Brian looms in the entrance, his gaze locking on mine. Torn strips of rag are tied around his shoulder, dark brown and red patches showing where he bled through. He laughs—a short, hard bark. “A knife, Sarah? Really? Do you really think you can win a fight with me?”
No. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.
Nick makes a strangled sound.
Brian raises his eyebrows. “Well, well. This is a surprise. Two for one, is it?”
“Oh, shit,” Nick whispers. He scrabbles across my bed for my Wonder Woman paperweight and hefts it up as he jumps back across.
Brian points a gun at him, pain crossing his face, the red on his bandage spreading. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Nick shudders to a stop.
I can’t let Brian hurt Nick, but he’s too far away to stab. “Everyone will know you did this,” I say.
Brian laughs. “Of course they will. Because you told them in that oh-so-charming press conference you held.” He smiles at me almost tenderly. “Do you remember my promise to you?”
Oh, god. Mom and Dad. I think I’m going to puke. “What did you do to my parents?”
“Just tied them up. They’re waiting downstairs. I wouldn’t want you to miss their departure.”
He didn’t mention the officer. I have to hope he’s still free.
“But now that your boyfriend is here—and you so obviously care about him—I think we’re going to have to do him first.”
“No!” I say. I try to think. “You said you wanted to give me freedom. Nick doesn’t have anything to do with that. I’m the one you want to release.”
“Sarah!” Nick says, gasping.
“How sweet,” Brian says. “But you’re forgetting what I said I’d do if you left.”
Sweat stings my eyes, pricks at my armpits. I glance at Nick, at his wide, fear-stretched eyes, his pale face. “I didn’t forget. But Nick isn’t family. You can let him go.”
“Nice try,” Brian says, sounding like he’s enjoying this.
I take a step toward Brian. If I can just stab his eyes, or maybe his throat . . .
Brian looks pointedly at the knife I’m holding. “Do you really think you’re going to do anything with that?” He strides forward and wrenches the knife out of my hand, then twists me around. He shoves his arm under my throat.
I yank against his grasp. He makes a hissing noise as he pulls me tighter, his arm choking off my air, his chest pressed against my back. My throat burns.
I go slack, willing him to let me breathe. He loosens his grip a little, panting, but I can still feel him behind me.
I shudder. I hate the feel of his body against mine, the scent of his piney cologne tinged with coppery blood.
He lowers his face to mine, his sour breath making me gag. “You know better than to fight me. Besides, a dull knife like that can only maim,” he says, like a caress. He tosses my knife away, and it clatters on the floor. “I always keep my knives sharp.”
“Don’t!” Nick cries, his voice breaking. “Or I’ll—”
“Hit me with a paperweight, puff boy?” Brian says. “Don’t even try it, or I’ll kill her now.” He tightens his hold on my neck. “Victims need to be saved. But not the way you think.”
I feel him tuck his gun behind him, then pull something else out. He slides one arm down to my shoulders, and then presses a warm, sharp blade against my throat. “You will watch your boyfriend die, and then your parents. But first I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
I stomp on his foot and try to twist away.
Brian presses the blade harder against my neck. “Are you trying to make me slip up? I wouldn’t want you to pass too soon.” He drags the knife along my neck from one ear to the other, pain lighting through me. “Normally I help a girl leave quickly. But you made this personal. You’re going to beg me for your release,” Brian says huskily.
“I’ll never beg you for anything.” My voice quakes.
“You will.” Brian drags the knife along my neck again, the blade shuddering through my flesh, bright and hot.
I stay very still, my breath shallow.
“Hmm,” Brian says. “You’re no fun anymore.” He shoves me away from him.
I stumble, then right myself, but Brian already has Nick in the same hold he had me in, his knife to Nick’s throat. I know if I beg him it will only spur him on. But if I pretend indifference, he’ll see right through me.
