Enter If You Dare

by Alyson Larrabee

  Boredom deadens my every thought and move.

  The good guys are continuing their fruitless quest for clues and waiting for the bad guy to make his next move.

  Although neither side can see each other, we’re in a staring contest. I wonder who’ll blink first.

  “What’s for dinner? I’m starved,” I whine at my mother.

  “It’s early and I’m kind of busy. Look in the fridge. You can heat up some lasagna in the microwave. I made an extra pan the other night so we’d have plenty of leftovers.” She’s yelling to me from inside the pantry because she’s working on one of her concoctions and doesn’t even want to come out into the kitchen.

  “Is there any good bread?” I yell back.

  “I picked up a loaf of whole wheat fresh this morning.”

  I butter up a slice of bread and stick my lasagna in the microwave. It’s hot in no time and I start in on it right away, scorching my tongue only a little. What did hungry people do before microwaves? I could barely wait the two or three minutes it took to get my food hot. I was practically drooling. If I couldn’t heat everything up so fast, I’d be starving to death right now.

  I yell to my mom. “Can you heat up leftovers in a regular oven?”

  She pokes her head into the kitchen and laughs. “That’s what we did back in the day. Either that or we ate them cold.”

  “How long would it take to heat up something like this lasagna in the oven?”

  “Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “How could you stand waiting that long when you were really hungry?”

  My cell phone starts vibrating before my mom can answer. It’s sitting on the countertop and the polished granite surface sends the sound reverberating around the room. Dashing over, I snatch it up and look at the screen.

  It’s a text from Jen. Can U come ovr right now? We need 2 talk.

  I tick out my reply on the miniature keyboard. What’s up? R U okay?

  Guy trouble.

  What guy, Connor?

  Can we talk in person? I need U now.

  Come 2 my house. We have lasagna.

  Something’s wrong with my car. Can U give me a ride 2 school 2morrow? PLZ come over.

  I look longingly at the plate of steaming lasagna. Jen’s always there for me, though, plus I’m curious. Nothing like guy trouble to perk up my interest. I decide to join Jen at her house. My next challenge is to get Mom to agree that I can drive a mile down the road, alone.

  We argue for a few minutes, but she finally caves. I promise to text her as soon as I arrive safely and also when I leave. With a whoop, I spring free from the house and jump into my car. I’m flying solo for the first time in weeks.

  The second I pull into Jen’s driveway, shift into park and turn off the engine I text my mom. Safe :)

  She sends back her thank you and I emerge from the car and head up Jen’s back steps to her kitchen door. The door’s locked. Usually I barge right in without knocking. Why did she lock the door if she knew I was coming over? I knock and get no answer. Then I pound and get no answer. Perplexed, I head back down the steps to the driveway. I look in the garage window. No cars. Where’s her car? She said she had car trouble. Did it break down somewhere else?

  I pull my phone out of my pocket so I can text Jen a WTF.

  Suddenly someone grabs me from behind, pins my arms to my body and lifts my feet off the driveway.

  My cell phone crashes to the pavement.

  Chapter 35

  The Attack

  Squirming and wriggling, I kick my feet backwards. Wishing I was wearing heavy boots, not sneakers, I try to connect. He grunts as my heel hits his shin. Loosens his grip for a second. Snatches up my left wrist and twists. Reaching back with my right hand, I claw at his neck. He flicks open a knife. Flashes the blade in my face.

  I freeze and he twists my arm harder, sets my feet on the ground and pushes me toward the woods. Large, full pine trees and dense brush lurk at the edge of Jen’s driveway. Soon the forest will swallow us whole.

  My attacker has obviously scouted out the setting carefully and he chose the wooded side of Jen’s yard for his attack. No one will hear if I call out. Everyone’s doors and windows are closed tight against the crisp cold of the late autumn afternoon. And we’re pretty far away from Jen’s neighbors, anyway. Even if they were outside, I’d have to scream really loud. But I can’t. That’s what the knife’s for.

