Tell Me No Lies

by Branton, Rachel

  He released Dylan, who immediately shot toward me, going to his knees and pushing his thin frame into my side. I could feel him shaking. “It’s okay,” I whispered to him before whipping around to face Bailey. “Let him go. He doesn’t know anything. He’s only a kid.”

  “Take them to your bedroom,” Bailey said, ignoring me. “I have to think.”

  “Bailey!” I shouted as Charlie yanked me to my feet. “Don’t do this!” Next to me Dylan let out a terrified sob.

  “Wait,” Bailey said, and Charlie froze. She crossed the three steps between us. Her hand drew back, and she slapped me hard. “Gage is mine. Remember that.”

  She nodded tersely at Charlie, who gave her a crooked smile that made him somehow resemble a scrawny rat. His fingers dug into my skin, and his other hand closed around Dylan’s narrow arm.

  “I’ll get some rope,” Bailey said, “and meet you there.”

  Dylan’s eyes were huge and frightened as Charlie pushed us down the hall. He looked more like Mia than ever, especially when she’d shown me the note. For his sake, I had to do something.

  I twisted from Charlie’s grasp and stepped away from him, hitting into the wall of the hallway with more force than I’d intended, and my breath whooshed out of me. Without stopping to see if anything was seriously damaged, I pushed off, slamming into Charlie’s slight frame. He stumbled and hit his head against the wall. It didn’t stop him. Roaring with anger, he came at me.

  “Run!” I shouted at Dylan. “Run!” The boy’s eyes opened even wider, but he hesitated only a second before obeying.

  Charlie’s fist jabbed my right eye, bringing a slicing, hot pain. Another shot landed in my stomach. I collapsed to the floor on my back, fighting for breath. He came at me again. I lashed out with my feet, taking him by surprise. He fell, but it was a short-lived victory. Uttering a curse, he jumped on me, pinning me with his weight, his fingers biting into my shoulders. “Don’t,” he said close to my face, “do that again.”

  I gagged on the rancid smell of his unwashed body and the tobacco on his breath. This close, the rot in his teeth was apparent. I might have felt sorry for him if he weren’t trying to kill me. I wished I could crack my head into his and knock him unconscious, but I suspected that the way things were going, it’d only be me who’d suffer. Besides, my bruised and aching body rebelled at the idea.

  “Okay,” I surrendered. I moved my head a bit to see if Dylan had made his escape. If he had, would he know how to get help? We were too far from his house for him to know the way home, and he’d probably been taught to stay away from strangers.

  Dylan wasn’t in the hallway, and I allowed myself a sliver of satisfaction as Charlie yanked me to my feet, sending pain echoing through my head and torso. Charlie hesitated then, looking dazed, as though wondering what he should do next. Or maybe pondering the best way to make me pay. Heels clicked on the kitchen tile, coming our way. Bailey.

  “Lose something?” she asked, stepping into the carpeted hallway. One hand rested on Dylan’s shoulder. The other held a gun.

  I’m sorry, Dylan’s eyes said. A tear rolled down his cheek. I wanted to take him in my arms and hold him. I started forward, but the world wavered, dark patches appearing in my vision.

  Dylan let out a cry as I stumbled and fell into blackness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A soft, persistent touch like butterfly wings on my cheek cut through the pain in my body and my head, drawing me back to a consciousness I really didn’t want. I forced my eyes open and jerked slightly when I saw Dylan’s face close to mine. With a small intake of air, he drew his tied hands back from my cheek, the relief in his eyes evident. I wondered how long I’d been out. For some time, apparently. It was dark outside, the room lit only by a small lamp on the night stand.

  I was lying on a bed on my left side, my head on a worn towel that was obviously meant to catch any blood escaping the cloth bandage around my skull. It didn’t feel wet, so that was encouraging. My right eye was swollen, but I could see through it fine. My hands were still tied behind my back. Moving to a sitting position was harder than I expected, and I gave it up halfway through, sinking back to the bed.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  I meant after I’d passed out in the hall, but Dylan began back at Mia’s. “I knew you were leaving, so I hid in the Jeep. Uncle Gage always finds me, so I thought if I hid in the Jeep he wouldn’t for at least a little while.” He paused before adding, “I’m really sorry.”