I’ve got to keep him talking. Talking, not acting. “You’re not saving anyone by doing this—you’re just creating more pain. Do you really think your mom felt better after your sister died? She went so crazy with grief, she couldn’t take care of you. They had to lock her up.”
Brian presses his knife into the hollow of Nick’s neck. “Don’t you talk about my mother!”
“Why not?” Sweat trickles down my back. Part of me thinks I should shut up, while another part thinks this is my only chance to save Nick. I have to try. “You didn’t help your mom, or any of the families whose girls you killed.”
Brian jerks the knife.
Nick winces as blood trickles down his neck. His eyes are scared, but they never leave mine, like he trusts me.
God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.
“I can see I let you linger too long. It will be a pleasure to help you find your freedom, after your friend here.” Brian traces his knife over Nick’s neck.
I can’t stand to see him hurting Nick.
“The police know who you are!” Nick shouts. His face is shiny with sweat.
Brian snorts. “So? They’ll never stop me. I’m doing what they want to do but can’t.”
“Like you did with Judy Evans?” I say.
The knife eases away a fraction from Nick’s neck.
“And Heather?” I add.
The knife shakes.
“And your sister, Samantha?”
Brian’s whole arm shakes.
I try to remember what I learned in self-defense. My mind is blank. But he’s already off balance. I’ve got to keep him that way. “I know what you do. You kidnap girls with birthmarks on their faces. And then you kill them—all because your mother couldn’t handle how your sister looked.”
Brian jerks the knife back up. “My mom was a saint! She loved my sister; she loved us both.”
“Maybe. I’ll bet she loved your sister, but I’ll bet she hated how your sister looked, hated the way people treated her child—”
“It hurt her!”
The stairs creak, and I talk louder, hoping he won’t notice.
“So you killed your sister, didn’t you, to make things easier on your mother? To gain her attention?”
Brian stiffens, and I know I’ve hit a sore spot.
“Sarah—what are you doing?” Nick hisses.
I ignore him. “You were jealous of Samantha, weren’t you? Jealous of the relationship your mother had with her . . . because when there’s something wrong with one of her kids, a mother channels all her love and attention into that one kid, doesn’t she? Practically smothers her. And you—the first child—were left all alone—”
“All right, all right, I killed her!” Brian screams, the knife bouncing against Nick’s throat. “But she was begging for it; I could see it in her eyes. Sami was so unhappy. People stared at her everywhere we went. And Mom forgot how to smile. She forgot about me. All she thought about was Sami’s ugly birthmark. So I helped her; I helped them both.”
I have a bad taste in my mouth, like I might throw up.
Another creak. I wince. Hurry, Officer! I wish my back weren’t to the doorway, so I’d know when to make my move.
Brian shakes harder, like he’s going to vibrate apart. “But Sami’s in a better place now. And that’s where you’re going—”
“You know she’s not,” I say. “She’s probably watching over you right now, sad at what you’re doing.” I don’t believe what I’m saying. Don’t believe in heaven or hell. But if Brian does, I’ll use it.
Brian’s shaking so hard, he can’t hold the knife steady. His breath is coming in puffs, like a scared little kid.
“No,” Brian says in a low voice. “You don’t understand!” He loosens his hold on Nick’s throat. “They needed me. You need me. I have to make it right—”
A move from the self-defense class I took comes back in a rush. I leap forward, bringing the bottom of my fist down hard on his collarbone, next to his wound.
Brian shouts and staggers. I hit him again, putting all my fear and desperation into my punch. His knife clatters to the floor, his arm hanging uselessly from his shoulder.
Nick jerks out of Brian’s grasp. I pull him away with me, sobbing.
There is a deafening bang. I flinch, crying out, but there is no pain, and then I see Brian stagger, see red bloom on his chest, spreading across his shirt, see him fall to his knees, smell blood and oil and gunpowder.
