Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  CHAPTER 2

  A DOOR SLAMMED and jarred me awake. The front door? Dad must’ve been off to work, and that meant Mom would come knocking on the bedroom doors in a few minutes with her daily chant: Time to get ready for schoo-ool. The house would soon fill with the abominable noises of my brothers and sisters fighting over the bathroom.

  Oh, just a few more minutes. My body felt like a lump of clay, weighted down and molded into the bed. Sleep never felt as good as it did in the morning when I had to get up. If only I didn’t have this grinding headache.

  A headache. That probably accounted for my crazy dream, the nightmare. I giggled at the thought of lying in the same bed as Jarret West, being anywhere with him for that matter. I inhaled and exhaled slowly. Thank you, Lord. It was only a dream.

  Jarret West. Why would I dream of him? Why not Roland, whom I adored, or one of the other nice boys in the Catholic teen group? Or anyone but him. But dreams didn’t have to make sense. Still, why would he come to my mind? I hadn’t seen Jarret or thought about him for the past two years. He was probably keeping himself busy with all the girls at college, robbing them of their virginity, if they still had theirs.

  My thoughts turned to my best friend. Poor Zoë. Dating Jarret had made her the envy of all the girls, but she’d hated being pregnant in high school. She’d wanted to hide it at first. Then came the morning sickness and all the physical changes. She’d lost some friends. And her parents hadn’t taken it well.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  I moaned and buried my face in the pillow. “Just a few more minutes.” I should force myself to get up. Mom always tried to wake me before the others so I could have first dibs on the bathroom. I was the oldest—it was only fair. If my body would just cooperate. I sank deeper into the pillow.

  Oh, wait. I didn’t need to get ready for school. It was Saturday. Was it Saturday? No, no, it wasn’t Saturday. Why did I think it was Saturday?

  My cheek brushed a big damp spot on the pillow. I lifted my head and looked at it. Why was my pillow wet? Had I been crying in my sleep?

  The bedroom door opened.

  “Hey, baby, you awake?”

  The sound of Jarret’s voice sent an involuntary shudder coursing through my body. I rolled over to face him, my gaze falling upon the dark flowered bedspread, the dresser with the big mirror, and the room I had never seen before today.

  Jarret West stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans and—oh good—a shirt. A white tank top. Not much of a shirt but better than nothing.

  Could I still be dreaming? I sat and pulled up the disheveled bedspread, tucking it under my arms.

  He sat on the foot of the bed and gawked at me.

  “Why are you doing this?” I tried to steady my voice.

  “Hey, uh, Mike’s here. You wanna get dressed?”

  I flipped the covers back to show him I wore jeans.

  “You, uh, wanna put on some of your own clothes?” He gave a nod toward door number three. “Not that you don’t look hot in my jeans, but...” He gave me a crooked smile.

  My stomach twisted. “My clothes are in there?”

  He shrugged and sort of nodded.

  “Could you please leave the room?”

  He gave another nod and rolled his eyes.

  When the door clicked shut, I tore out of bed and threw open door number three. I stared in amazement.

  The closet was as big as my bedroom at home. Granted, I’d gotten stuck with the smallest room on account of my younger siblings shared a bedroom. Men’s clothing hung on one side, organized by type and color. Women’s clothing hung on the other, with no obvious organization. Cubbies on the back wall held folded clothes and miscellaneous items. Shoes in neat rows on the floor lined the walls.

  I flipped through the dresses. What was my denim jumper doing here? And my aqua sundress... my white linen dress... my black, my brown, my plaid...

  My chest tightened. Something was terribly wrong. How could he have gotten all my clothes from home to this place? Where did my parents think I was? Why couldn’t I remember yesterday?

  A wave of nausea and lightheadedness washed over me. The answer became clear. I’d been drugged.

  In high school, I had heard about a date rape drug. A guy could sneak it into a girl’s drink. She’d be out of it and he could—

  I sucked in a breath. “It happens so fast,” Zoë had told me, “that you don’t know anything’s wrong until it hits you hard. Then you’re so tired you can’t keep your eyes open. You’re in this strange dreamlike state where you feel like you’re floating.”

