738 Days: A Novel

by Stacey Kade

“His real name,” Liza and I say together.

  “Huh. Probably a good thing he changed it, then,” Mia mutters.

  “Amelia,” Liza says in warning. “Give me the phone.”

  Mia ignores her. “Well, Whatever His Name Is called you like twenty-seven times, and you have thirty-one new texts.” Turning toward us, she lets her finger hover above the screen. “Should we find out what Mr. What’s His Name has to say?”

  “No,” I say sharply even as a voice screams, Yes! inside my head.

  “Why not?” Mia demands with a pout.

  “Because it doesn’t matter,” I say wearily.

  Liza hesitates. “What he said in the video seemed genuine,” she admits. “Even with all the stammering.”

  “See?” Mia says.

  “It’s not up to you.” Liza reaches over me to snatch the phone back from Mia, who’s too busy scowling at me to see her coming.

  “Hey!” Mia protests.

  “She said no,” Liza says. “So forget it. Just go back to school.” Then she hesitates. “You okay?” she asks me with a cautious glance.

  I nod, my chin rubbing against my pajama-covered knees. The fabric is damp from my tears. “Sure.”

  She gives me a considering look. “Maybe we need to take another drive when I get back from study group, try my stress-relieving technique again.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mia asks with a put-out expression.

  “Nothing,” Liza says firmly. “I’ll see you tonight. After school.”

  But as soon as she’s gone, the garage door’s rumble signaling her departure, Mia resettles at the foot of my bed, reaching up to steal my bag of chocolate pretzels.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asks with her mouth full. “Hey, these are good.” She examines the bag with new respect.

  “What plan?” I ask, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

  “Are you going to wait until Mom comes home and take the minivan to Wescott?” Mia crinkles her nose. “Ugh. Gross. No one wants to be seen rolling up in that. Oh!” She bounces a little, making the mattress shake. “I know. I have some cash saved. Maybe you could rent a car. Something, you know, star appropriate, like one of those Humvee limos or—”

  “I’m not going to see him,” I say quietly.

  She stops bouncing, her expression the definition of crestfallen. “What? Why not?”

  I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, where a headache is beginning to throb. “It’s not about him. Not entirely. It’s about me. And yes, he apologized and told the truth, but that doesn’t change anything.” No matter how much I want it to.

  Mia’s mouth falls open. “Um, he just blew up his life for you,” she says with a dramatic wave of her hand.

  I shake my head. “I hope he didn’t. I hope he did it for himself.”

  “And you don’t want him back?”

  “No! I mean, yes, I do. But it’s because I do,” I try to explain.

  She raises one eyebrow. “Did you hit your head recently?”

  I glare at her. “It’s not about trusting him; it’s about trusting me. He lied to me, and I believed him. I couldn’t tell the difference.” Just the memory of that makes my throat go dry and tight. “How am I ever supposed to believe him again?”

  “Amma,” she says with the air of someone taking great patience in the face of immense stupidity. “I met him. He cares about you. If he says he loves you, then—”

  “You don’t understand—”

  She makes a frustrated noise. “I do, actually, and Chase Henry orchestrating a convenient rumor, which then happens to come true because he falls in fucking love with you, is not at all the same as a creepy bus driver who—”

  I stiffen, every inch of me revolting at the comparison. “Amelia!”

  “What—you’re allowed to think it, but I can’t say it?” she demands. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

  “Not everything is fixable,” I say, avoiding the question.

  “You’re right,” she says flatly. “Not when all you think about is being broken still. You’re just scared. And that’s bullshit. Because everyone is scared; they just don’t have your excuse to quit.”

  I suck in a breath, jerking back from her.

  She tosses my pretzels at me—my head, more like—then pushes herself off my bed and flees my room.

  “That’s not fair,” I call after her. “Mia. Amelia!”

  But she ignores me and thumps her way down the stairs, each clomp of her boots an indictment against me.

  Damnit. I sag back against my pillows. I understand that my life over the last four years has been, for better or worse, holding theirs hostage.