  I could see he felt bad and that he was worried I’d be angry or that he might have been the reason I was hurt. But though I wished he weren’t here with me, it wasn’t his fault Bailey and her brother were psycho.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’re going to be okay.”

  “Why’s Bailey doing this? Why did that man hurt you?”

  This time his anxiety forced me to sit up all the way. Too late I realized my hands had also been secured to the frame of the bed, and my arms wrenched painfully. I slid closer to the edge of the bed until the pressure eased. “It’s about your uncle. You know why he went to prison, right?” I didn’t know how much they had told him, either about Gage’s situation or about his own conception.

  “He killed someone?”

  I nodded. “Only he didn’t really.”

  “That’s what my mom says, but she doesn’t know who really did it. Do you?”

  His terminology told me he had no idea Skeet had played any part in his life, and I was glad for that. I hoped it was something he wouldn’t have to deal with for a long, long time. “I don’t know for sure. That’s why I came here. I thought Bailey could help.” I didn’t want to tell him too much because I still hoped Bailey’s obsession with Gage wouldn’t allow her to hurt his nephew. They might get away in the short term with making me disappear, but Dylan’s disappearance would be noted quickly. His family would scour the entire city looking for him.

  Unless they thought I’d taken him away from the city.

  Great. With the Jeep missing, that was exactly the conclusion they would draw. Panic made my breath come faster as I imagined my face and Dylan’s flashed over the TV news, the searchers focusing on Flagstaff and Phoenix, my sister and parents being questioned.

  Wait. Wouldn’t I have taken my clothes and my laptop before running off? And the rest of my money and credit cards? Clothes for Dylan, a favorite toy? The police would have to realize we hadn’t left voluntarily, despite the missing Jeep.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that eventually Dylan’s involvement would add urgency to the search. Good for me. Bad for him. If I’d been the one choosing, I’d opt to have him safe at home, hiding in the chicken coop or under Mia’s bed.

  “Okay, look,” I said. “If there’s ever a chance, you need to run away. Far away. Get to some neighbor’s house and tell them to call the police and your mother.”

  “I just knock on their door?”

  “Yes. Tell them you were kidnapped and that Bailey Norris has your aunt tied up. Don’t stop for anything. Don’t worry about me. Got it?”

  He nodded solemnly. “Uncle Gage will find us. He always finds me.”

  I had to smile at his faith. “Sure he will.” I wished I could share his belief, but I knew I had to depend on myself. Even if Gage noticed right away that the Jeep was missing, some time would pass before they found us. The Norrises would have to act tonight while it was dark. By tomorrow, getting us—or our bodies—out of this small town would be next to impossible. That meant I had to somehow free us both and call the police.

  Holding back tears, I ran one foot along the bed, following the rope to the middle of the bed frame where I’d been tied.

  “I can’t untie that,” Dylan said, lifting his hands, which unlike mine had been secured in front instead of behind his back. “There’s too much tape on my fingers.”

  What I needed was to free my hands so I could untie the rope connected to the bed, but I couldn’t do anything with my hands taped be
hind my back. “Watch this.” Sitting, I pulled my knees to my chest and hunched my back, working my tied hands under me. Pain reverberated through my body as I tugged and pulled myself through the circle of my arms.

  “Nice.” Dylan said when I’d finished, sounding so much like Gage, I smiled as I began tearing the tape off with my teeth.

  “Family talent,” I said, silently blessing the limberness my father always bragged about at my mother’s parties. It was one of the few things I knew about his early life.

  We froze as steps came down the hall. With a startled sound, I reversed my hands again. Something popped in my shoulder, but the pain lasted only an instant. I threw myself down on the bed with my head on the towel.

