by M. H. Soars
“Yes, and you must be Ollie’s wife.”
“H-how do you know about me?”
“Oh, Simon likes to torture me with tidbits of information about my family.”
“I don’t understand. Why is he doing this? Because of money?”
“That too. But also because Simon is a psychopath. He didn’t need me alive after he took my samples for the DNA test, and yet he lets me live here in these inhumane conditions so he can torture me.”
“Where are we?”
“The crazy runs in the family. Mr. Jenkins had a bunker built deep in the woods behind his property.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve lost count of the days. Simon snapped when his father died. He drugged me, and when I regained consciousness, I was already here.”
Absolute fear threatens to take control of my sanity again. To think that deranged man is now with Ollie and Charlotte. Oh my God. Why didn’t Adeline tell me about her suspicions sooner? She could still be alive.
“What is he going to do to me?” My voice is shaky, mirroring what my body’s doing right now.
“I don’t know. Simon brought you in and left without saying a word to me. He seemed to be in a hurry.”
I struggle against my binds again, wincing as the hard plastic digs into my skin.
“I don’t see any binds on you. You’ve never tried to escape?”
Harry laughs without humor. “Simon doesn’t need to keep me chained to anything. I can’t walk.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Mr. Jenkins hit me with his car, he paralyzed me from the waist down.”
Oh my fucking God. The story keeps getting worse and worse. Who were those people? When Oliver finds out the truth—because I will get out of this hell hole to tell him—it’ll devastate him.
I try again to break free. I cannot let that sucker win.
“We need to find a way out of here. Do you think you can help me out of my bindings?”
“He used plastic zip ties to bind your wrists and ankles. I would need something sharp to cut through them.”
“How about your teeth?”
I don’t wait for his answer as I begin to crawl toward him. I’m getting out of here and I’m taking Harry with me, even if I have to carry him over my shoulder all the way back to Oliver.
That fucker Simon messed with the wrong woman.
Forty-Five
Oliver
I stare at the empty closet in disbelief. Gone are all of Saylor’s clothes and her suitcase. Felix is missing. An hour after Harry went looking for Saylor, he still hadn’t returned, so I locked my drunk mother in my father’s study and set out on my own search. I found the guesthouse empty.
That was twenty minutes ago. I’ve called Saylor a dozen times and left endless messages. Now all the calls are going straight to voice mail. I’ve gone through the list of her friends and no one knows anything. This seems like déjà vu; she pulled the same stunt back in Hawaii, leaving me alone in that hotel room without a goodbye note.
No. She didn’t fucking run away this time. I knew something was off back in Hawaii. I don’t know what to think now. Saylor wouldn’t take off like that, not in the middle of Nana’s funeral, not in her condition. She was happy despite everything.
I hear the front door open and run out of the bedroom to see Harry coming in, not Saylor. My heart sinks like a boulder in the ocean.
“Where the fuck have you been? I called you several times.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot my phone in my car. I came here to look for Saylor like you asked, and when I saw all her things were gone, I went to find information.”
“And?” I can’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me to question Linus or Gilbert.
“Nothing. No one’s seen her. She must’ve taken a cab and slipped away while everyone was busy with the funeral.”
“That’s bullshit. She wouldn’t do that. She had no reason to.”
“Are you sure, Ollie? It was clear to me that she wasn’t happy here.”
My hands curls into fists as I stalk toward my brother. “She wouldn’t run away,” I say through clenched teeth.
Maybe if this had happened a couple of weeks ago, I could’ve believed it. I stop in my tracks, veering toward the second bedroom where we’ve kept some of our stuff. Inside the closet, Rita’s case is still there. I open it for good measure, finding Saylor’s beloved guitar inside. Instead of feeling a wash of relief, my stomach churns.
I run back to the living room to grab my phone. “I’m calling the police.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t run away.”
I don’t look at him as head out the front door. There are still guests at the main house, but I don’t care. The operator’s voice comes through, but before I can speak, sharp pain explodes behind my head and I’m propelled forward. I turn in time to see Harry come at me again with a shovel, hitting the side of my face this time. The blow knocks me down, and I’m too stunned to do anything to protect my body from the impact with the ground. The acrid taste of blood fills my mouth as my world turns off-kilter.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, still not catching on that my fucking brother just attacked me.
“Why couldn’t you just accept that your wife left you, brother? Why did you have to be so stubborn?
He hits my jaw with his fist this time and it’s the last thing I see.
SAYLOR
“Come on, Harry. We don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Do you think it’s easy cutting through these bloody things with my teeth?”
He resumes gnawing the plastic restrains around my wrists while I look around the bare room, trying to find anything I can use as a weapon. The only object I can think of is the little lamp in the corner. Even so, I don’t think it’s big enough to inflict any damage.
I feel a slack on the plastic tie and help Harry by putting pressure against the restraint. The skin around my wrist is probably raw at this point, but desperation trumps pain. The plastic zip tie finally snaps. Two red bands mark my wrists now. They are also covered in blood, but I don’t think it’s mine.
I turn, noting that Harry’s lower lip is split, blood pouring from the gash. “You hurt yourself.”
