by Jordan Ford
I frown at the image, confused by what the photo has to do with anything…until it hits me.
Those eyes, that nose…that mouth.
Holy shit. It’s Chris!
I slump back on my ass, not caring that it’s getting saturated by bloody water droplets.
Brushing my thumb over her beautiful face, I gaze at the image, my insides crumbling as panic tries to take hold.
I don’t know the guy she’s with in this picture and I really don’t care.
All I know is that she’s my Chris and something bad has happened to her.
Shoving the photo into my pocket, I scramble off the wet floor and run for the window. I need to find her, and I can’t do it on my own.
#31:
Blood on the Tiles
Christiana
I wake with a start.
My head is killing me. Fuzz is coating the edges of my vision. It’s dark.
I close my eyes to ward off the pain that’s trying to slice my head open.
My face hurts.
The purr of an engine tells me I’m in a car.
Something’s cutting into the corners of my mouth. My lips hurt. I investigate with my tongue, working out the fabric gag.
My eyes fly open again and I fight the fuzz, looking for clues.
“Shhhh, it’s okay.”
A dark chill passes right through me as Ivan leans into view. He brushes his cold fingers over my forehead like he’s trying to soothe me. I fight against his touch, but my hands and feet are bound. I’m like a freaking fish trying to wriggle away from him.
He laughs and yanks my arm until my head’s resting back on his lap. “Stay still now. It won’t be long.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Tears fill my eyes, adding to the fuzz.
It’s impossible to see.
But I don’t need to. Memories catch up to me, bursting through my brain in an urgent rush of warning.
It’s risky to sneak to the showers when I’ve been moved to this new room, but I need to relax.
I take my time working my way to the hockey locker rooms. My flashlight is by my side, but I won’t use it unless I have to. Sticking to the shadows, I duck and weave, glancing over my shoulder every few minutes until I’m resting against the freezing outside wall.
I scramble through the window. My technique has improved over time and I can now make it through on my first attempt. I don’t land on my ass and am close to a smile as I pad towards the shower stall. I turn on the spray, reminding myself that everything is going to be okay. Ivan didn’t stop by for a midnight jerk-off. In fact, he didn’t even knock as he passed my doorway. I waited until one a.m., half expecting some kind of attack or annoyance, but nothing came. That’s when I knew it was safe to sneak out for a shower.
Sliding my sweater off, I’m about to hang it on the hook when a door creaks behind me. I spin with a gasp, dropping my sweater as fear turns my body to a useless, frozen lump.
Breaths hitch and stumble out of my mouth.
Ivan is walking towards me with slow, even steps. The sound of his shoes on the tiles is menacing.
I blink in an effort to snap out of it. Scrambling for my flashlight, I arm myself before he gets too close, but he lurches forward and yanks it out of my feeble grasp.
My nostrils flare and I make a fist, remembering my training. Powering through my body, I strike out with a punch. He blocks it and waves my hand away, following through with a backhand slap across the face.
The light he’s holding works like a club and I’m knocked off my feet and thrown into the spray.
Blood is pouring from my mouth. My jaw is killing me. I reach for my face, unable to hold back a soft whimper as I tenderly check out my wound. I must have bitten the inside of my cheek.
The shower shuts off with a clunk and Ivan grabs my shirt, hauling me up. Slamming my back against the wet tiles, he gets in my face and seethes. “I knew there was something different about you.”
I glare at him. Silence is my only defense right now. I’m not telling him a thing.
With an arrogant, hungry-eyed smirk, he shoves his hand between my legs.
I yelp and struggle against his unwelcome touch.
He laughs and presses his mouth against my ear. “You’re missing something.”
“Get your hands off me.” I grit out the words, clinging to the last shred of calm that’s left.
He doesn’t listen, groping a little harder. I’ve never been violated this way before. I’ll be washing myself for weeks to get his creepy touch off me. With an urgent scream, I lash out, stamping on his foot and head-butting him.
He reels back, grabbing his bleeding nose and swearing up a storm. Snatching the towel off the hook, he presses it to his nose and I make a run for it.
He trips me before I even get out of the stall. My elbow hits the tiles, sending rockets of pain screaming up my arm, followed by a numb kind of torture. I cradle my elbow against my stomach, ignoring the pain in my knee and struggling back to my feet.
Ivan grabs my shirt, pulling me down. My head smacks against the tiles, my vision hazing while he straddles my hips. I buck and fight against him, but this only earns me another thunder slap to the face. I cry out—a mixture of pain and rage.
Ivan clamps his hand over my mouth. “Shush now. We don’t want to go waking anyone.”
I glare at him, then bite his hand. He pulls back with a howl.
“You feisty little bitch!”
He cuts off my scream by shoving the towel over my face, pushing it into my mouth until I’m fighting for air. I hit and scratch, lashing out with my nails. It doesn’t take much for him to secure my pigeon arms and hold them above my head. His fingers are tight and unrelenting, digging into my wrists.
I struggle beneath him as my lungs start to burn, warning me that time is running out. I can’t die this way, not on a smelly locker room floor with Ivan sitting on top of me. Desperation turns my struggle into an all-out panic, and it’s only then that Ivan pulls the towel back.