Officer Ridley bursts into my room. He kicks Brian’s knife away, slaps handcuffs on him, then finds Brian’s gun and rips it out of his waistband, while Brian cries like a child, protesting his innocence.
I take back every bad thought I ever had about Officer Ridley. Every single one.
SARAH
1:45 A.M.
I SINK ONTO MY desk chair, my legs shaking, and turn away from Brian. I don’t want to see him, don’t want to listen to him, don’t want to smell his blood.
A rush of dizziness hits me so fast, I think I’m going to fall headfirst, right off my chair. I put my head between my knees and breathe.
I should be relieved, even happy, but I don’t feel anything. Nothing at all.
And then Nick is beside me, pulling me up, and we are holding each other so tightly, it’s like we’re one person. I press my face against his neck, breathe in his smell, feel his heart pound against my chest. He’s alive. We both are.
“You guys okay?” Officer Ridley asks, straightening up and turning to us.
I nod weakly.
“Good thing I was making my rounds,” he says.
Brian lies groaning on the floor. The metallic scent of blood makes me gag.
The officer turns to me. “Your parents are still trussed up. I thought I should make sure you were okay first.”
“Thank you,” I say faintly. I start toward the door, Nick with me, then turn back. “It’s all there on my laptop. Just hit stop on the recorder, then play; you should be able to hear the whole thing, and see some of it. Maybe it’ll help you with his case.”
Officer Ridley blinks, his mouth opening so wide I can see his fillings. “You are a remarkable girl.”
I smile a wobbly smile, then charge down the stairs, Nick close behind. My parents are lying on the kitchen floor, bound and gagged, but their eyes are open, following my every move.
“It’s okay, the officer got him,” I say as I reach for Dad and start working at the knots on his gag. Nick is already untying Mom.
“Are you all right?” Dad asks as soon as I get his mouth free.
“I’m okay. Just hold still.”
“But your neck!”
“It’s nothing. They’re like paper cuts. Nick’s is probably worse.”
“Is he all right?”
“We both are.”
“I’m so sorry, honey. Brian knocked me out from behind, or I would have—”
“It’s all right, Dad,” I say.
I’m working on his wrists now. The knots are tight, but the rope is stiff and new, and that makes it easier to untie. I free his wrists, and Dad flexes his hands while I work on his ankles, and then Mom and Nick are standing beside me. We hug and pat one another as if to reassure ourselves we’re all here. We are alive and unhurt, except for the hurt inside. And that will pass. We’ve got each other.
Mom clasps my face in her hands. “I thought something had happened to you. When we heard the shot—”
“I’m all right,” I say.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you about Brian,” Mom says fervently. “That we didn’t. We thought it was the trauma talking—”
“It’s okay. I might not have believed me, either,” I say, trying to smile.
“Where is he?” Dad croaks. “Where is that—”
“He’s upstairs,” I say. “Officer Ridley shot him.”
They stare at me.
“He’s alive,” Nick says. “Which is more than he deserves—” His voice cracks. “The things he said he was going to do to you—to us all—”
I reach for his hand. “You were brave, you know.”
Nick squeezes my fingers. “You were, too.”
And somehow, the way he says it, I know that what happened is going to go into one of his comics.
“You are both amazing,” Dad says. He gently tugs my hair. “I hope you know that now.”
“I do,” I say. And I laugh. Because I really do. I escaped death twice and won. I stopped a rapist, a kidnapper, a murderer. I’m not the victim Brian said I am. I never was.
There’s a banging on the front door. “Police!”
Mom lets them in, and they tramp up the stairs in their heavy boots, their radios squawking, mud staining the stairs. I watch as they lead Brian out. I know I’m not to blame for what he did. And I know, too, that I am strong inside—stronger than I ever realized.
Officer Ridley approaches us, looking almost hesitant.
“Thank you for protecting my daughter,” Dad says, clasping the officer’s hand in both of his. “My daughter and her friend.”