  Dylan climbed onto the bed next to me, his thin body pressed against my stomach.

  “You’ll have to carry her if she’s not awake,” Bailey said as they entered the room.

  I certainly didn’t want to be carried by the odorous Charlie, so I opened my eyes. “Please, Bailey,” I said.

  “Shut up.” Her voice was so tight it was a wonder any sound came out at all.

  Charlie bent down to untie the rope from the bed frame. After several minutes of struggling, he swore and pulled out a pocket knife to cut the rope. He did the same with the rope holding Dylan. Then he held the ends like dog leashes. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You don’t need to know.” He was standing so close that I gagged at the strong smell of whisky. He’d been drinking again while I was unconscious, and he was jumpy and nervous as though yearning for a fix. He carried himself like a man on the verge of losing control.

  I looked at Bailey, whose face was pale gray. “Bailey, you don’t want to do this.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I’ll do what I have to.” To protect her brother, I inferred. To obtain Gage.

  At my side Dylan whimpered, and my frustration grew. With my tied hands, I couldn’t even comfort him.

  Cloaked in darkness, they dragged us out to Charlie’s old Ford and shoved us none too gently into the backseat, which smelled like stale hamburgers. Charlie drove, which made me more nervous than being tied up.

  “Stop swerving,” Bailey ordered. “Can’t you be sober for anything?”

  “Excuse me,” he snapped. “Maybe I’d stay sober if I didn’t always have to clean up after your messes.”

  “My mess? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t come back.”

  “You think Mia would have left it alone?”

  “I mean, if you hadn’t tried to get the money back that night.”

  “Well, I only had to get the money because you killed dear old dad.” His voice slurred the words. “Who cleaned up what mess then? Did you really wonder why I drink? It’s the only thing that stops me from seeing his face and you with that poker. I got rid of it then, but I’m not a murderer, Bailey. Whatever you do to them, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

  “Shut up. You always did have too big a mouth.”

  I stared from one to the other, finally understanding. Charlie hadn’t murdered their father. Bailey had. That meant she might love her brother, but she had been primarily protecting herself when she’d allowed Gage to go to prison for Skeet’s murder. If Charlie had gone to prison, no doubt the trial would have dredged up his past—and Bailey’s guilt.

  “I ain’t gonna do it,” he insisted. “I’ll get them to the house. That’s all.”

  “That’s all you need to do. For now.”

  I’d wasted my breath appealing to Bailey. Charlie was the one with remorse, if it could be called such.

  Tears leaked from Dylan’s eyes. Frantically, I looked around for something to help—anything—but the road was completely deserted. Bailey half turned in her seat, watching me, the gun in her hand.

  “Where are we going?” I tried again, forcing a calmness I didn’t feel into my voice.

  “An old house on my aunt’s property. Very ancient and very dangerous. Accidents have happened there to people who break in and investigate.”

  So that’s how it was. I hoped Dylan didn’t understand the implication. If only I’d told Gage I’d intended to go see Bailey. He’d surely know about her aunt’s property. Thank heaven I’d left that message with Ridge. If we could stay alive long enough, he’d be able to find us.

  “House” was a loose term for the place they took us. The tiny, dilapidated, two-story wooden structure was missing half its shingles, most of the long porch had fallen off, and the windows were boarded from the outside. Everywhere, the paint had curled up to reveal gray wood.

  “It’s changed,” Charlie said, killing the engine.

  “No one’s lived in it in eight years, and it was bad before Mother died. If anyone would have been willing to buy the place, I’d have practically given it away.”

  “I don’t remember it being this bad.”

  “You don’t remember having to go outside for water? The outhouse? What about sleeping on that flea-bitten mattress in that poor excuse for a second floor? Wasn’t anything but a glorified loft. Worse than an attic.” The sourness in her voice jabbed at us all.

  “That, I remember. You couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

  “And now we’re back.” Bailey tossed him a flashlight and looked at me. “Don’t try anything.”