  He’s going to slit my throat. I can feel his hatred. And it doesn’t feel good. I’ve been in arguments before. I don’t like everyone and not everyone likes me. I’ve been the victim of cruel comments because I’m different. A few people called me “Ghost Girl” for a while last year, because of the film. They didn’t mean it as a compliment. One time during a cross-country meet, we were running through the woods and a girl shoved me off the path so she could pass me. But no one’s ever tried to slit my throat. This level of hatred dives deep inside of you and holds on tight, twisting painfully the whole time.

  His hatred feels much more personal than it did the time he tried to shoot me.

  Nauseating waves of hatred roll off of him, along with his body odor. He’s fogging up the air with his disgusting stench. Clutching me close to him, he wrenches my arm harder, up against my back.

  Only a fragile layer of tender skin protects my jugular from his knife. The pulse in my neck beats hard and fast as his blade hovers, razor-sharp, above it. The first warm trickle of blood slips down the cool flesh of my neck.

  If he slices open my jugular, will the blood pour out too fast? Will I bleed to death before the wound can heal? I try to remember the stuff I was supposed to pay attention to in Biology. I know that an artery’s worse. It spurts. There’s one on the inside of your upper thigh. But what about the jugular? It’s really a vein, right? I think I have a better chance with a vein. And how close is it to the surface? How deep will he have to cut? Where’s the carotid? Shit! The carotid’s an artery and I think it’s on the neck. Damn. I wish I’d listened more in class.

  I slide a sideways glance back to the driveway, which I can still see pretty clearly from here and spot my cell phone lying on the asphalt. It’s vibrating and lighting up, which gives me hope. If it’s Wyatt, he’ll be worried that I’m not answering. He might not get completely freaked out, but he’ll be concerned enough to contact my mother, to make sure I’m okay. Whoever’s calling me will have to act fast, though. I don’t have much time. This guy’s hurting me and he smells bad.

  I feel like gangrenous slugs on skateboards are using the walls of my stomach for ramps and jumps. Maybe if I puke on him he’ll let me go. I focus on the undigested mash of bread and lasagna that I just ate as it oozes up toward my esophagus.

  Mike Donahue twists my arm so hard that I see black for a second or two from the pain, distracting me from the nausea. Another thin stream of blood trickles down my neck. The sharp pain in my shoulder eases to a persistent throb. He pushes me forward, holding the blade against my throat, just beneath my jaw. I stumble along, blinded by tears.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shh! Unless you wanna die right now. It might be easier to drag your corpse, so don’t tempt me.”

  He tightens his death grip again and I wince.

  Dear god he’s evil smelling!

  My knees fold under me. And the knife slices into my flesh. I yelp as I feel the sting. A stream of blood flows down my neck and starts seeping into my sweatshirt.

  “I need to get you far enough into the woods so I can finish you off. Don’t want anyone to find your body right away. No guns this time, too noisy. Besides, I’m enjoying the close connection. So young, so sweet, so pretty…”

  Those squirmy, skateboarding slugs reactivate in my stomach, but I force them to stay still so I can think. If I scream someone jogging by or riding a bike might hear me, but the road’s pretty far away. Also, if he thinks someone heard me, he might have to kill me fast and split. I decide to wait quietly and cooperate—someone migh
t already be on their way.

  Who called my cell? I keep hoping that if it was my mother she’ll have the good sense to send Uncle Johnny and not come here alone.

  A creepy thought invades my fear-rattled brain. Was it really Jen who texted me earlier? A new fear slams through my panicked mind. What if he hurt Jen?

  My voice is hoarse and I struggle to speak. “Where’s my friend?”

  “Which friend?”

  “Jenna. She lives here. She texted me to meet her.”

  “Several cars got mysteriously broken into today, after school, in the parking lot over by the gym.” His voice is gravelly and low and his breath and body odor stink so bad I wish I could faint just to avoid the stench.

  He has such a tight and painful hold on me I can’t budge to move away even a little.

  “I took a couple of cell phones from different cars, because I needed to make sure no one would figure out which car I was targeting. I don’t want anyone to connect the break-ins to me. Your pretty friend left her nice new phone charging in her car while she was at volleyball practice. Very careless. She’s down at the police station now, reporting the crime.”

