With a couple thousand dollars in my pocket, I’ll buy back Chloe’s jewelry and leave it under the bench in the woods. I’ll text Brick from Judd’s cell phone, warning him to be careful and protect Chloe until Judd is arrested. Then I’ll snag Ayla and we will leave Haydon forever. I’m so excited, thinking about the end. I know I can do this. I know it.
But time is ticking. I need to get out of Judd’s house, fast. At the top of the attic steps, I pause and listen. There is music playing and low voices emanating from the kitchen below. Luckily, this is the time of night when Judd and Ayla celebrate their hard work and cash infusion, oblivious to everything else. And since Donovan’s still here, I’m sure he’s partying too.
Leaving the lights off, I tiptoe down the steps toward the front door, sliding my hand along the hallway wall until I reach the knob. In the darkness, I slowly turn it, breathing silently through my mouth. The door eases open, inch by inch, and when the space is large enough for me to slip through—
A massive force slams the door closed.
I nearly jump out of Chloe’s coat as my hand slips off the knob. Gasping, I look up. Donovan’s palm is flat against the doorframe. His eyes are two black nails boring into me through the swirls of his hair.
“Thought you didn’t have anywhere to be,” he snarls.
“I forgot…it’s a thing, at school,” I stammer.
“You meeting someone?”
“Uh huh,” I say, hunched between him and the door because there is nowhere else to go.
Donovan’s eyes slice me. His head tilts, amused. “So you got the delivery my boy’s waitin’ on?”
As his words sink in, all the color drains from my cheeks. No, no, no. Ayla betrayed me. I should have known she would. Donovan laughs at my stunned expression. Then his smile disappears, his hands grip my shoulders, and my feet are six inches off the ground as he slams my back against the front door. “You made a big mistake, little girl,” he says in a toxic voice.
I don’t know how I manage it, but I hear myself respond in a low, defiant voice: “I’m not afraid of you.”
He offers me a sinister smile. “Then that’s your second mistake.” And everything is a jumble as I’m dragged down the hall and through the kitchen, then shoved roughly to my knees in the middle of the living room.
Judd and Ayla both seem confused by the two of us bursting in and by Donovan’s sudden aggression toward me. I inch back and huddle against the wall by the TV, my long black hair hanging in front of my eyes like a curtain. I feel like a feral animal, trapped.
“I just got an interesting call,” Donovan announces, cutting off the music. “Looks like our sweet little Bones is pulling some dirty tricks on us.” To me he says, “Did you think Marcus wasn’t gonna run your silly story by Keith first? I thought you said this girl was smart, Judd!”
Marcus? Oh. He must be the dealer at school. I feel a deluge of relief that it wasn’t Ayla who sold me out. Emboldened, I shake my hair back, sit up and holler, “You wouldn’t have known a thing if—”
Donovan spins around and kicks me in the chest, cutting off my words, along with my air. I double over, spewing undigested bits of salad and saliva onto the floor. I fight for oxygen, unable to inhale properly. “Give it to me,” Donovan commands. “Or I’ll scrape it off your body.”
Still wheezing, I reach into Chloe’s pocket and pull out the bag of cocaine because I don’t want him rifling through my pockets and finding the cell phone—or the knife. Donovan seizes the powder.
When Judd sees the baggie full of his precious cocaine, his eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow. “After all I did for you. Bones, you lyin’ little—” He lunges toward me but is stopped abruptly by Donovan’s fist.
Judd staggers backward and sinks onto the couch, heaving and swearing. Blood gushes down his chin, his nose clearly broken.
“Incompetent fuck,” Donovan scoffs. “Can’t even control a little bitch like this. Lucky for you, I know how to handle ’em.”
My stomach plunges as I realize that Donovan just claimed me.
While Judd writhes, Donovan hauls me to my feet and looks me up and down. “Tsk, tsk. Judd, you played this one all wrong,” Donovan chides over his shoulder. “She’s far too pretty to be a runner. I’ll make a lot more off her in the stable.”
From the couch, Judd gurgles, “You got your payout. I found these two—they’re mine.” But he’s in no position to argue.