Officer Ridley tugs at his collar. “I was just doing my duty, sir. But I thought you’d want to know—we found a piece of paper on him about a bank in the Cayman Islands. One of the other officers said it might be tied to your case.”
I can see the hope light up in my dad’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he says again.
The door closes behind the officer, and I feel myself breathe freely for the first time since I escaped.
I hug Dad tight, and he hugs me back. I feel safe again, just like when I was little. Except this time, I feel my own strength as well as Dad’s.
My stained cheek is pressed against his shirt. It’s been a part of me all these years; maybe it’s even helped shape who I am—and I’m okay with that. I like who I am now. I know that I’m a fighter—I don’t go down easy. Maybe Diamond and I aren’t that different after all.
Author’s Note
Every two minutes someone in the United States is sexually assaulted.1 Nine out of ten rape victims are female2—and those are just the ones we know about, who’ve reported it. Forty-four percent of those are under the age of eighteen.3 Studies show that the majority of rapes and sexual abuse are committed by someone the victim knows—incest, date rape—but rape can happen anywhere, and knowing how to defend yourself can make a huge difference in your safety. I hope you’ll consider taking a self-defense class in your area. It can help you feel stronger, more confident, and more able to protect yourself.
Stained is a work of fiction, but I drew on some of my own experiences with bullying, abuse, and trauma to write it, just as I did with Scars and Hunted. Like Sarah, I experienced abduction, imprisonment, periods of forced starvation, mind control, and having my life threatened—though in a different way. I was also bullied throughout my school years—not because I had a port-wine stain but because I was a scared, shy, abused kid. It made me an easy target for others with their own pain and anger.
Like Sarah, I fought back against my abusers, most especially to help protect other victims, and I tried many times to escape (eventually successfully). I also, like Sarah, fought back internally to keep hold of my own truths, goodness, and sense of what was right and wrong. Those things, and my fighting spirit, my dissociation, my writing and art, the books I read, and, later, good people, all helped me to survive and to heal.
I think we need to hear more good-news stories about survivors who’ve fought back and escaped. We need the hope and strength they give us. I hope Stained will be a kind of good-news story, whe
re readers can see that survivors can fight back and rescue themselves.
—C.R.
For additional information from the author about the book, her own experiences, and resources for learning more about self-defense, cyber bullying, body image, and oppression, go to her website at www.CherylRainfield.com. This site is filled with free articles, teachers’ guides, book trailers, short stories, and a variety of useful information. You can also visit her blog at www.CherylRainfield.com/blog.
Acknowledgments
I give my heartfelt thanks to the following people:
Jean, who gives me such unconditional love, support, and nurturance, and who has given me safety, family, and healing that I never thought I’d have. You are my chosen mom, and I love you dearly.
Karen Grove, my editor, who believed in Stained enough to take it on, and who gave me incredibly thoughtful, insightful feedback, helping me make it an even stronger, more powerful book. I so appreciate how you also allowed me to follow my heart and intuition as I edited.
Andrea Somberg, my wonderful agent, who has fought for me with all my books, opened doors for me, and believed in me.
Julie Schoerke, my incredible publicist and friend, who has helped get my books out into readers’ hands and who has supported me, encouraged me, and cared about me with such compassion.
Evelyn Fazio, who was my editor for two books, and who is a dear friend, giving me great support and encouragement as a survivor and as a writer. Thank you for believing in me always.
My closest, most treasured friends, Jo Beggs and Hilary Cameron, for believing in me always, encouraging me to play, hope, and dream, and to be all of who I am.
Gail Fisher-Taylor, who gave me the first real safety and support I ever had and who believed my memories.
Writer Sandy Raven, who patiently answered my many questions about guns, and who also connected me with her sister-in-law, who’s an ER nurse. Any mistakes are my own.
ER nurse Susan Raven, RN, CEN, who answered my many questions about what would happen once Sarah got to the hospital. Again, any mistakes are my own.
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