I suck in a lungful of air, my heart hammering so loud I can’t even hear what Ivan is saying.
“…you alive, so don’t make me do that to you again, okay?”
He squeezes my cheeks, irritating the cut in my mouth and making my eyes water.
“Look at those luscious lips,” he whispers, running his thumb across my mouth and pressing his nose into the side of my face.
If he tries to kiss me, I’m going to bite his tongue off.
“I can see why he likes them so much,” Ivan whispers in my ear.
I go still, unable to tear my eyes away as he looks down at my face with a knowing little glint in his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snickers and pats my cheek. “I saw you making out with Calloway. It was the proof I’d been waiting for.”
I swallow. It’s the only response I can manage.
Leaning back with a thoughtful smirk, he keeps hold of my wrists and puts all his weight on my hips. I’m pinned beneath the heavy son of a bitch and have no choice but to lie there and listen. “You never sat right with me, you know. Something about you has always been off. When I was telling my parents about it at Thanksgiving, complaining about how pitiful you are, Dad made a joke that you sound more like a girl.” He tips his head and smirks. “And it got us all thinking. You see, there’s this girl who went missing the night of Roberto Candella’s murder. Have you heard about that? It’s been on the news.”
I make my gaze as stony as I can.
He shrugs. “Anyway, this chick has a ton of people looking for her, and some of them are willing to pay a pretty high price.”
I want to bite back and shut him up, but I’ll only give myself away.
Ivan presses his nose into my cheek. “The Candellas are offering one million for your cute little ass. That’s some nice pocket change right there.”
My heart twists and starts beating out of control.
> “An all boys boarding school, Christiana. What a clever hiding place. Who would think to look here?”
I force my head to shake.
Deny. Deny. Deny!
“You’ve got the wrong person,” I mutter. “I don’t know who that is.”
“So why are you here, then?”
I look away from him, stumped for a plausible answer.
His scoff is pitiful and degrading. Pulling a photo out from the back pocket of his pants, he holds it up to my face.
Closing my eyes, I turn my head away from it, cursing myself for being so damn careless…for breaking one of Rybeck’s rules.
“I found this in your room last night. While you were getting hot and heavy with Calloway, I figured I’d take the opportunity to have a snoop around. It was like finding a gold nugget.” He snickers. “You and Roberto, acting like BFFs. So, was this taken the night you killed him?”
“Fuck you,” I mumble.
His eyes narrow as he studies my face. “Or was it Uncle Marco? Is that why you’re here? So you can testify against him?” Ivan tuts. “Betraying your own family. Now that has got to be a new low.”
I buck and swear, rage giving me a spurt of energy.
Ivan drops the photo, needing both his hands to keep my wrists contained. “You can’t deny it anymore. You’re the Sorrentino everyone’s looking for.”
I fight a little harder, jerking forward with my teeth and trying to do whatever damage I can. Ivan slaps me away and flips me over, pressing my face into the cold tiles and whispering in my ear, “Your game of hide and seek is over, Christiana. It’s time for me to get paid.”
I open my mouth to unleash another scream but he shoves the towel in my face again, digging his knee into my back and only pulling the towel away long enough to replace it with another cloth that reeks of something foul and sends me shooting into a black abyss.
The memory fades to nothing and I’m back on Ivan’s lap, breaths punching out of my chest as I try to wrap my head around this nightmare.
My body is killing me, aches and bruises reminding me that it’s all real. Ivan beat the shit out of me in the hockey locker room and then snuck me out of Eton. I have no idea where I’m going. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of this.
“Help me!” I scream through the gag, wondering if the driver will turn to acknowledge me.
He doesn’t. Just keeps his eyes ahead like some brainless henchman.
Ivan calms my struggle with his pincer hands and then starts stroking my hair again. “Don’t worry,” he purrs. “I’m sure they won’t make you suffer too much. Just tell them you didn’t do it and they’ll most likely let you go.”
I give him a disbelieving glare. His lips form a wonky line and he swallows, looking away from me and mumbling, “It’ll be okay.”
I can’t imagine that being true, but I grasp at that small hope. Maybe if the Candellas know I’m willing to testify against my uncle, they’ll let me go. Their son deserves justice and I’m going to give it to them.
Swallowing this idea, I try to bolster my confidence, already running through a speech that might work to win them over. But I can’t shake the disquiet riding through me.
Right now, my only allies have no idea where I am.
And by the time they find me…I could be dead.
#32:
Tell Me What I Don’t Know
Trey
I sprint past the south dorm and head straight to the dean’s apartment. Pounding the thick wooden door, I don’t let up until it’s pulled open. The dean’s sharp nostrils are flaring, his indignant glare weakened by the groggy look on his face.
“Sorry to wake you.” I slip past him and pace into his tiny living room.
I’m not actually sorry at all.
I’m freaking the hell out and I need him to pay attention.
The light comes on and I spin to face him. He squints at me, rubbing a hand over his thinning hair and muttering, “This better be good, Mr. Calloway.”
“Something bad’s happened to Chris.”