“You can have the junkie,” Donovan nods his head in Ayla’s direction. “I’m keepin’ this pretty little thing. After a few days with me, she won’t be so feisty.”
I grit my teeth and think, I’ll die first.
Donovan wets his lips. My stomach churns at the look in his eyes, the one I have known to watch for ever since Ayla brought me into her filthy underworld. Then his hand, fleshy and pink, comes slowly toward me. I back up against the wall, but there’s nowhere else to go.
I cringe and then freeze as his fingers make contact with my skin. He caresses my cheek, then runs his whole hand over my face, lips and neck—as if marking me with his scent. Frantically, my eyes seek out Ayla. She’s standing near the cellar door, still as a statue. Everything about her appears wasted—her body’s too thin, her bones too visible. Her face is gaunt where it used to be vibrant. And her eyes look scared, scared for me.
Determined not to end up like her, I slap Donovan’s hand away from my face, ready to fight him tooth and nail. But he simply smirks like he’s already won, and somehow I know he’s broken girls far feistier than me.
“We had a deal, you sack o’shit!” Judd springs to his feet, which causes Donovan to step away from me. While the men exchange insults, I slide my hand into Chloe’s coat pocket and search for the hidden blade. The handle feels like heaven and hell in my grasp. I click it open.
Holding it straight down by my side, I make a desperate dash for the hallway. Donovan sees my move and easily blocks my path. He doesn’t see the knife, though. “Now, now, our little party’s not over yet, Bones.” He smiles.
Blood pounds up through my ears as he steps closer, closer, close enough. Just before his fingers reach me, I squeeze my eyes shut and thrust the knife into his gut.
His hand drops. His mouth roars. Something warm and wet seeps into the crevices between my fingers. I press my lips tight to keep from retching.
I did it…I actually did it.
Triumph surges through me. But something’s wrong.
Donovan has a strange, pained look on his face, yet he’s not bending forward, not falling back. His grubby hand is suddenly around my wrist and he’s squeezing and twisting, twisting until my fingers are forced to separate and the knife is out of my grasp. Gone.
Crazy with fear and adrenaline at the loss of my weapon, I thrash and hit Donovan in the face, all over his head. Despite my efforts, Donovan pulls me in closer, tighter, until I feel something—his belt buckle, I think—pinching sharply against my stomach.
I scream, hoping some neighbor will hear, hoping Brick is parked on the street, ready to call the police. Ayla watches anxiously, but she can’t save me—she’s proven that a hundred times over.
Frantically, I whip my head around to scan the room and then I reach out for Judd, of all people, beg him to help me. I beg better than I ever did for mercy or scraps of food. But he just grunts dismissively, turns and marches out the front door, mopping his nose with his elbow.
Donovan’s lips twitch into a smug little smile at Judd’s departure. I push against Donovan’s huge chest with all my might, but I can’t get away. He’s too strong. We are mashed together like partners in some monstrous dance, and my stomach feels damp with his blood and the knife is somewhere in his possession, and I am sweating, crying, panting with the exertion of the struggle. Desperate, I try to find a way to raise my knee to his groin—the best defensive move I know—and then a blur of flesh stre
aks through the kitchen.
It’s Ayla. She’s holding something large in her hand—a lamp—and I squeal as it crashes over Donovan’s head, large pieces showering us both. It doesn’t take Donovan down, doesn’t even cut him, but he loosens his grip on me enough to turn and deliver a backhand so powerful that it lays Ayla out cold. As he does this, my knife falls to the ground with a thud, dripping red with Donovan’s blood. Only his right hand is squeezing my arm now, so I raise my leg and point the heel of my black boot straight down. With furious strength, I pierce the top of his foot so hard I feel the crunch, and know I must have broken some toes.
Donovan howls and releases me instantly. I dart across the room and am almost to the hall when he recovers enough to snag the fur hood of Chloe’s coat, yanking me backward. I flail. And then I see Judd standing in the doorway.
There’s a gun in his hand.
For a moment, there is nothing but Judd and the gun and the pale blue door half open behind him. My brain is screaming, and all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to get beyond that door.
