’d made good time, but he was full of surprises like that.
I watched, but the shadow must have been a deer or wolf taking advantage of the stillness before the next round of snow and wind arrived. Thorn Tree always froze over after the Feast.
I twisted the ring, but it stuck on my clammy, puffy finger. My hands were swollen after having been subjected to freezing cold for hours. Instead, I rubbed my hands together to bring life back to them then tried again. I needed to find my gloves.
The ring refused to budge. I tugged harder. The ring popped free. I scrambled with numb fingers to catch the ring, diving out of the jeep. The ring hit the top of a rock protruding from the snow, bounced off, and slid across ice. On hands and knees, I padded after it, my knees going out either direction as I struggled to keep upright and moving forward.
The ring hit a raised frozen tree root and shot ahead like a cue ball. My palm slid, and I hit jaw-first into the ice with a solid thwack. I shoved with my feet, arm out, just as the ring plummeted over the edge of a drop.
“Motherfuckin’ hell!” Ignoring the blood in my mouth, I half-crawled, half-dragged myself across the ice, unable to get my feet under me, and peered over the edge. The ice froze my stomach and breasts, and I tucked an arm under me like that would do any damn good.
I couldn’t see the ring at the bottom of the drop.
Panic flared through me, but determination took over.
With stiff fingers, I grabbed a small tree bowed by the weight of snow and swung myself over the edge of the drop before letting go. My soles slammed against the snow at the bottom, and I toppled into a wet boulder. Pushing myself upright, I scanned the ground for the ring.
Nothing.
Where the hell could it have gone? I couldn’t have made such a clean shot even if I had tried.
I squatted down, every part of me aching, and sifted the snow through my cold fingers. No ring. My fingers burned and turned unhealthy colors as I duck waddled my way along the edge of the rock side, determined to find the damn ring even if it cost me a hand in the process.
It just might.
The clouds shifted, and the weak sun glinted off something a few feet ahead. I hurried over and scooped up my ring from where it had landed at the opening of a fissure in the rock.
Warm air puffed out onto my face. I halted, enjoying the sensation, my brain blanking. The heat billowed out from the opening, stronger than the vent in my car, and I melted, leaning in closer. I gripped the rock beside the fissure, but my hand slipped on the ice.
I stared down at the snow under my feet. How could this much warmth emanate from the opening, and yet the snow and ice were untouched?
I peered farther into the gap. Perhaps the rocks created insulation against snow.
They did, but not like this. The warm air wouldn’t puff out like dragon’s breath.
Was Thorn Tree located over a volcano?
Not anymore than it was a fault line.
I’d never seen anything like this before.
Everything beyond the opening was lost in the darkness. Slipping the ring into my pocket, I turned sideways and sucked in my stomach before wiggling my way through the fissure. The stones scraped at my cheek as I forced my way through, deeper into the rock cliff. The gap widened into a shoulder-width tunnel.
The heat rolled over me in billowing waves. Sweat formed in my armpits and trickled down my back. If it wasn’t five below hell-frozen-over outside, I would have taken off my jacket.
I inched along, stooped down, the low ceiling grazing along the top of my head. Every few yards, the tunnel widened just enough to give me a little breathing room before narrowing again as it wound through the mountain. The walls remained warm to the touch, and heat filled the chamber.
The ground dropped, so I lowered to my ass and scooted along until my soles reached the bottom. I eased down and continued forward. Even though I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, I never seemed to run out of light.
A deep rumble came from inside the earth.
I gasped, trying to press a hand to the wall but the tunnel didn’t provide enough room to move my arm like that.
The tunnel shook, and in the darkness ahead, rocks clattered together. The ceiling bowed lower.
I turned and charged back for the exit. At the raised ground, I scrambled up and over, pushing up off the wall. The tunnel continued to tremble and the sounds of falling rock dropped behind me, filling the air with dust.
I didn’t dare look back as I scurried along, a rat in a maze.
The fissure opening appeared, filled with the weak winter sun.
The tunnel ceiling scraped along my back, forcing me lower. Then it broke. Rocks clattered behind me, around me. I dropped to my hip, shoving my shoulder through the fissure like I could wedge it open, and pushed my way through, shredding my jacket. A rock landed against my foot just as I yanked it through.
I found myself on the snow outside the tunnel, panting, staring at the opening in the rock side as it collapsed in on itself. With a final shake and a sigh of warm air, the tunnel disappeared.
I recoiled from the rock side, folding in on myself, unable to breathe, unable to think.
When I finally felt the snow seeping through my pants, I hauled myself up the side of the drop and flailed along the ice until I reached snow again. Then I was off, kicking up white dust.
Glimpses of my tent appeared between the trees. I beelined for my camp and ducked inside the tent like it could protect me from the absurdity of the world around me.
My lungs ached with the ceaseless gasping of cold air. I couldn’t stop sucking in ragged breaths like I was going to die.
With numb fingers, I gripped the edge of the tent opening and peered out, in the direction I had come.
Everything was silent. Not a sign that a mysterious tunnel had opened and then closed right in front of me.
Not a sign that something deep in the earth had been generating heat.
I reeled, trying to make sense of what I had seen, what I had felt, but I couldn’t formulate one plausible—or even slightly believable—explanation.
What the hell had happened?
9
MAC
I’d never had a gun pointed at my head before.
The severity of what could happen next flashed to the front of my thoughts. Either Arthur the Headmaster pulled the trigger and my brain painted over the wallpaper behind me, or he didn’t pull the trigger, and I would be forced to comply with this creepy little family. They made the Addams Family look like a typical suburban household that brought over cookies at Christmas.
“I heard some noises,” I said, which didn’t answer at all why I was prowling around his house in the middle of the night.