  And Mia’s right—it’s incredibly unjust. To her, to my parents, to Liza. But I don’t know how to change, how to fix me. I want to trust Chase, but more than that, I need to trust myself again. And I don’t know how to do that. I’m not sure it can be done.

  The television clicks on in the family room, an ad for fast-food chicken blaring into existence, clearly indicating Mia’s lack of interest in returning to school.

  Which means I probably need to go down there and try to, I don’t know, say something to her.

  But I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Maybe leaving her alone to cool off is the better move. I have no idea.

  As I’m sitting there, debating, the doorbell rings, and I straighten up, the loud, unexpected sound sending a jolt through me.

  “I got it,” Mia shouts, the habit a leftover from the days when we used to compete to see who could get the phone or the door first.

  “No, Mia, don’t!” I call. “It’s probably reporters or a—”

  “It’s okay—it’s just flowers!” She sounds excited, and I hear the noise of the deadbolt retracting. “Hey,” she says in greeting to someone.

  Flowers. From Chase? Is Chase here? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

  I scramble out of bed, but my foot gets caught in the covers, delaying me just a few extra seconds as I shake myself free.

  Extra seconds that matter, as it turns out.

  As I’m rushing out of my room and toward the stairs, I hear a thump from below and a surprised squeak from Mia.

  When I peer over the railing toward the main floor, where Chase once stood facing off against my whole family, I see Mia and someone I don’t recognize. The stranger is in a black baseball cap and an oversized black jacket with her arm locked around Mia’s neck.

  An empty clipboard and a cheap grocery store vase of flowers are on the floor. The vase is tipped over on the blue and white rug, slowly staining it as water leaks out, and there’s a heavy chemical smell in the air, familiar and yet out of place. I can’t think of what it is, though, because Mia’s face is so pale, her eyes huge in her face. As she pulls at the stranger’s arm, the stranger’s jacket sleeve moves, and I see the flash of shiny metal at Mia’s neck. A knife.

  “Amma,” Mia whispers.

  I freeze. This is everything I’ve ever feared. I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

  Can’t scream.

  The stranger looks up, a too-bright grin flashing across her narrow face. Her familiar face, though I’ve only seen it in black-and-white security camera stills. “Amanda, right? I think we need to talk.”

  I’m in dancing-teacup flannel pajamas, and Chase’s stalker, the one who sent me a box of rose petals and a chain, the one who burned a picture of us, is standing in the entryway of my house with a large kitchen knife pressed against the pulse in my sister’s throat.

  Adrenaline makes my ears buzz, and my lips go numb. I remember this feeling. This is danger, real danger. I felt it every time I heard Jakes’s uneven steps on the stairs to the basement. I never knew when he would decide to kill me. He reminded me repeatedly that it would happen, sooner or later, when he was tired of me.

  But it didn’t.

  And it doesn’t have to happen today, either. Not for me or Mia. I have choices here, options. But I need to move.r />
  And like that, air returns to my lungs, and I’m in motion.

  “What do you want, Sera?” I ask, slowly walking down the staircase.

  Her face brightens, revealing wrinkles by her mouth and her eyes. She’s older than I thought, in her late thirties. “He mentioned me?”

  Before I can say anything more, though, she shakes her head. “It’s not about what I want; it’s about what you deserve.” The seething hatred in her voice makes my knees wobbly, but I make myself keep going.

  “You ruined him,” Sera says. “Elise told me all about it. You had to just latch on to him and make this mess!” Her knife moves in a half-aborted gesture, and blood runs beneath the line of the blade.

  Mia squeaks, tears rolling down her face.

  I stop, three steps from the bottom. “Mia, stay still,” I say quickly, trying to think. The nearest phone is the landline in the kitchen. There’s no way I’m getting to that in front of Sera. But the front door is open. If someone will notice or just come up to the door … where are the reporters and photographers now that we need them?

  “He can’t even mention me publicly now and we’ve been waiting for years!” Sera shouts.