  I had never thought to ask Zoë how she knew about it. Could she have known from experience? Had Jarret ever used it on her? Rumors surrounded that boy, some of them pretty bad.

  My hands trembled as I searched my memory. Had I ever heard anything like that about him?

  A knock came again and a muffled, “Are you dressed?”

  “No!” I yanked the denim jumper from the hanger. “I’ll come out when I’m done. I need a few minutes.” I pulled the jumper over my head and dropped the jeans. Okay, a dress really wasn’t the most practical outfit for what I planned to do, but I was absolutely not going to wear his clothes, not if I could help it.

  Would the shoes be my size? I slipped my feet into a pair of brown sandals. They fit perfectly.

  Now, to make my escape. I stepped out of the closet and scanned the room. What could I stand on to climb out the window? I headed for the wooden trunk and the antique armchairs. The trunk was a good height, but it didn’t budge. I grabbed a chair by the arm and yanked. It scraped across the hardwood floor, the sound ripping through me.

  I froze, my heart pounding.

  No one came through the door, so I continued, this time lifting the chair so it wouldn’t drag. It slipped in my hands and cracked against my shin. Stifling a yelp, I limped to the window.

  Anxiety mounting, I pushed back the curtains and stepped onto the chair. The window was open, so I had only to deal with the screen. Not finding any tabs, I gave it a shove. It didn’t budge. I tried lifting it a little and then shoving. The bottom corner popped out.

  Voices came from the other side of the door.

  “Just a minute!” I shouted, ramming my palm against the screen. It popped halfway out. I pushed, twisted, then wrestled it from the window, hoping the scraping sound didn’t reach Jarret and the doctor on the other side of the bedroom door. The screen finally came free and clattered to the deck four feet below.

  I sat on the windowsill and swung a leg outside. It would be an easy jump, but I’d better hurry. They may have heard the noise. Any second now—

  The bedroom door opened. “Caitlyn?” Jarret’s voice.

  Heart racing, I swung my other leg outside and said a quick prayer for safety.

  “What are you—” He rushed toward me. “Caitlyn, no!”

  I cast one frantic look over my shoulder. Then I jumped. I landed on my feet but fell to my knees. Would he follow? I scrambled to my feet, flew down the steps, and ran past a tall lilac bush and into the backyard.

  Thick bushes grew between trees along the back edge of the yard, leaving no obvious way into the woods. A high wooden fence ran along one side of the yard, so I dashed to the other side. The neighboring lawn had the unkempt look of an abandoned property. Just my luck: I’d find no one there to help me. I sprinted through the long grass and nearly made it to the next yard when someone grabbed me from behind.

  “Caitlyn, stop!” Jarret squeezed my wrist.

  I pulled away then remembered it would be more effective to push. So I shoved my captive arm toward him and twisted it fast. Breaking his grip, I took off running.

  An instant later, his arms slid around my waist and held me tight. His chest pressed against my back, his face over my shoulder. “Hey, stop.”

  The feel of his body against mine increased the surge of adrenaline through me. I could get free of him and I knew it. To accomplish it, I simply needed a bit of space betw
een us. With a grip on his arms, I twisted my shoulders and tried turning my whole body.

  Thwarting my plan, he lifted me off the ground.

  My blood boiling with frustration, I considered kicking his knee or taking a groin shot. A few more self-defense moves came to mind, but I needed my feet on the ground. I needed some space. Of course, Jarret did have long hair...

  I reached over my shoulder, grabbed hold of his long locks, and yanked.

  He cussed and lessened his grip.

  I slid down and got my feet on the ground. He moved to tighten his embrace, but I twisted my body and got the space I need to—

  A grunt escaped me as I cracked my elbow into his gut. He groaned. As he leaned forward, I took my elbow to his chin. He staggered back. I lunged, ready to knee him in the groin, but then stopped.

  What was I thinking? This wasn’t a cage match but an escape mission. I turned and dashed for the woods.

