Young Enough (The Age Between Us Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “How are you holding up, piglet?”

  “I–I just want to come home.” She hiccups.

  “I’m on my way. Put Lynette’s mom on the phone.”

  “Hold on.”

  There’s a lot of sniffling going on before a woman replies.

  “Mr. Michaels? I’m so sorry. I had no idea what Lynette and her friends were up to. Rest assured, they’re all grounded, and the party is off.”

  I should fucking hope so. “How bad is it?”

  “I’m afraid Sam’s clothes and hair are ruined. My husband and I are washing the paint off her legs and arms with turpentine now, but I’m afraid…” Her voice is small. “I’m afraid she’ll have to cut her hair. It’s a strong oil-based paint we used for the exterior of the house. I called my doctor, just in case, but he said unless she has a skin reaction there’s nothing to be worried about. We’ll pay for the hairdresser and to replace the clothes, of course.”

  “Money is the least of your problems,” I grit out. I dodge a truck that skips lanes. “Where were you when it happened? Why weren’t you supervising them?”

  “It happened outside, in the shed. I can’t apologize enough.”

  “Try apologizing to Sam. This party meant the world to her.”

  “I know,” she says softly. “Again, I’m sorry. I wish I could make it up to her.”

  “Just tell her I’ll be there in an hour, and don’t take your eyes off my sister. I don’t trust your daughter.”

  “Of course,” she whispers.

  I end the call and grip the wheel hard. All I can do for Sam is give her a lecture about true friends and the nasty people of this world. It won’t be the last time. Like bullies, nasty people are everywhere, no matter how old you get. There will always be the Benjamins and the friends like Loretta who turn their back on you in your hour of need.

  As I approach the tunnel just before the dam, a drop of water explodes on my windscreen. I glance up at the sky. Thick clouds are milling overhead. Darker ones are threatening in the distance.

  “Shit.”

  It looks like heavy rain is on the way. I’m already in a long line of cars in the single, one-way lane, waiting at the traffic light to traverse the tunnel. As there’s only one lane, it’s interchanging. We have to wait for the traffic from the other side to cross and the light to go green before it’s our turn. More drops splash on the windscreen and windows. I switch on the wipers and turn on a local radio station that broadcasts weather and traffic updates.

  In the space of three seconds, the heavens open up, and the water comes down in torrents. The sun is gone, and the day turns dark. Lightning flashes menacingly. A spectacular electric storm erupts across the sky. Flashes of light run vertically, horizontally, and in every other direction while the lashes of sound follow a moment later.

  It looks like the storm is moving toward the west. Jesus, fuck. I go colder than a hail storm. If the storm hits Pretoria West, the cellar is bound to be flooded. I need to get through this tunnel and find a place on the other end of the narrow mountain road where I can make a U-turn, but I’m helplessly stuck in traffic.

  The light switches just as the announcement comes over the radio. Cloud-burst and it’s heading west.

  My heart kicks into over-drive. “Come on. Come on.”

  I will the cars to move faster, but we’re driving at a snail’s pace.

  Please, God.

  Another few hundred meters and we come to a complete stop. At this pace, I’ll never make it. Yanking my phone from the console, I check the screen. No bars. There’s no reception in the tunnel.

  Drumming my fingers and tapping my foot, I wait it out for another few minutes. It’s taking too long. We’re not moving. I pull onto the shoulder of the road, leaving enough space for cars to pass, cut the engine, and pocket the key. There are too many car thieves around to leave it in the ignition. Running along the side for the exit, I go forward instead of backward, as there’s no way to turn around. If I’m going to go back where I came from, I need to catch a lift from the opposite side of the tunnel.

  The air inside is excruciating hot due to poor ventilation. It smells of coal and smoke. The sounds from the outside are muffled, but I can hear the assault of the rain like a distant drumming. The tunnel is long. Despite the storm, my skin and lungs are on fire. I exit at full speed, sweat dripping down my face. Rain pelts my face and arms. It stings. Water washes down my back and soak my shoes. I’m drenched in a second flat.