  Okay, crazy. Definitely crazy. Think. Agree, agree. Keep him … her, keep her calm.

  “You’re right,” I say.

  Startled, she jerks her gaze to me.

  “We should talk. Woman to woman, get this sorted out.” It’s complete bullshit, but I’m operating on experience now and it feels familiar in a horrible, reassuring way. I learned by hard experience that Jakes hated passive resistance the most, even more than screaming and crying. Which means that the few times I tried to reason with him, he felt the need to explain, to make me understand why I deserved to be taken. Why it was my fault: for being pretty, for walking by his house, for being alive.

  It kept him from hurting me. Temporarily. But that was better than nothing.

  “Glad you see it my way,” Sera says, nodding approvingly as if I’ve passed some kind of test.

  “I just need you to let Mia go. I don’t feel like I have your full attention, otherwise. And you want me to have your attention, right?”

  She narrows her eyes at me and points the tip of the knife in my direction. “Oh, no, no, I can’t let her go. She’ll call the police and then I’ll have to explain to them all over again and they just won’t listen. They never listen, and they keep confusing Chase.”

  “The bathroom just past the stairs,” I say quickly. I don’t want to put forth the idea that Mia is too much of a liability to be handled. “If you tie her up in there, no one will be able to see her and she won’t be able to get out and call the police.” Not to mention, tying her up will require that Sera find something to tie her up with and put down the knife to do so. Both of those might distract her long enough that I can dial 911 on the kitchen phone.

  “Amma,” Mia protests, fat tears wobbling down her face.

  “Shut up,” I say evenly, keeping my eyes on Sera. “Tie her up and then we can talk. I’m the one you want, aren’t I?”

  “Fine,” she snaps. “But you tie her.”

  I move down the last few steps, barely feeling the wood beneath my feet but hearing every creak and every labored breath from Mia as she tries not to cry.

  I can do this. I just need to get her away from Mia. After that … I’ll deal with after, after.

  I turn to lead the way toward the bathroom, certain with every cell in my body that I’m going to hear a sharp gasp and turn to see Mia sagging to the floor, her throat a gaping wound.

  But her terrified whimpers and reluctant, stumbling footsteps tell me she’s still alive. For the moment.

  When I reach the doorway to the bathroom, I pivot to face the two of them.

  Sera shoves Mia in the bathroom and steps back, waiting for me. For a half-second, I’m tempted to shove into her and hope for the best, but her knife is up, the edge dark with Mia’s blood. If I die, I’m not sure what she’ll do to Mia.

  I turn on stiff legs and enter the bathroom ahead of Sera.

  Mia is curled up in the tub near the faucet, one arm around her waist and the other pressing her hand against her throat. A little red seeps through her fingers, but that’s all. Her gaze is locked on Sera behind me.

  As I approach the tub, I start to ask, “What do you want me to use for—”

  Sera pushes past me to slash at the shower curtain.

  Mia screams as strips of fabric and plastic land around her, and I’m paralyzed by indecision and fear. I could maybe run and make it out of the house, but I can’t leave Mia behind and risk that Sera will take her anger out on a more convenient victim.

  “There, ties. Ready, steady, go,” Sera says, retreating to the doorway again. “I didn’t bring any chains with me this time. Did you like my present, though?”

  “It was very thoughtful,” I manage, bending down to grab the end of a fabric strip with shaking hands and tear it free from the rest of the curtain.

  Behind me, Sera laughs, and I shut my eyes for a second, convinced I’m going to feel the sharp point of the knife in my back at any second.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she continues in that light, playful tone. “Instead of talking here, we should go for a drive. There’s just not enough privacy around here. Too many nosy people interfering in our business.” The harshness in her voice returns. She means Mia.

  Get it together, Amanda.

  “Sure, sounds good,” I say, as dread pools in my stomach. If I go anywhere with her, the next time anyone will hear from me is when they find my bones in a trash bag in the woods.

