Stolen Crush

by Stunich, C. M.

  We head downstairs to where Maxx is waiting, leaning against the wall near the garage with his arms crossed over his shirt. It’s black and green, another Wright Family Racing tee. His stare is so intense that I can’t help but fidget underneath it.

  “Dude, really? Why don’t you find something better to do?” Chasm gets up close and personal with his friend, but I grab him by the blazer sleeve and force him back a step. I’m not about to see two childhood friends get into a brawl because one of them rightfully suspects the other of lying. It’s not Chasm’s fault that he can’t tell the truth, but it also isn’t wrong of Maxx to be angry with us.

  “Oh, believe me. Once I get even a hint of the bullshit you two are up to, I’ll have a lot of better things to do. I might tell Tess. I might tell the cops. Who knows? Depends on the situation.”

  Chasm goes to lunge forward, but I throw my arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. The move seems to stun him. It also serves to confuse Tess as she comes out of the kitchen area to see me hugging her son’s best friend like we’re an item or something.

  “Dakota,” she warns, but at least she gets my name right. I release Chas as quickly as I grabbed onto him, my face flushing as I stumble back and turn to face her. Tess looks like a different person right now, like all the silly, quirky parts of her—the parts that mumble plot points in the kitchen or choose typewriters over laptops—have been squashed. She’s all cold, frigid multimillionaire today. “Make sure you come home early; I’ve already called the school to let them know you’ll be leaving after lunch.”

  She turns and walks away, but she doesn’t tell me why, exactly, she wants me home.

  “The entire family is going on the news to plead for information on Parrish; Tess is even offering a million-dollar reward for information leading to his safe return.” Maxx stands up straight and sighs, giving Chas and me a once-over. “You will be here for that, right?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Chasm spits, shoving past him as Kimber comes down the stairs to join us. She gives us all a weird look, but her spirit is as diminished as everyone else’s. Parrish is to Kimber as Maxine is to me. She loves him, even if they don’t always get along.

  I use her as a shield to escape Maxx. I’m not sure I can handle another confrontation like the one we had on Thursday. But as I’m trying to slip out, he grabs me by the arm and Kimber slips past me.

  Shit.

  “I think I can get you out of the house tomorrow if you pretend to join the search party; Maxine really wants to see you.” I nod, but he doesn’t release me, wetting his lips like there’s something else he wants to say. Instead, he lets go of me and we exchange a long, studying sort of look. “I’ve decided that if you’re not talking, you must be in danger.”

  I blink at him because, like, that’s a huge jump to make. Isn’t it?

  “Why would you think that?” I whisper, unable to make my voice raise even a single decibel.

  “Because you’re not the sort of person who’d do something like this intentionally.” Maxx leans back, putting one foot up against the wall.

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Maxine.” I snort and shake my head, but Maxx gives a derisive laugh that makes me pause.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s you. I’ve been looking at you through the wrong lens. You’re not like other people, Dakota Banks. I liked you straight off, first moment I met you. That’s never happened to me before. I refuse to believe my instincts about you were wrong.” He crosses his arms over his chest, still watching me, taking me in with those beautiful eyes of his. Once again, his words ring with confidence, with a self-assuredness that I find almost staggering.

  “Arrogant, much? I must be a good person because you think I am? You’re a cocky asshole, Maxx Wright.” It’s a quip not unlike one I might’ve once slung at Chasm or Parrish. Guess Maxx and I have a like-hate thing going on, too.

  “Exactly that,” he agrees, completely unapologetic. “Enjoy your day at school. Meanwhile, I’ll keep searching. I’ll find a way to get you out of this.”

  He pushes up off the wall and takes off. I admire his confidence, I really do, but I’m afraid that this time, it’s a bit misplaced.

  “I’m sorry, Maxx,” I breathe, and then I join Chasm and Kimber in the car.

  Off to the academy we go.

  Most of the teachers are back today. That’s not a good sign. It means they’ve given up on finding Parrish. I don’t like that, not at all. It’s only been … shit, it’s been nearly eight days, hasn’t it? Eight days since we slept together; eight days since he went missing.