He wipes his bloody lip with the back of his hand. “Yes. Those zip ties are sharp.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think I can chew the ones around your ankles.”
I look down at them. Even if my fingers weren’t numb from the lack of circulation, there’s no way I could break those ties with my bare hands. However, I notice there’s some slack on them. It’s not enough to pull free, but maybe I can unzip my boots and take them off. After a lot of struggling, I manage to move my left foot in front of the right. It’s an odd and uncomfortable angle, but I can reach the zipper now.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks.
“Trying to get my damn shoe off.” I focus on the task, but the damn thing won’t budge. “Ugh, come on!”
“Maybe I can help?”
I switch my position on the floor, placing my bound legs over Harry’s lap. He holds my boot with both hands and tells me to try to pull my foot out.
“What do think I’ve been doing for the past minute?” I didn’t mean to snap at him, but I’m too nervous to care about anyone’s feelings.
“Getting sassy won’t help one bit.”
He wiggles my boot left and right, and with me pulling in the opposite direction, my foot finally begins to slide out. With a final pull on Harry’s end, my foot comes out, the jerky movement making me fall backward on my elbows.
“Victory!” Harry brandishes my freed boot like a trophy.
No time for celebration, though; we still need to find a way out. I grab the accessory from Harry’s hand, putting the boot back with haste. I’m wobbly on my feet as I stand up, the vertigo taking a moment to pass.
“Where’s the way out?” I
ask.
“I believe we’re underground, so look for some kind of stairs.”
The farther away I move from Harry and his lamp, the darker the room becomes. I can’t imagine that a bunker buried deep in the ground wouldn’t have some type of illumination, so I find the nearest wall and search frantically for a light switch. In my scrambling, I bump against something metallic.
“I think I’ve found the stairs.”
Getting familiar with the way out by touch, I quickly realize the stairwell is a spiral type, narrow and steep.
Fuck. How am I going to carry Harry out of here?
One problem at time, Saylor.
I venture up the stairs blindly since I couldn’t locate a light switch. The staircase shakes as I go up, proving it’s not very stable. Fucking fantastic. After a slow ascension, I finally come to the door. Holding my breath, I turn the knob and push the heavy metal door forward. It moves slowly with a loud creak, but it opens. Late afternoon light comes pouring in, and I want to weep.
I debate going on my own to get help, but I forget the idea the moment it enters my mind. I can’t leave Harry behind. Pushing the door open all the way, I find a rock big enough to hold the door open, but I have to bend and stretch my body to its limit to reach it without letting the door shut. What if I can’t open it from the outside without a key?
Once the rock is in place and I’m sure it’ll hold, I go back inside to get Harry. Going down the stairs with the path illuminated is much easier.
“Come on, Harry. It’s time to go.”
“You should run for help. I’ll slow you down.”
“Not a chance, buddy.” Crouching next to him, I throw his arm over my shoulder. “Ready?”
“Are you sure you’re strong enough to carry me?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
I unfurl from my crouched position, lifting Harry with me. I soon realize it’s hard to keep my balance when I’m holding him upright like that, his entire body weight on me.
He sighs. “This is not going to work.”
“Jesus, will you quit with the negativity already?”
“I dare you to spend months locked in a bunker and maintain a sunshine attitude.”
“Touché. Okay, let’s see if all those months in physical therapy will pay off.”
I lift Harry into my arms like he’s a child. The only problem is that, despite his obvious emaciated condition, he’s a tall guy, and bones are fucking heavy. My arms are already shaking and I haven’t even started up the stairs yet.
Come on, Saylor. You can do it.
Gritting my teeth, I concentrate on taking one step at a time. The ascension is too fucking slow for my liking, but we eventually make it out of that hole. I can’t hold Harry any longer though, so I drop him onto the leafy ground not too far from the entrance of his hellish prison.
Bracing my hands on my knees, I try to catch my breath.
“You should go now, get Ollie. I can crawl my way into a hiding spot.”
“Not happening. I’m not leaving you behind.”
“You’re such a stubborn woman. No wonder Simon didn’t like you. He knew you wouldn’t be easily manipulated.”
I open my mouth to reply when a distant call for help freezes on the spot. I almost didn’t hear it, but I recognize the owner of that voice.
Oliver.
Forgetting my earlier promise, I leave Harry behind, sprinting toward the direction I think the call came from. Branches get in my way, scratching my face and snagging my clothes, but I don’t stop, even if I’m not sure I’m going in the right direction. Then I hear the sound of a shovel hitting ground, louder than the call for help had been.
I don’t even try to be stealthy as I run toward the new noise. Breathing hard, I come upon Simon, who is presently covering a hole in the ground with dirt. There’s no sign of Oliver, but I have a terrible suspicion as to where he is.
No. I can’t be too late.
I let out a guttural scream as I jump on Simon, knocking him down. My sudden attack stuns him a little, granting me the opportunity to punch him in the nose, but he recovers fast and quickly overpowers me. He pushes me off him to strike me next, his rough hands wrapping around my neck in an iron grip.