  “So you texted me on her phone?”

  “I had to come up with something. You have better security than the president. I just stayed patient and hidden, hoping an idea would come to me and then bingo, it did.”

  It’s true. My antsiness combined with my mother letting up for just a minute, allowed his simple scheme to succeed. He continues to repulse me with his claustrophobic body odor and rattle me with his gross, phlegmy voice.

  “Your friend Jen won’t be home for a while. Filing a report about the missing cell phone should take about an hour.”

  “She’ll be gone for an hour?” I try not to sound scared.

  “Yes. At least. Her mom met her down at the station, because poor Jen was so upset. Her life is on that phone and it’s a brand new one, too, all shiny with a pretty blue cover and tons of apps, such a pity. From my hiding spot, behind a van in the school parking lot, I could see her tears. You know what was really hilarious?”

  I don’t answer his ridiculous question. Of course I don’t know. How could I? Whatever it is, I’m sure I won’t think it’s funny.

  He ignores my hostile silence and keeps talking. The only good thing about this situation is that I can’t see his face. If he looks anything like he smells, his looks might paralyze me and I need to be able to react fast if I want to escape.

  He taunts me again.

  “The big, long-haired dude you’re always with? The tall one who drives that old Land Rover?”

  He means Wyatt. What if he hurt Wyatt? I hold my breath and wait for him to say more.

  “He came to Jen’s rescue. What a hero! He dried her tears and gave her a ride to the police station. She used his cell phone to call the cops and her mother. That’s how I know that no one will be home for a while. I figure I have at least an hour with you while they fill out a report and answer the cops’ questions.”

  “A whole hour.” My hopes are sinking.

  “Yes. Then Jen and her mom’ll come home. See your car in the driveway. No sign of you around. They’ll call your mother and she’ll call the police. Unfortunately, it’ll be too late. I wish I could hang around and watch all the excitement, but I have to get going. My car’s on the other side of the woods, parked on a dirt road. If we keep heading this way, we’ll be able to see it soon. I’m gonna finish up with you, jump into the car and head out. Leave this stinking state. Maybe go to Florida.”

  He pushes me forward, toward his intended destination. He seems so sure about where he’s going. Suddenly it occurs to me that the night of the campfire, behind Jen’s house, that was him. Out in the woods. Spying on us and planning my abduction. A raccoon didn’t make those noises. Mike Donahue did. I shiver in his grasp.

  “Are you cold, Annabelle?”

  I hate the way he says my name, as if he’s so clever to have found it out, as if knowing my name gives him more power over me. Then I notice something that I hadn’t noticed before. I’m so busy feeling repulsed by him I didn’t realize that it’s grown much colder. Colder than when I got out of my car. About fifteen degrees colder.

  “Anthony.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken his name out loud. Even if Anthony can’t do anything to protect me from this pig, I feel better just knowing he’s here.

  “You were in the woods that night weren’t you? The night when Wyatt went running out into the forest to see what was making the noise.”

  “He almost found me, too. Then those other two idiots went running back to the fire and he followed them. He turned around just in time.”

  “What would you have done?”

  “I couldn’t shoot him. That would make too much noise. But I had the knife with me.”

  I shudder, wishing I could control it more.

  “There you go again, shivering. Poor little Annabelle, she’s cold.”

  He taunts me and continues to shove me ahead of him down the overgrown path.

  We flounder our way through the brambles because I’m trying to slow our progress down as much as I can. He’s pressed close against my back; pushing me from behind with my painfully twisted arm. If I walk too slowly he twists my arm harder. If I quicken my pace, the knife presses into the skin on my throat. So I move carefully. I’m not in a hurry to discover what he has planned for me. Together, but not in sync, we edge closer and closer to my fate.

  I step over an exposed tree root. My captor, however, trips on it and curses. I feel the knife blade at my throat and another hot trickle of blood. When he pauses, tightening his hold on my wrist again, I fight down a gasp of pain.

  Suddenly, he halts our awkward progress through the woods. We both hold our breath and listen but hear nothing. He releases his held-in air with a hiss. I release mine, stifling a sob. No footsteps. No one’s sneaking through the forest to rescue me.