  I tap on a car window. The driver wounds it down a fraction.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, blinking drops of water from my eyes.

  “A truck jackknifed in front of the zoo entrance,” the man says. “It’s the rain. The road is flooded. The tires can’t grip in this much water. Traffic report says it’s going to take a while to clear.”

  Mumbling thanks, I rush farther up the road, combatting the full force of the storm.

  God help me, if I don’t get to Jane, she’s dead. The cellar will be under water in no time. With all the gutters and ditches running to the hole that sits in the lowest point of the lawn, I give it no more than an hour. I’ll be lucky if I make it back in time.

  Adrenalin bursts through my body, compelling me forward. I’m like a wild animal. A short way up ahead, there’s a kiosk with a covered picnic area. I run for my life. For Jane’s life. Under the protection of the roof, I yank my phone from my pocket and dial Eugene, praying he’s at home. The phone goes straight onto voicemail. Shit. I dial Albert. No connection. We have a bad network service out west, and whenever it’s raining it’s almost non-existent.

  Uttering curse after curse, I try Clive as a last resort. At least he answers.

  “Where are you?” I shout over the rain.

  “Fishing with my uncle at the Vaal River. Where the fuck are you?”

  Shit. Shit. I cut the call. There’s no time to explain. I scroll to Dorothy’s name and hit enter.

  “Did you find Jane?” she asks.

  “Where are you?”

  “Germiston.”

  “Germiston?”

  “I’m just about to go into court.”

  “Court?”

  “I’m a graphology expert witness for a fraud case.”

  She won’t make it, either. It’ll take her more than an hour to drive to Pretoria, and who knows how long she’ll be in court?

  “I need a favor. My sister, can you pick her up from the Hartebeespoort Dam? It’ll take a while. The road’s blocked due to an accident. You may have to follow the traffic broadcasts to know when it’s been cleared.”

  “I heard about the storm on the radio. It’s pissing down cats and dogs here, too. What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain later. I’m going to get Jane. Just tell me if you can pick up my sister. I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t important.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll send you the address and a telephone number. She’s with friends. Tell the mother I had an emergency, and I’ll speak to her later.”

  My fingers shake on the screen as I send Dorothy Sam’s number and the address where she is. Then I dial my mother.

  “What’s going on, Brian? Jane was in a state this afternoon. She took the keys to the cellar.”

  “Mom, listen to me. Jane’s in the cellar.”

  “What?”

  “Jane’s in the cellar. The hatch is open. It’s going to flood. You have to go outside and close it.” At least Jane will have enough air to breathe until I get back.

  “No, no, no. Brian, no. Why doesn’t she just come out?”

  “The security gate is locked, and she’s handcuffed to the wall. I’ve got the only keys.”

  “Brian.” Her voice starts to tremble. “What have you done?”

  “Mom, please. I need you. I’ve never asked you for anything. I just need this one thing from you. Please.”

  “Brian, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

  “She’s going to die in there.” M
y own voice quakes with tears. “It’s easy. Close your eyes. Visualize it. You’re going to pull on your raincoat and walk outside. See it in your mind, how effortless it is. You’re going to walk down the steps, cross the yard, and close the hatch. That’s it. There’s nothing to it.”

  “I don’t know,” she keens.

  “For me. I’ll never ask anything of you again.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can. You’re a strong woman. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

  She starts crying harder. “Please, Brian.”

  “Don’t cry, Mom. Come on. Show me how strong you are. Please don’t let Jane die. You can stop it.”

  “All right.” She drags in a shaky breath. “All right. I can do it.”

  “That’s better. Of course, you can.”

  “All right. I can do it.”

  “Go, Mom. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  I cut the call, hoping and praying and dying with every breath of air I take, knowing Jane may not have the luxury of breathing for long.

  Having taken care of the phone calls, I scan the area. A group of bikers are sheltered under the roof, waiting for the storm to pass. I rush over to the first guy.