  It simultaneously feels like the blink of an eye and yet also a century. Millennia. Eons.

  “Most of the costumes are salvageable,” Lumen calls out, helping with the cleanup in the theater. I headed over here after fourth period, even though my legs shook, and I felt a bit dizzy. The entire place smells of smoke and everything is wet from the sprinklers and fire hoses.

  Danyella looks like a different person, presiding over the cleanup with a stoic expression that looks as fragile as the stained-glass windows that cracked from the heat. I did that. I ruined the hundred-plus year old windows, the most beautiful part of the theater.

  I hate myself for it.

  “Don’t do that,” Chasm whispers, lifting up a soggy box and cursing when the contents fall onto the floor at his feet.

  “Do what?” I reply innocently, bending down to help him collect the ruined props. I can barely stand to look at any of them. Each and every one is like a thorn to the heart.

  “Blame yourself,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush some of my hair behind my ear. The touch isn’t unwelcome, but it doesn’t feel right. It just doesn’t.

  “Please don’t do that,” I whisper back, pulling away from him. He doesn’t seem to take it personally, scooping the damaged items into a trash bag.

  “You don’t have to help with this,” Danyella tells me, coming over to squat beside me and Chasm. She picks up Glinda’s wand, the very same piece that she was holding the first day I met her. We’ve come full circle, but in the worst possible way. “I know you have to get home for the press conference.”

  “It’s okay; I want to help,” I tell her, doing my best to fight back tears. “We’re going to make this production happen.”

  The way she smiles at me … fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I couldn’t feel any worse about this if I tried.

  “We’ve decided to cancel the production this year,” she tells me, and my eyes snap up to her face. She’s smiling at me. Why? Why couldn’t she just scream and rage and throw something? I wouldn’t blame her even then, but it’d be easier to deal with than this quiet acceptance. “Instead of doing Hamilton next year, we’re going to do Wicked again. That’ll give us a chance to make it even better.”

  She stands up, taking the soot-covered wand with her and holding it in her hands. There are several seniors in this year’s production. Pretty sure I see both Elphaba’s actress and Glinda’s actress crying together in the corner. Neither of them will get to reprise their roles.

  I’ve ruined their senior year.

  Chasm keeps a careful eye on me, like he thinks I might spill the beans. But I’m not that stupid. It would defeat the entire reason for doing this.

  “We should get you home,” he tells me, and I nod, giving Danyella and then Lumen a hug before I let him escort me out of the theater toward the parking garage.

  It’s on the way there that my phone buzzes with an incoming text, and Chas and I turn frightened looks on one another. I throw my bag on the ground, bending down and tearing the phone from the front pocket.

  I’m going to give you an address; go there now. A box will be waiting. Take it where I tell you.

  That’s it. No video call. I rise to my feet as Chasm scoops up my bag for me, and then I show him the text.

  “What the hell?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t like this, Dakota. A crazy guy tells you to deliver a box and it’s never good. Boxes, i
n general, are never good. Haven’t you seen the movie Se7en?”

  “It was one of Saffron’s favorites,” I say, the blood draining from my face. There’s a famous scene at the end of that movie where Brad Pitt pleads with Morgan Freeman to tell him what’s in a cardboard box that’s mysteriously been delivered. It’s implied that Brad’s character’s wife is in it. More specifically, her severed head. “I just … I can’t with speculation. Let’s just go.”

  “What about the press conference?” Chasm asks, jogging to catch up with me. I give him a look.

  “He said now.” I hold my phone up for emphasis. “Now, Chasm.”

  Tess is going to fucking kill me for this.

  But I bet that’s the point, isn’t it?

  Parrish’s kidnapper … he must really be my father. Who else would care what Tess thinks of me? It’s a sobering thought. Even now, I’m trying to convince myself that none of it is true. His kidnapper is some random fan, some Mercy type nightmare that Stephen King dreamt up. I can’t be related to this guy; I just can’t.