Mrs. Headmaster stepped into the room behind him, hands clasped in front of her stomach.
Arthur nodded towards the file on the end table next to the chair. “What is that?”
As the question left his lips, his eyes flared with recognition.
“Lara.”
Mrs. Headmaster—Lara—scurried around him, gathered up the folder and the loose papers on the floor, then returned to her spot just behind his looming form.
“Come,” he snapped at me, waggling the shotgun.
I rose to my feet and tentatively took a step towards him. He nodded me forward, and once I had passed him, he took up the rear, the shotgun barrel in my peripheral.
Lara led the way down the dimly lit, heavy hallway, gliding along like a Victorian ghost.
“Not a sound,” Arthur said just above a whisper. “Don’t want to wake the children.”
No, of course not. I’m sure the rest of their childhood has been spot-on normal.
We entered a lounge room with antique furniture and heavy red drapes with gold fringe. Angel motif bordered the wall against the ceiling. An old brick fireplace took up a short end of the room. These two went all in with the vibe.
What was their world like inside their heads?
Lara pulled the double doors closed as Arthur gestured for me to sit on the couch in front of him. I took measured steps, breath held, working my way through this situation second by second. I had no plan except to seize the moment the opportunity presented itself.
I lowered to the couch, careful to keep my hands visible at all times so he didn’t make any rash decisions to redecorate my face.
The storm outside revved up, and the power flickered. Neither Arthur nor Lara seemed to notice or care.
Lara approached with a coil of red nylon rope.
Did they have an adult store in Thorn Tree?
The thought cut off when she stood next to me with an expectant scowl on her face. I didn’t have to look at Arthur to know where this was going.
Clamping down on the urge to argue, I put out my hands in front of me, wrists together.
“Behind your back,” Arthur said.
Resigned, I twisted around with my arms behind me, crossed at the wrist. Lara dutifully bound them as Arthur oversaw without moving his shotgun trained on me. Once Lara finished securing my arms, she bound my ankles together, seeming to forget that it was injured—or more likely, just didn’t give a shit.
I refused to wince as she tightened the rope right over the bandage, sending sharp pains up to my knee. My stomach churned, but I breathed slowly through my nose until she finished and stepped back.
Arthur lowered the shotgun to his side. “You know, Malachi, we’re on your side.”
I nailed my gaze to the silken ropes around my ankles.
I’d hate to see if they were against me.
“You need to help us help you, though,” he continued, ignoring the hypocrisy of this entire situation. “If you had questions about anything—about Gracie—you should have just asked.”
Naturally they wanted me to come to them for information. That way, they could control the flow and narrative. Nothing they told me would be entirely honest, but perhaps I could pick it apart for the kernels of truth.
At the very least, the more I kept them talking now, the longer I might live to figure out a way to escape. First, I needed that damn storm outside to let up. Even if I could make it out of this house, the blizzard would end me before I reached Gracie.
“What happened?” I asked. It was as good of a place as any to start. “Why did you kick her out of your little club?”
Arthur bristled, and his dark eyes glinted with the glow of the ambient light from tall floor lamps in the corner of the room.
“Have you figured it out yet, Malachi? We didn’t kick her out of anything. She left—except in Thorn Tree, you can never really leave.”
My brother was a moot point. We all understood he, and my father, had been exceptions to the rule. Somehow, they didn’t offer enough to Thorn Tree to really matter, not in the grand scheme of things.
But Gracie—they cared about keeping her locked in. She would never be given the opportunity to leave.
I felt like I should have all the pieces by now, but when I tried to put together the puzzle, I found a few had slipped off the table. The gist I understood, but the specifics were still lost.
“You mentioned earlier,” I said, addressing Lara, who didn’t make eye contact with me as she stood just off from her husband, “that Gracie had a score to settle with…my brother.”
The last words hurt on the way out. I didn’t want to entertain the idea that those two had some unpleasant history that neither had ever told me. As much as I wanted to deny the option, I had to admit it was more probable than not. After all, he and Gracie had grown up in a small town together. A small town that dug into its inhabitants and rarely let go.
None of this made sense though. Gracie just wanted out of this town, out from under the control of the Reverend with fire in his hands. She had never singled out anyone in her quest for…well, revenge. It was revenge, even if I didn’t like to look at it that way.
Well-deserved revenge, but all the same.
Arthur shot a look at Lara who wilted a little but said nothing.
She must have spoken out of turn, back there in the dining room when she had been fixing up my injured ankle.
The longer I stayed in this house, the less I liked everything about it.
“What does Gracie have against my brother?” I asked but guarded myself against the answer.
Just because they might have a reason, that didn’t mean it was honest. Or real.
They had uses for me, and this entire town was slowly being orchestrated to that single purpose. If I had put together anything yet, it was that the inhabitants were all independent in their own way, not mindless drones who did, unblinking, anything asked of them.
But they were easily swayed. The Reverend could shift the tide, and everyone would move in one general direction under his influence. Those who straggled would be caught up and pulled along—or they would be shoved under and drowned.
I wasn’t dealing with robots, but convictions.
Given my druthers, I would have taken my chances with the former.
The lights flickered again as the storm continued to wail outside. I couldn’t imagine the storm ever ending, as if we had been plunged into an eternal winter.
Arthur eyed me with intrigue. “Gracie never told you about her connection to Robert?”
Pain jabbed my heart, but I swallowed down the emotion.
They’re playing you. They want you to feel betrayed so you’ll be more pliable. Just listen, don’t react.
“It didn’t come up,” I said, voice thick.
Arthur grunted, but Lara piped up.
“She tried to pin her crimes on Robert.”
The knife plunged a little deeper into my chest, but I forced myself to put aside the growing sense of doom. This wasn’t real. Not entirely.