“Stupid bitch! Why did you have to get in the way?”
I try to pry his fingers off to no avail, then buckle and thrash on the ground, which only makes him squeeze my neck tighter. I’m winded and tired from carrying Harry up the stairs and from the run here. The little bit of strength left is quickly waning.
“I knew the old hag had something up her sleeve. I could see the defiance in her gaze before I smothered her with her own pillow.”
Dark spots begin to take over my vision from lack of air. I don’t think I have much time left before I pass out. The last thing I hear is a growl before a blur collides with Simon, knocking him off me. Air rushes through my lungs now that the passageway is finally unobstructed. With shaking arms, I push my upper body up to see that Felix is the one who saved me.
I turn to the hole in the ground, heart stuck in my throat. As I feared, I find Oliver there, unconscious. A whimper escapes my lips as I take note of the patch of bruises and dried blood on his face.
“Ollie, my love. Open your eyes.”
I brush the dirt off him, fearing the worst. He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. Looping my arms under his, I pull him out of the hole, my muscles protesting with the effort. Oliver stirs, twisting his face as he does so.
He’s alive! Thank God.
Felix lets out a whine, making me turn to the scene behind me. A bloody Simon is standing over Felix’s limp body, shovel in hand. He raises his arm, ready to deliver a killing blow.
“No!” I yell.
He looks over his shoulder, the devil’s face staring back at me. I’ve never seen so much evil in anyone, not even in my former attacker.
Simon smiles at me, a cruel and twisted upturn of his lips, right before he brings the shovel down. I close my eyes, refusing to bear witness to such an act of violence.
I’m so sorry, Felix.
A gunshot echoes in the forest. My eyes fly open just in time to see Simon collapse to the ground. On the other side of the clearing, Gilbert is there with a rifle in his hand. He brings the barrel down and steps closer to Simon’s unmoving form.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
“Yes. I never miss a shot.”
“Saylor?” Oliver says.
“Yes, Ollie. I’m here.”
“Are you okay, sugar?”
“You’re the one covered in bruises and you ask if I’m okay?”
“Did he do anything to you? I’ll kill him if he did.”
“Don’t worry, your butler’s already done that for you. That’s what I call top-notch service.”
Forty-Six
Saylor
Four weeks later
There’s an entire committee waiting for us when we walk into our home in Hermosa Beach. After the horrible ordeal at the hands of Simon Jenkins, it feels like it’s been an eternity since we left California.
We finally learned the truth of what happened to Harry. Mr. Jenkins did hit him with his car, then decided to take care of Harry himself to avoid going to jail. That part of the story was true. Bound to a wheelchair and confused, Harry began to believe the lies the Jenkinses told him. He learned the truth much later when he first saw Oliver on TV performing with Boys Future. Then he began to plan his escape, but Simon suspected what Harry was up to and took away his wheelchair.
I still don’t know how that monster figured out I was on to him. I guess it’s a truth we’ll never know thanks to Gilbert and his sharpshooting skills. Who would’ve guessed the stuffy butler was an Olympic gold medalist for rifle shooting? Thank God he was around when Felix returned to Longview Manor covered in blood. Knowing something was amiss, Gilbert armed himself before following our dog into the woods.
I push those memories aside and focus on the situation at hand. M
y bandmates are here, plus Liv, Bas, and even someone I haven’t seen in years, Sebastian’s cousin Shane.
Mom flew to the UK as soon as she heard what happened to us, so she’s with me, Ollie, Harry, and Felix. Charlotte decided to stay a little longer in the UK with her mother.
Remi and her little sister Cassie are holding handmade ‘Welcome’ signs. The house is decorated with colorful balloons, and I spy a delicious food spread outside on a long table. Bright sunshine gleams on the pool. Even the weather decided to welcome us.
Felix spots Liv’s dog, Fritz, outside and runs out to greet his friend. I lock gazes with Liv before we both break into a run and hug each other in the middle of the living room.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she gushes.
“Me too.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t take time off to see you.” She pulls back, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Don’t apologize, chica. Mom was there.”
I turn to Oliver, as he hugs everyone in his path, introducing his real brother in the same breath. The bruises on his face are finally beginning to fade, but the sight of them still makes my blood churn. I almost lost him that day. I’m still plagued by nightmares of him in that shallow grave.
Harry has recovered by leaps and bounds. The gauntness is gone from his face. Clean-shaven and with a proper haircut, I can see some resemblance between him and Oliver. Something Simon and all his plastic surgery procedures couldn’t replicate.
Despite the ordeal he’s been through, not only at the hands of that psychopath but also the Jenkinses, his spirit isn’t broken. He speaks fluent sarcasm like a master, always ready to crack a joke here and there. It’s his coping mechanism, no doubt, but it’s helping Oliver deal with his own guilt. They still have a long way to go, but the road no longer seems bleak.
Harry seems a bit shy with all the attention he’s receiving. Remi stops in front of him, watching him intently. “Boy, you’re ten thousand times better than the other Harry.”
“I sure hope so. How dreadful would it be to lose a popularity contest to a psychopath,” he’s quick to reply.