Donovan cusses behind me, injured but still tugging on Chloe’s hood. I am directly between him and Judd now, trapped. Still, this time I won’t stop fighting. I make my arms go slack and allow Chloe’s coat to slip off my shoulders. Donovan stumbles backward, left with nothing but the shiny brown material in his meaty hands. I dash for the door.
Judd raises his gun, but I just keep running toward him, waiting for the pain, the bullet, the end.
The shot is so loud and so close to my ear that it mutes all sound. A blast of heat envelopes the side of my face and my chest quivers with the vibration of the discharge. I fall forward in a slow-motion sort of leap, watching the floor rise up to meet me. I am overwhelmed with shock and fear and even an odd sense of peace at the certainty of my impending death. I wonder if Gram will be there to meet my soul.
My knees smack the floor, but I push myself back up. Somehow, I’m still moving forward. The bite of a harvest wind slaps my cheek as I stumble out of the house, into the woods. I stagger toward the clearing and across the soggy leaves, past the shed and the pond, all the way to the Mastersons’ in a sort of misty midnight dream.
Maybe it is a dream. Maybe I’m already dead. But until I know for sure, I keep moving, shuffling, tripping, and getting up again. There is a deafening silence around me. I shake my head to clear away the sensation of my ears being stuffed with cotton. It doesn’t work.
Finally, I see the big country house, lit up and welcoming.
The garage door is open so I just keep going. Inside the house, through the mudroom, across the kitchen tile. I hug my torso, wet with Donovan’s blood, and try to walk straight. Smooth steps now, one after another.
In the foyer, my eyes land on Brick first. He’s dressed in a gray suit, clean-shaven, a dress coat hanging over his arm. I hear the jingle of his car keys, see his head turn when I enter. His eyes scorch me, furious, and his voice sounds far away, down a tunnel, when he accuses, “You were supposed to be here an hour ago…”
Then I see Chloe, red-faced from crying, still beautiful in her copper-colored dress and her hair all done up. Her mother stands beside her, a protective arm across Chloe’s shoulders. I’m too late. Brick must have told them.
I turn away, not knowing exactly who or what I’m looking for, until I spot the group gathered around the table in a corner of the great room. Four men playing poker. I recognize two of them—Chloe’s dad and Mr. Greeley, the assistant principal.
I mean to walk over and tell Mr. Greeley everything, everything I know about Judd and Keith Jackson and Marcus and Donovan, but the table is floating farther away the more I try to move toward it. I turn in a circle, disoriented, see pieces of Brick, Chloe, Mrs. Masterson, all of their lips moving but no sounds coming out. I try to say “I’m sorry,” but I can’t hear my voice either. And I can’t hold all this inside anymore.
Breathing raggedly, I hug myself tighter, drop my head and start to sob. The movement tires me and my arms fall to my sides. Mr. Masterson’s voice breaks through the barrier first, “My God, you’re bleeding!”
I glance down at my abdomen, red and slick. “No, it’s not mine…” I say faintly. He catches me as my body goes slack.
Now I’m lying flat under shallow water and all the commotion is occurring above the surface—panicked voices, someone hollering to call an ambulance, something pressing hard against my side. Pain sears through me, subsides.
When I force my eyes open, there are many faces swimming in the sky, distorted by the waves. Chloe is gaping at me, shrieking. Her father pulls her away. Someone talks rapidly into a cell phone, pacing near my feet. Chloe’s mom kneels beside me, cutting the bottom of my shirt and sucking in air through her teeth. She presses a towel against my stomach, tells me not to move, that everything will be okay.
“Okay,” I agree weakly, but she shushes me and I feel pressure again. I wince and catch sight of red liquid seeping through the towel in her hands. By the looks on everyone’s faces, you’d think I was dying. Maybe I am dying. Frantic, I search the room with my eyes. “Brick?”
“Right here.” His voice is the most soothing of all, near my ear. He moves to where I can see him and I realize he’s been cradling my head in his hands. His eyes are wide and he is trembling.
“I lied to you…so many times,” I gasp.