  And yet … I know that I am. I know it.

  “Shit,” Chasm curses as I do my best to think up an excuse. He opens the door for me which I like, but which I can’t think about just now. I flop down on the seat, tapping out a message to Tess on the phone she gave me.

  Not going to be able to make it home in time for the conference.

  Just that.

  She’ll be furious later if I’m lucky. Stone-cold if I’m not. When she asks me where I was—

  Wait.

  Tess doesn’t have to ask, does she? Because she tracks my phone. She already knows.

  “Wait for me?” I query, but before Chas can answer, I’m up and out of the car again, jogging back into the massive stone building that houses the academy and storing the phone in my locker. “Sorry, Tess, but you’re not tracking me today.”

  I almost forgot about that. Almost. But I can’t make any oversights, no matter how small, or I’ll lose this game. That’s for damn sure.

  “You’re one smart cookie,” Chasm says grimly, watching as I slip back into my seat and hook my belt. I hope he’s right about that, about me being smart. I’m going to need every freaking neuron I have to find Parrish.

  Speaking of, after we’ve plugged the address into Chasm’s GPS and turned right on the road leading toward the highway, I get the call that I’ve been waiting for. Finally. I’ve never hit answer so quickly in my entire life.

  “Parrish.” The way I say his name gives Chasm pause, and he pulls over to the side of the road. He’s careful to keep out of view of the camera, but close enough to see his friend.

  “Dakota,” Parrish replies, his skin pallid and sallow, his lips cracked and dry. I can see the marks on his chest, four marks with a slash through them, another two beside it. There’s so much blood, so much fucking blood. It’s glimmering on his belly, soaking into his pajama pants. He isn’t going to last very long like this. And yet, I’ve found nothing that will help us find him. Nothing. “I’m going to give you the address to deliver the box to.”

  “How are you doing?” I whisper, fighting back tears, shaking with adrenaline as I touch my fingers to the screen and wish with all my heart that he was here with me. “Is he feeding you? Giving you water?”

  “I really wish you’d stop this,” Parrish whispers, closing his eyes tight. “I wish you’d give up on me.”

  “Don’t fucking say that!” Chasm snaps, and Parrish’s eyes fly open. I allow Chas to take the phone—Justin never told me I couldn’t. He did tell me to choose my ‘pawns’ carefully, didn’t he? Well, I have, and I’m putting all my faith in Kwang-seon McKenna. “You have to keep fighting. Dakota needs you back. You can’t just sleep with a girl and take off. That’s fucked.”

  Parrish stares at his friend for a moment before managing the saddest, weakest smile I’ve ever seen on another person.

  “If I don’t come back, Chas, take care of her for me.”

  “Seriously?” Chasm chokes out, his own hand shaking as he holds the phone between us. “Shut the fuck up. That’s ridiculous. Of course you’re coming back. We’re going to find you.”

  “Promise me, Chas,” Parrish pleads, closing his eyes again and leaning his head back against the chair. He says something else, but once again, it’s in Korean, and I don’t understand it.

  “No!” Chas shouts, but then the video call ends, and he’s throwing the phone on the floor in a fit. He punches the steering wheel and then digs his fingers into his hair, leaning over and putting his forehead against the wheel. “No. No, I won’t accept that.”

  “What did he say?” I beg, picking the phone back up and turning to face him. “Tell me. Please.”

  Chasm turns his head slowly to look at me, but the devastation etched there is almost too much to handle.

  “He said he doesn’t think he’ll last more than a few more days. He wants me to stop you from following Justin’s orders.”

  We just look at each other for several minutes before I turn back toward the windshield and, without a single word passing between us, Chas starts the car and off we go.

  Because we both know that we’re not going to give up.

  We’re both willing to pay the price for Parrish’s safety, no matter the cost.

  And Justin Prior—bless his heart—knows that.