“Excuse me?” He blinks, his eyes coming into immediate focus. I’m trying to figure out if he knows the truth, but he’s always been a tricky bastard to read.
I play it safe and refer to Chris as a guy. “He’s not in his room. So, I checked the bathrooms and he’s not there either…” My eyes dart to the floor and I lick my bottom lip, about to give away the fact I break curfew all the time. “So, I went to the rink, because…sometimes he goes there to…unwind, and there’s blood in the shower and he’s gone. He’s just disappeared and I know something bad’s happened to him!”
“Okay.” Dean Hancock raises his hands to calm me down. I pull in a shaky breath and rake my fingers through my hair.
The dean must pick up on my fear because he doesn’t go ballistic.
He puts on his calm voice and makes me sit down.
My knee bobs as he takes the couch opposite me and drills me with a stern glare. “I can sense by your agitation that you’re telling the truth. But let’s quickly go over a few details. Why were you checking on Chris in the first place?”
“Because…” I sigh. “You stuck him in a room next to Ivan. The guy’s been after Chris since the day he arrived here. I was worried.”
“Is Ivan in his room?”
My eyes snap up from the floor and hit Dean Hancock’s perceptive gaze. “I didn’t check.”
I push off the couch and head for the door.
“Not so fast.” Dean Hancock stops me.
With an irate huff, I spin and practically yell at him, “You get how urgent this is, right? I can’t just stand by while he’s out there somewhere. He needs me!”
The dean tips his head, his eyes narrowing as he looks straight through to my soul. “You care about this boy, don’t you? He’s, uh…more than just a friend.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “It’s not what you think,” I mutter.
Clearing his throat, he grabs his jacket and slides it over his pajamas. “Come on, then. Let’s go. You can explain on the way.”
I press my lips together and fight the urge to tell all. As we hurry to Ivan’s room, I skirt the truth, admitting that I care about Chris and I promised to look after him.
The dean pats my shoulder, giving me one of his rare smiles. It’s one of those closed-mouth ones that tells me he thinks I’m a decent human being.
I yank open the door and hold it for him. He’s walking pretty fast, which is a good thing. Maybe he’s taking this shit seriously.
He checks Chris’s room first and then heads to Ivan’s, pounding twice before stepping in.
“Sorry to wake you, gentlemen.” He flicks on the lights, scanning the room while Ivan’s two idiot friends groan and cover their heads with the blankets.
My eyes narrow in on Ivan’s bed and the sick fear I’ve been lamely trying to battle surges straight up my throat.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I can’t help it.
The dean doesn’t even flinch at my obscenity. Instead he turns off the light and shuts the door behind him, clipping down the hall without saying a word.
I race after him. “Where are you going now?”
“I need to see this shower you told me about.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as we step outside and jog to the hockey rink. We go the conventional way, the large rink door groaning when we open it. I lead him straight to the shower stall. Most of the blood has trickled away, but I show him the towel and Chris’s rumpled sweater. I’m tempted to reveal the photo, but I’m still not sure if I should admit that Chris is a girl.
“Why would Ivan bring him here?” he mumbles to himself.
“I think Ivan followed him here, sir.”
“Yes, right.” The dean nods, pulling out his phone and quickly punching in some numbers. “Yes, hi, Don. Just wanted to check on gate activity tonight.” He nods and hmmms while he listens. “Okay, thanks for that… Not sure yet. I think I might be missing a couple of students.” T
he dean nods again. “Right… Okay, will do. Thanks.”
Hanging up, he starts punching in a new number.
“What’d the gate guard say?”
“No one’s come or gone since the girls’ bus left after the dance. He’s going to check the other exit for me, and I’m calling the police.”
I snatch his wrist, my breath on hold as I hand out another nugget of truth. “Actually, maybe you should start with Chris’ parents.”
The dean’s eyes narrow and I can’t hold contact. Glancing at the floor, I mutter, “You want to trust me on this one. There’s stuff you don’t know.”
“You are quite the mystery tonight, Mr. Calloway, but your pale face is making me believe you. Let’s head to my office.”
We power-walk to his office and within five minutes he’s on the phone. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Lorden, but we seem to have a problem with your boy. He appears to have gone missing.”
I can’t hear what’s being said but by the expression on the dean’s face, it’s not good. He goes really quiet and eventually hangs up the phone with a mystified frown.
“They’re on their way.” He glances at me. “They’ll be here in ten minutes…and he’s going to call the police himself.” Threading his hands together, he lays them on the desk and stares me down. “I think it’s time you tell me what I don’t know.”
I crumple into the chair I’ve sat in so many times before. I’m usually forcing a casual indifference, like I don’t give a shit what kind of trouble I’m about to get into. But tonight, I face the dean and with a raw honesty that hurts, I choke out the truth. “Chris is a girl. She’s been hiding here in the witness protection program, and I’m scared that Ivan’s figured it out and he’s doing something bad to her.”
Dean Hancock’s narrow face goes even thinner as he purses his lips, calmly trying to absorb the news. “Who is she really?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me anything other than she’s in hiding.”
“And how did you find out her secret?”
My cheeks heat to boiling. The dean’s eyebrow arches.