  “I need to borrow your bike.”

  He looks me up and down and laughs. “Yeah, right.” Turning his back on me, he continues his conversation with his friend.

  I look around. There’s a curio shop on the opposite side of the road with a bank teller sign in the window.

  “I’ll give you ten thousand.” That’s my Christmas bonus and Sam’s private school fees. It’s everything I’ve got.

  Slowly, he faces me again. “Are you fooling with me?”

  “It’s an emergency.” I point at the curio store. “There’s an ATM in the shop. We can withdraw the money now.”

  “If this is some hoax to attack me when you’ve got me alone, you’ll die slowly and painfully.”

  “It’s no hoax.”

  He pulls away his leather jacket to show me a pistol in a body holster. “It better not be.”

  We cross the street and enter the shop. At the cash dispenser, I insert my card, letting him see my secret code. My withdrawal limit is two thousand. I hand him the stack of bills as well as my card and the receipt with my balance.

  “You’ve seen my code. You can withdraw two thousand every day. Give me your address and I’ll return your bike as soon as I can.”

  He takes the cash and card. “You’re for fucking real?”

  Taking out my phone, I hand it over. “Put your number in. I’ll call to get your address.”

  “Okay, bro,” he says with a small shake of his head. “But that bike ain’t worth ten grand if you’re thinking of stealing it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You can’t go out in this weather. Gotta wait it out. Roads are too slippery. The mountain road is dangerous on the descent.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  He pockets the money. “Your call, man.”

  After he’s given me his number and the keys for the bike, I take off like a maniac. I go against the static traffic in the tunnel on the shoulder of the single road, racing home in the pouring rain and thunder for all I’m worth.

  Jane

  The sky is grumbling and dark. I yank on my constraints one time too many. My skin is raw where the leather has chaffed it. I’ve twisted my wrists in every direction, but it’s no use. The cuffs are a tight fit. My arms are aching from being bound above my head. My back cramps from the awkward position. I shift again. The throw drops to the floor. My legs break out in goose bumps from the cool air. The temperature has dropped since the clouds started building.

  Images of me play over and over on the television screen. They come from the feeds on Brian’s laptop. Thankfully, there’s none from the bathroom, but enough of me stripping in the bedroom. As long as the evidence unrolls in front of me, anger keeps me afloat. I haven’t given in to my tears. I’m determined not to. I won’t show weakness.

  According to the time on his laptop, it’s been almost an hour since Brian left. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’ve been gullible, naïve, and foolish to fall for a man like Brian. I should’ve known. Still, how can something so perfect not be real? What we shared must have meant something. It has to. If our so-called relationship was nothing but acting, it will destroy the little that’s left of me. I’ll have nothing to take away with me. No true memories.

  Something wet splashes on my cheek and knee. Raindrops. I look up just as the rain starts pouring. It’s like taking a bucket of icy water in the face. Gasping for breath, I try to shake the water from my eyes. I have an incredible urge to wipe my face. The helplessness of my situation only makes it worse. The best I can do is wipe my face on my arms.

  In a matter of seconds, I’m soaked. Darn it. It’s a cloud-burst. These summer storms habitually last a couple of hours. If I’m lucky, it’ll be over soon, but the rate with which the floor fills with water alarms me. It must be at least a centimeter deep, already.

  Without warning, a small waterfall gushes down the stairs. Another flow erupts from the other side of the trapdoor until a ring of water is pouring steadily and way too fast into the room. My breath hitches on a gasp. The water is running toward the lowest point, and I’m at the bottom of it.

  The power. I don’t want to risk being electrocuted. The plug point is to the right of the sofa. I can just reach it with my foot if I stretch my arms and legs. I cry out in pain as the cuffs eat into my skin. Thank God I’m wearing flat heels. It takes several kicks before I finally manage to knock the plug out of the wall. The cellar goes dark. Only the deafening downpour and the lash of thunder remain.