  The GPS takes us to the parking lot of an out-of-business diner in North Sultan, a small Washington town that’s about forty-five minutes from Medina. It’s technically a Seattle suburb now with disturbingly high housing prices, but the locals who live here don’t see it that way. It’s still got that small town feel, and with a population of less than two hundred and fifty people, we don’t have any company in the parking lot.

  The box is sitting near the front door.

  It looks sturdy as hell, with a hinged lid that’s currently shut, but unlocked.

  Chasm and I stand there for a while just staring at it.

  “I can smell it from here,” I breathe, choking on the sickly-sweet scent. It’s mixed with this awful tang, one that reminds me of the iron skeleton key that Tess gave me. On our way here, we stopped and grabbed some rubber gloves from a nearby convenience store.

  I’m starting to think that was a good idea.

  I’m the first to move forward, squatting down beside the box and running my hand across the smooth wood. It’s a beautiful piece, something that I’d put at the end of my bed to store extra blankets in. I give it a pat.

  “Don’t do it,” Chasm warns, standing behind me with his hands laced together behind his head. His face is chalk white and he looks half-ready to keel over. But I can’t just drop this trunk onto someone’s porch without knowing what I’m delivering; I can’t. “Dakota.”

  I ignore him, turning back to the trunk and wetting my lower lip. The latch flips up easily, unlocked as it is. Bracing my hands on either side of the wooden lid, I lift it up, listening to the creaking of the old hardware.

  It’s the smell that hits me first, that awful copper tang that seems to sit so heavily on the back of the tongue. I gag before I even realize what it is that I’m staring at: a dead girl. A dead girl in a familiar maid uniform, one that’s now stained with crimson. It isn’t Delphine, but the original maid—what did she say her name was? JJ? the girl I met on my second day here.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Chasm murmurs, and then he’s stumbling away and vomiting into the bushes. Me, I’m just fucking frozen there, staring down at the girl’s disturbingly white face, her parted lips, her glassy eyes. “I told you not to open it!” he screams at me, and a second later, the lid slams shut. I just barely manage to pull my hands away before my fingers are crushed. “Are you goddamn insane?!”

  I’m still just sitting there, kneeling in the gravel and struggling to find my breath. Each inhale tastes like copper. I’m slowly suffocating, but I can’t move. I can’t think. It’s a struggle to stay conscious, to be quite honest. Every molecule inside of me scream
s for me to call the police, to call Tess, to do something other than what it is that I’m doing right now.

  The thing is: my bio dad has made it quite clear what his rules are.

  If I mess this up, Parrish dies. There is no part of me that’s unsure that he’d actually go through with it. I already know he will. This right here is a warning to me, a reminder that this isn’t just murder theater. He will go through with it. In fact, he has, on plenty of occasions.

  I’ve never hated myself more than I do in that moment.

  Chasm is pacing and cursing in Korean, running his fingers through his hair with wild, frantic movements. He knows as well as I do what has to happen here.

  “Help me move this,” I say, somehow managing to find my feet even though my brain has shut off and my body’s gone numb. Chasm looks at me like I’m a crazy person.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not fucking touching that thing.” He points to the chest with a gloved hand. His entire body is shaking, but he manages to put on a good show, looking more pissed off than anything else. “You really want to drop a dead body on someone’s doorstep? You think that’s a good idea?”

  My eyes snap up to his as I force my feet to stay planted and do my best to ignore the wavering of the world around me, this tilting and rocking sensation that must be a stress-related symptom. What did I say when I arrived here in Seattle? That it was undoubtedly the worst day of my life?

  I almost laugh at that. Almost. But then I remember the poor dead girl in the box and how she isn’t involved in any of this and yet paid the ultimate price because of it. Saffron kidnapped me; Tess lost me; my bio dad lost his damn mind. It should be me in this box, not her. Me.

  “Yes,” I tell him, and I mean it. “Yes, I do.” I look back up and our gazes clash. He knows that we have to do this; I don’t have to convince him. We’d do anything for Parrish, the two of us. His best friend and his … whatever it is that I am to him.