  A blast of music shatters the silence. I snap my head to the right, barely escaping another nick from his blade. Somewhere in this forest, Rihanna is singing her latest hit song. Then I realize it’s Jen’s ringtone, coming from inside the villain’s pocket. He forgot to turn her phone off. Maybe there’s a GPS that can be activated and traced.

  In one quick motion, he lets go of my wrist and, with his left arm, he wraps me up close against his chest, pinning my arms to my body. My feet are off the ground again. His right hand flips the knife closed and dives into his pocket. He drops the knife in there and grabs Jen’s phone.

  “Forgot to turn her damn phone off.”

  After turning it off with his thumb, he whips Jen’s precious new cell phone toward the sky. The shiny blue missile flies a few feet, in a high arc, for an impressive distance and then descends swiftly, bouncing off the bark of a soaring pine tree, slipping and crashing down through its branches in a shower of dry needles. Finally it lands with a soft thud on the forest floor.

  “Hey, dumbass, you almost hit me with that stupid thing!” Uncle Johnny steps out from behind the ancient pine, his gun aimed at my abductor’s head from about fifteen feet away.

  “Put the gun down or I’ll slice her open like a…” Mike Donahue grabs the knife out of his pocket in a flash. But never gets to flick it open. As hard as I can, I kick backwards and connect with his shin. When his hold on me loosens, I shove my elbow up into his right arm. Within a second the knife flies high into the air. Flipping end over end. And then I’m free. Sprinting away from him like a jackrabbit. Falling to my knees in a patch of scratchy wild blueberry bushes, I gag, wretch a couple of times and finally vomit. Wiping my mouth with my sweatshirt sleeve, I look over at the spot where Mike Donahue was standing about two seconds ago.

  My captor’s lying face down on a patch of leaves and pine needles. One of Wyatt’s knees is on his back and the other one’s on his neck. Uncle Johnny runs over and cuffs his wrists and ankles. As
the last plasticuff is zipped shut, Wyatt leaps up and runs to me. Even though I’m sure I stink like puke, he hugs me. I wince from the pain in my left arm.

  “Did he hurt you? What happened? You’re all bloody.”

  “He twisted my arm; I’ll be okay. The cut’s just a small one. I want to go home.”

  “You’re still bleeding. Officer Blake, I’m taking her to the hospital.”

  My uncle looks worried. “Do we need an ambulance?”

  “Yes.” Donahue’s voice is muffled because his face is smashed into the ground.

  Uncle Johnny nudges him in the ribs with the toe of his shoe. “Not for you, dirt-bag. Shut up.” Wisely, the prisoner does so.

  I try to bargain with Wyatt. “No ambulance, no hospital. Call my mother. She’ll bring me to the doctor’s. His office is probably still open. Look, I can move my arm. I don’t need an x-ray and the bleeding’s almost stopped. He barely nicked my neck. I don’t need to go to the emergency room. I feel much better already.”

  It’s true, too. My wrist, arm and shoulder feel all tingly and not very painful anymore. Also, the slices on my neck are hardly bleeding at all. If they call my mother, my secret healing talent can stay a secret. Mom and I can pretend to go to the doctor’s office, but we’ll go home instead.

  Uncle Johnny relents, but Wyatt insists on carrying me to the Land Rover even though I can walk. He’s pretty pissed off that I went to Jen’s house alone.

  “Annabelle, I don’t know whether to hug you or scream at you. I’m relieved that you’re alive. But I’m pissed off that you went out alone.”

  He sets my feet gently on the ground, but keeps one arm around my waist.

  “I thought it would be okay because her house is right down the street.”

  Wyatt points his thumb at Uncle Johnny and his prisoner, to illustrate why it wasn’t okay.

  “I called your cell and when you didn’t answer, I called your house to make sure you were safe. The second your mother told me Jen had texted you I knew something was wrong because her phone had been stolen. When your mother said that you went to Jen’s house, I hung up fast and called your Uncle. Then I felt the cold.”