He nods, tries to smile gently. “No shit.”
“Ayla, my mom. She’s at the house, with them…she’s hurt.”
“The police are on their way,” he assures me. “Just hold still.”
I breathe for a minute, noticing that the air rattling in my chest doesn’t feel right. I think of Gram. I whisper, “I’m scared.”
“Shh, you’re gonna be fine.” Brick touches my hair, runs his hand along my temple. “You’re unbreakable, remember?” But his voice catches.
I reach for his hand, latch on. We stare at each other, though my eyelids keep closing.
He dips his head down and comes up crying. “Damn you, Andrea. Don’t you go anywhere.”
I’m too tired to promise anything. Brick stays with me, squeezing my hand until I hear sirens wailing in the distance, and their lullaby puts me to sleep.
Chapter 39
I am adrift between reality and hallucination. Trapped in a void that looks and feels like a series of narrow tunnels, shadows pulsing from the corners. I am running barefoot on hard-packed dirt. Slowly, the tunnels fill with a light like liquid smoke. I’m blinded, but unafraid. As the darkness melts away, she stands waiting with her gray-streaked hair, eyes the color of ripened walnuts, and the too-soft skin that age bestows.
“Gram!”
The word cracks in my throat like a brittle leaf. She smiles softly and opens her arms. I rush into them with fervor. I fall against her, and she cradles me, and I smell her and breathe her and feel her softness. We are together again, wrapped in love. For a brief, beautiful moment, I am filled with happiness.
It doesn’t last long—not nearly long enough. As Gram slips away, I squeeze tighter, wanting frantically to hold her in this place, this moment. But I press my cheek so hard against her chest that she breaks apart and, with a poof, the substance of her fades. I am left hugging nothing but air. My heart plummets.
“Her BP just dropped. Andrea…I need you to open your eyes. Can you hear me? Try to answer,” a voice coaxes from another world. But I am busy falling into a bed of soft light.
“Andrea, come on. Open your eyes. Open them.” The urgency in the lady’s voice makes me think this request is important, so I try to comply. It’s like climbing through layers of mud.
When my eyelids open, shiny hospital lights reach down into my irises and pull me back, out of the tunnel, away from Gram.
“Heart rate’s heading back to normal, BP stable. Keep your eyes on her monitor,” someone above me directs.
Th
en the first voice, “Andrea, stay with us. We need you to wake up.”
I try, but it’s so hard. The bright tunnel pulls at me. Back and forth, back and forth…until everything goes dark.
I awaken with a grunt to find a nurse poking my arm with a needle. “The doctor’s coming soon,” she slurs, and her face fades away.
They wake me again when the doctor arrives. He’s tall, with hair that reminds me of ripe summer apples. He starts talking, but I miss some of the words.
“…given a blood transfusion, no surgery. The knife didn’t puncture…vital organs.”
The doctor’s white lab coat flaps against his leg.
“…stab wound was quite deep. You’re very lucky.”
Stab wound? Me? I blink rapidly as the puzzle pieces come together. As soon as I understand, the pain hits me hard, like a fist sinking into my ribcage—except it’s hot and sharp. My fingers tenderly explore the bandages across my abdomen.
“I didn’t feel anything,” I tell the doctor, confused.
He nods. “That’s the numbing effect. Your adrenaline, the shock, it can mask the pain at first.”
“It hurts now,” I whine, which is an understatement.
“We’ll try to help with that,” he says and a nurse begins bustling around. “How’s…hearing, Andrea?”
“Intermittent.”
The doctor raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“SAT prep,” I offer, and he smiles.
“Do you have any ringing or buzzing in your ears…now?”
I shake my head.
“Good. You’ll have some impairment for a few days, but let’s hope…”
He continues talking, but there’s another poke in my arm and the pain starts to fade. I am so exhausted. I can’t keep my eyes open.
Chloe’s mom is the first person I see outside of the hospital staff. When I open my eyes many hours later, she is sitting in a chair near my bed, writing furiously on a clipboard. My surroundings come sharply into focus.
All Out of Pretty Page 24