  The bushes at the back of the yard grew close together like a wild hedge. I plunged into them, making my escape. Branches, like a hundred daggers, sliced my arms and legs but I forced myself through.

  “Caitlyn, hey, stop! You don’t want to go back there.”

  Beyond the bushes, the undergrowth thinned enough for me to pick up my pace. I ran. Branches cracked beneath my feet and birds fluttered overhead, but it didn’t sound like he was following. Once farther away, I’d risk a look. Right now, I needed to figure out my destination, the depth of the woods, and where they came out. Finding no obvious paths, I dashed between the wider spaced trees and bushes.

  The woods had a pale, surreal quality, the green tones softer, the dirt a lighter shade of brown, the scent like a candy store or maybe root beer. They didn’t remind me of the South Dakota woods I knew. Maybe the stress of the moment affected my perception.

  I made a studied glance to either side. My gaze caught the shaggy, peeling bark on the trunk of a tall tree, lobed leaves on shrubs, branches with toothed leaflets, and a tree covered by thick vines. No, I had never seen woods like this before.

  My heart pounded and my mind raced as fast as my feet. How had I gotten into this situation? I would never have gone anywhere alone with Jarret... willingly. Did Roland suspect what Jarret had done? Did anyone know where I was? If he had all my clothes brought here, he must’ve had a plan, one that he’d been working on for some time. Maybe he’d made it look like I had run away. Oh, how miserable my family must’ve been!

  Leaves stirred overhead. I glanced up and saw a squirrel scurry from one branch to another. Bugs chattered but no wind blew. Everything, besides me and the squirrel, seemed still and calm. I leaped over a dead tree and ducked under a low branch. The branch caught my sleeve, making me need to stop to free myself. I took the moment to try to catch my breath and then raced on. My pace had slowed to a jog despite all my efforts, but I wouldn’t stop, not until I found help.

  Jarret had held me so tightly, yet I had freed myself. I smiled. It didn’t seem possible. He obviously worked out. I liked to take walks, but I was thin as a pipe cleaner. How had those self-defense moves popped into my mind? Maybe I’d seen them on TV. But they had come to me in such detail. And I hadn’t hesitated to use them.

  Light showed between the trees about a hundred yards ahead. I ran out of energy to carry on. Panting for air, I forced myself to the edge of the woods.

  The wooded area ended at a strip of grass along a newly paved two-lane road. A few scattered, mismatched houses stood across the street: a little ranch with a three-car garage, an old graying bungalow, and a vinyl-sided split-level. They each had a deep yard, a long gravel driveway, and naturally growing clusters of trees between and behind them.

  I could go for help. Lungs struggling for air, I propped myself against a tree and gasped to catch my breath as I scanned the woods behind me. He must not have followed, but I wasn’t going to wait longer to be sure. I stepped out of the woods.

  A shiny black Mercedes Benz rolled down the road, approaching. It slowed then came to a sudden stop in front of me.

  I sucked in a breath, my heart pumping double-time. Jarret didn’t drive a Mercedes. Maybe someone had come to help me.

  The passenger-side door flew open.

  I braced myself to run.

  A man jumped out of the car. Jarret!

  I gasped, my mouth going dry. I staggered, wanting to dive back into the woods, but in an instant, he was upon me.

  He latched onto me from behind, his arms like tentacles entrapping me.

  “Let go!” Drained of energy, I couldn’t fight him. Maybe I could slip out of his vice. I tried to drop down. He dropped down with me, and we both ended up on our knees.

  “You’ll run.” He spit his words into my hair.

  “Of course... I’ll run.” I gasped to draw in air. “Why... don’t you... let me go?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  I wiggled and twisted. He lessened his grip, so I turned to face him and plopped down in the grass. He stayed on one knee as if waiting to pounce.

  “But I don’t... I don’t want to be here.”

  “Yes, you do. You belong here.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, both of us breathing hard.

  “Come on back,” he said. “We’ll talk. Something happened to you. I don’t know what, but we’ll figure this out.”

  “Why can’t we... talk... at the police station?”

  He chuckled and stood, holding out a hand to me. “Come on.”