  “Amma, no,” Mia whispers.

  “So hurry up!” Sera stomps her feet, an impatient child eager to play with her toy. “Stop dragging it out.”

  I open my eyes and wrap the ragged fabric around Mia’s wrists. Tight enough to pass inspection, should Sera check, but not so tight Mia can’t get out on her own eventually.

  “Just stay still. Keep pressure on your neck. You’re going to be okay,” I tell her quietly, hoping and praying I’m right. If I can just get Sera away …

  Mia shakes her head at me, a quick jerk of her head, her lip quivering. Then her hand moves to her side, tapping her pocket once.

  It takes me just a second to understand. Her phone. She still has her phone on her. The revelation is electricity in my veins.

  All I need to do is get rid of Sera long enough for Mia to call.

  As I loop the other end of the shower curtain strip over the faucet, I dare a quick glance over my shoulder at the mirror. Sera is behind me, at the threshold, but her focus is on my efforts at restraining my sister.

  She’s holding the knife lower now, tapping the flat of it against her leg, like it’s a pencil and she’s in a hurry to start the exam.

  This is it. The best chance I’m going to get. My heartbeat is thunderingly loud in my chest, so much so that it feels like it’ll give me away.

  Keeping low, I spin and launch myself toward Sera, my hands aiming for her middle to shove her back.

  “Amanda,” Mia shrieks.

  I expect to feel cold metal piercing my flesh, but instead, Sera clutches at my arms in surprise as she falls backward into the hall.

  Twisting free of her, I leap back to make a grab for the door.

  But before I can get it fully closed, she’s up and reaching into the gap between the door and the frame.

  She pushes the door against me, her knife coming in wildly, the tip of it slicing into my right forearm. The cut burns hot, and instinctively, I stumble back a step. That’s enough for her to shove her shoulder and her face in. We’re practically eye to eye, and I can feel her breath on my cheek.

  If she gets both shoulders in, we’re done. Mia’s still tied, even though I can hear her working frantically at the knots I made. I won’t be able to hold the door by myself, and then she’ll kill us both.

  But no, that’s not going to happen. I refuse to let that happen.

/>   With a bellow of rage that comes from deep inside me, I close my right hand into a fist, thumb on the outside just as Chase taught me, and drive it straight at her face with every bit of my weight.

  My knuckles collide with her cheekbone with an impact that reverberates up my arm. But she falls back, clutching at her eye.

  I shove my shoulder into the door, slamming it shut and locking it. Then I lodge my foot against the base of the door to keep it shut.

  I’m panting, my legs are shaking so hard I don’t think I can walk, and blood is dripping off my elbow, but I’m keeping this door closed no matter what.

  Twisting my head so I can see Mia, I say, “9-1-1. Now.” I’m bracing, expecting the thud of Sera’s body against the door, her howl of frustration and rage.

  But it’s eerily silent out in the hall. For now.

  Sobbing, Mia finally tugs free of the bonds around her wrists and fumbles her phone out of her pocket with a shaking hand. A few seconds later, I hear the reassuring beep of the numbers being dialed and then the beautiful sound of a connection going through and ringing on the other end.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator asks in a crisp voice.

  “Help us! Please!” Mia shouts.

  That’s when I smell smoke and look down to see the first curls of it drifting underneath the bathroom door.

  36

  Chase

  My phone has been vibrating off and on all morning, ever since I stopped on my way back from set and announced to the waiting photographers, reporters, and fans outside the hotel that I would be making a statement in a couple hours.

  It wasn’t long before Max, Leon, Rick, even George, Elise’s boss, were calling. I didn’t listen to the messages, but I could easily imagine what they thought of the idea.

  With the texts, I didn’t have to imagine.

  Don’t do this. Call me.

  You’re being an idiot. Call me.

  Call me. You’re going to ruin everything.

  All variations on the same theme.

  But none of the messages, voice or text, was the right one, from the right person. So I ignored them all until after my statement, when it would be too late for any of them to do anything.