  Pens and notepads start drifting in the water. The books I’ve strewn over the floor rise to the surface, only to sink again as they absorb the water. Soon, the water is at the cushion level of the sofa. My shoes come off and float away. How fast can a small room like this fill up? A hysterical laugh bubbles from my throat. As soon as it’s out, it’s as if the cork on my panic pops.

  I’m going to die in here.

  “Help!”

  I scream my throat raw, knowing damn well no one can hear me above the rain and this far out in the garden. When the water rises to my waist, I start crying shamefully. It’s not for my life that I’m mourning. It’s for Abby. I may never see her sweet face again.

  The raindrops come down so hard now I have to close my eyes to the sting. It hurts my skin. I’m cold to my core. Shivers wrack my body. The water teases the collar of my dress. I’m kicking with my legs to say warm, but eventually I’m too exhausted. When the water reaches my chin, my lower body rises involuntarily. For a while I manage to float on my back, but then I rise above my arms and the water rushes into my nose. I kick down, choking and coughing. I want to look up and see something, anything, but there’s only water and more water. I tilt my head back, keeping my nose as high as I can, until my mouth is underwater. I’m not making it out. With all the fight left in me, I drag in one last breath.

  9

  Brian

  That I make it back to the house alive is a miracle. I leave the bike in the street and jump the gate, not wasting time opening it. The sight in front of me rocks me to my core. My mother is sitting on the top step of the back porch in her pajamas, rocking back and forth.

  She didn’t do it. Fuck, no! She didn’t close the hatch.

  I sprint like a possessed man. I don’t feel the drops battering my body or the wetness of the clothes clinging to my skin. I’m only aware of the water running in ditches toward the hole in the ground. I stumble over a tuft of grass and go down, face first. For the few remaining meters, I drag my body through the mud, in too much of a frenzy to even get up. When I reach the grid and peer down, my world comes to an end. Jane’s head is under water. Books are drifting around and over her. I can’t see her face. I can’t fucking see her face.

  I dig the keys out of my pocket, my fingers sh
aking almost too much to unlock the grid. Throwing back the grid, I shout to my mother, “Call an ambulance.”

  It’s dark down there. I bite the waterproof utility flashlight on my keychain between my teeth and jump straight down. Something sharp hits my shin, but I’m only vaguely aware of the pain and red color that tints the water. Holding my breath, I keep my eyes open in the freezing water. In the light from the torch, Jane’s face stares back at me, pale and lifeless. Her blue eyes are open, and her lips are the same shade. It’s angelic and terrifying. Gripping her face, I pinch her nose shut and part her lips with mine to blow air into her mouth. Nothing. Not even a flutter of her eyelashes. I work fast to unlock the cuffs. Her body floats up as her arms fall free. Cradling her to me, I dip her head back and blow more air through her lips while treading water. My brain takes over, fighting my heart not to fall apart. I refuse to give up. I haul her over my shoulder and drag us both up the stairs and onto wet soil. My actions are mechanic. I did a first-aid course in school. I know how to do mouth to mouth. I pump her chest with the heels of my palms and blow air into her lungs, over and over.

  “Come on.”

  If there’s a God, take me, but not her.

  Pump, pump. Blow. Pump, pump. Blow.

  Nothing.

  “Come on, Jane. You’re not giving up on me. I’m not letting you go.”

  Pump, pump. Blow.

  A gurgle. A cough.

  She gasps and chokes. A river of water tumbles from her lips.

  Thank God. Thank you. Thank you.

  Turning her on her side, I let her empty her stomach and clear her lungs. She’d swallowed shitloads of water. My hands are all over her. I need to be sure she’s all right. Alive. Her skin is so cold. So white. She’s convulsing and shivering. Her breath is ragged, as if she can’t get enough oxygen. Rubbing my hands over her arms, I drag her to my chest.

  My tears mix with the rain that washes over her face. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt.” I mean that on so many levels. “I love you.” I kiss her icy lips, rocking her in my arms. “I love you.”