  I reached as if I would take it but then jumped up to run. I turned, bolted, and smacked into a wide, solid chest.

  “Hey there, Caitlyn. Whatever are you doing?” The thug had to be seven feet tall. He had smoothed-back dark hair, a clean-shaven chin, a white scar under one eye, and the strangest pale eyes I had ever seen. He planted a hand on each of my shoulders and grinned down at me.

  “I don’t suppose you remember Mike?” Jarret said.

  I didn’t answer. He must’ve known I didn’t know him. Something about Mike made me reluctant to speak, but I pushed past the discomfort. “So, Mike, you must be the doctor Jarret told me about.”

  Mike’s grin broadened. “That I am. I hear you’re having something of a day.” He spoke with a definite Southern drawl. Who was he pretending to be?

  “Did you drug me?” I said, glaring at Mike.

  “Come on.” Jarret grabbed me by the arm and tugged me to the Mercedes.

  CHAPTER 3

  “WHAT DID HE just put in the eggs?” I dropped the peroxide-soaked cotton ball I’d used to clean the scrapes on my arms and straightened in my chair, wanting a look at the small white container in Jarret’s hand. He turned away from the kitchen island and slid the mystery ingredient back into the refrigerator. It wasn’t milk.

  “Please, Caitlyn,” Mike drawled, tapping his fingers on the table. “It’ll be a right quick exam.” His impatience clashed with his professional “doctor” demeanor.

  I sat opposite him at one end of a long, thick-legged, formal dining room table. Carvings on the edges of the table gave it an elegant look, despite the scrapes and wear. While too big for the breakfast nook, it would’ve fit well in the empty dining room on the other side of the kitchen. A huge antique painting of a rifle-toting man on a horse filled the wall behind me, as if someone thought hanging it in the same room as the monstrous table would tie it all together.

  The antique pieces clashed with the clean, contemporary feel of the house. Sand-colored walls without a single smudge, dent, or handprint. Pale kitchen cabinets and shiny black appliances. If I hadn’t seen Jarret yanking things out of cabinets and messing up the marble countertops, I could’ve believed no one lived here at all, that this had all been staged.

  I crossed my legs and hiked my skirt high enough to expose the bleeding gashes on my shins. I’d ruined my denim jumper. As soon as they’d dragged me back to the house, I’d changed into a camouflage skirt and an army-green t-shirt. If an opportunity to escape presented itself, I’d be ready.


  Jarret had kidnapped me. But why? Did he have mental problems? He’d done mean things before. He once made his younger brother, Roland, miss school by locking him in a room of their house for a whole day. Roland was fourteen then, Jarret sixteen. Did Jarret have a reason for it? Had he a method to his madness? Or was he just mad?

  Mike leaned back and folded his arms. His gaze shifted from me to the sliding glass patio doors. He looked like he’d rather be fishing. No, he probably played golf. But maybe he owed Jarret a favor and had to convince me to take his mind-altering drugs before he could go. Or whatever devious thing Jarret wanted him to do.

  With a sigh, I dragged a cotton ball down a scrape on my leg. If only I’d succeeded in getting away, the bodily damage would’ve been worth it. I should’ve stayed in the woods instead of rushing through them. He hadn’t followed me into them. I could have hidden, sneaked out later, and found my way home. How could I have known he would drive around—

  “Caaaitlyn? The exam, please.” Mike’s tone bore a strong resemblance to my father’s when he wanted me to do something to which I was diametrically opposed, like eating stew for dinner.

  I glanced at Mike but wanted to keep my attention on Jarret. “Did you see what he put in the eggs?”

  Mike groaned.

  Jarret looked up as he zealously whisked the eggs. “Don’t worry, you’ll like ‘em.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He snickered. “Yeah, right. Have you ever skipped a meal in your life?”

  “Of course. I’m Catholic.” In fact, I fasted twice a year: Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. My stomach always hated me for it, rumbling at mealtimes and making me nauseous within the hour. Thank God the Church prescribed only two fast days.

  “Not counting Lent.” Jarret gave a cocky grin.

  My cheeks warmed as I realized he’d read my mind.