  Bailey had to drag a piece of broken stair over to reach the doorway from the fallen porch. She opened the door with a key, and Charlie half-pushed, half-lifted us into the small living room.

  “Did you leave that here?” Charlie asked, as Bailey lit an old-fashioned kerosene lamp sitting on a broken chair by the window, the only furniture in the room.

  Bailey shook her head. “It was here the last time I had to kick a bum out. I thought it might still be here, if no one else had broken in.”

  Light danced on the ripped and faded chintz curtains and pieces of broken glass that still clung to the frame. I couldn’t see the room well in the dim light, but one entire wall had oak paneling that looked remarkably intact. Another wall near the corner held a built-in bookcase with cupboards on the bottom, one of the doors drooping on its hinge.

  Charlie motioned us through the living room to an even tinier bedroom. He laughed. “Our aunt’s old log bed is still here, good as ever.”

  From the meager illumination of their flashlights, I could see flowery paper peeling from the walls, which were also darkened with water damage. In one corner someone had made a fire at one time. A hobo, maybe? One of the boards attached to the outside of the window had been partially removed. Not big enough a hole for a person, but plenty big for smoke to escape. A tattered quilt covered the bed, thick with dust and grime, but there weren’t any other pieces of furniture or belongings. Bailey must have taken everything of value when her aunt and mother died.

  Charlie tied our ropes around the thick log running horizontally along the bottom of the bed below the thin mattress. “What are you going to do to them?” he asked, sounding nervous.

  “I don’t know. I have to think.” She strode to the door and into the living room without a backward glance.

  I sat on the bed, and Dylan buried his face in my lap. “Please, Charlie,” I whispered. When he didn’t respond, I added, “This is only going to make things worse. Please let us go.”

  “I can’t.” His body language told me he was uncertain, scared. He didn’t want to be here.

  “I know you aren’t responsible for this. Bailey is. You can’t let her hurt us. She won’t get away this time.”

  His head jerked back and forth, like a man in a mild seizure. “She’s my sister.”

  “She’s a murderer.”

  “He deserved to die. He hurt her bad. He hurt all of us. My mother cried every night.”

  “That doesn’t give Bailey the right to hurt me. Or Dylan.”

  “You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have messed with Gage. He belongs to Bailey.”

  The set of his shoulders was changing, becomin
g decided. I hurried with more words. “Bailey had her chance with Gage, but she let him go to prison. Besides, you’re the one who told him to stay away from her. And what about Dylan? He’s just a boy. He didn’t choose any of this. He’s been a victim from the beginning, starting with Skeet.”

  Even in his diminished capacity, Charlie knew what I was saying, but Bailey’s control over him was too absolute. “I can’t.” He set down his flashlight on the edge of the mattress and scuttled to the door, pulling it shut behind him.

  “That went well,” I said to myself, hoping the sarcasm would make me feel better. It didn’t. A least he’d left us the flashlight.

  Dylan lifted his head and stared at me. “What do we do now? Are they going to hurt us?”

  I didn’t know the answer to the second question, so I dealt with the first. “First we’re going to get out of here. Let me up, okay?”

  He moved off me, and I left the bed and sat down beside it, pulling my body through my linked hands as I had at the house. The tape was tighter at my wrists in the new position in front, but I was much more comfortable. As I used my teeth on the tape around my wrists, Dylan started biting on his own tape.

  In minutes, my tape dropped clear. Unfortunately, the knot on the rope around my wrists proved more difficult. The knot secured to the log frame was even tighter. I’d never get it off in time, but maybe I could free Dylan. I moved closer to him, helping him with his tape. His knot was also tight, but without the tape he was able to pull first one hand free and then the other.

  “Ow,” he said. “That hurt.”

  “Yeah, but you’re free.” I held out my wrists. “Can you get this knot?”

  He tried, but his little fingers weren’t strong enough. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Look, the windows are boarded up from the outside. I think I can lie on the bed and bang them out with my feet. Maybe they won’t hear us, and you can get out.”

  I heard him swallow in the silence. “Without you?”