by Sophia Gray
“Listen. Michelle was a beautiful girl. I loved her so much. I still do.” Derrick looks at me. “But she also had mental health issues, outside the drugs. I know you had to think there was something wrong with her. She’d have her happy moods, her upswings. Then she’d crash. Remember?”
“Yeah, I do remember that. She’d be on a buzz for, like, days. Then she wouldn’t get out bed for two days straight.”
“Exactly. Our mom and dad…they weren’t what you’d call attentive.”
I snort. That’s an understatement.
He nods. “Yeah, you remember. They wouldn’t take her to a doctor when she was young. They didn’t get her the help she needed. She probably hit a low swing at the same time she was guilty over Kenny and the rest. It was a combination of things. That’s what killed her. Not you.”
“You believe me,” I say.
“I do.”
I can’t describe the relief that floods me when he says those words. I’ve just wanted him to believe me all this time. I didn’t care about anybody else, since Derrick was the one I was closest with.
“I’m sorry for everything…” he mumbles.
“I know. I don’t blame you.” Now that he trusts me again, I have to move on. “There’s a reason I came here. I needed you to believe me, that I’m not the person you thought I was, before I could ask for your help.”
“What’s going on, Christopher? Why are you hiding?”
“It’s Amanda. I was with her last night because her ex was stalking her. He sent her a threatening letter in the mail. She ran away from him a long time ago, but once she got it, she knew he found her.”
“Oh, shit. Poor kid.”
“She’s gone. He took her.” Derrick’s eyes fly open, wide. “I got to her house, there was blood on the floor. It had to be him. I have to get to her.”
“Shit, Christopher! What do you need?” He jumps from the couch much faster than I’d think he would, drunk as he is. It’s like he as a purpose right now.
“Your bike. They’ll find me in a minute if I’m on mine. They wanna pin this on me, man. They haven’t even tried to look for her.”
“Oh, hell.” Derrick gets out his keys. “Man, if I have anything to do with this—the way I accused you to them—I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” I go to the door.
“Where are they, do you think?”
“Somewhere in Texas. Maybe five, six hours away. Their college. I think he took her there.”
“She’s a nice girl. Be safe, brother.” He hugs me for the first time in years.
As I run down the front steps, he calls out to me. “I’ll hide in here so they think I’m just out somewhere!”
“Thank you!” I wave once before pulling away. He’s right. They’re going to hit his house soon enough. All my old friends. Why not head for my brother-in-law’s house first? I’m honestly surprised they haven’t shown up already.
I take off into the night, heading south. I haven’t prayed in years, and even then I was never exactly a regular at it. But I pray now. Please let me get to her in time. I’ve already lost another twenty minutes talking with Derrick. I had to convince him to protect me if the cops came, along with convincing him to give me his bike. Now I know he’s back on my side.
As I ride, images of Michelle and Amanda fill my mind. I can’t lose them both.
Chapter 34
Amanda
How long have I been in this trunk? I have no idea. There’s no way to keep track of time. At first I started counting, keeping the seconds straight in my head. By the time I reached ten thousand seconds, I got tired and gave up. I did the math in my head the best I could. Almost three hours. Jesus. How much longer were we driving?
Maybe while he’s driving, he’ll change his mind. Come to his senses.
Yeah, right.
My nostrils are full of the smell of his cologne, on the clothes all around me. I’d hoped never to smell it again. The scent brings me back to so many moments I wanted to forget. I can’t believe I used to like smelling it on me after a date. That feels like a lifetime ago. In some ways, it was. I especially loved when he left traces of it on my pillow after we slept together. Now I gag from the smell.
They say smell is the strongest memory sense. Even more than sound. We smell something, like a perfume or cologne, and it takes us right back to a moment. I know the smell of baking muffins will always remind me of my grandmother. I wonder if that smell will remind Carly of me after I’m dead.
I can’t entertain that thought. But the longer Lucas drives without stopping, the more likely it seems. He’s going to kill me. I don’t know how, or exactly when. But that’s the plan. Either that or he wants to keep me as a sex slave. I’d rather he killed me and got it over with, frankly. I’m actually to the point where I’d rather die than be touched by him in that way again.
At first, my legs were sore, being stuck in the same position for such a long time. Now I don’t feel them anymore. I’m numb, physically and emotionally. What does that mean? The fact that I just don’t care anymore. Once the panic passes, and the tears, I give in to the finality of it. Nobody knows where I was. I felt around for my purse at one point but didn’t feel anything in the trunk but those damned clothes. So there wouldn’t even be ID on my body when they found me. There was no way to track me—my cell would at least have allowed for that. I’m sure it’s on my living room floor.
Who will find it first? Carly? She’s bound to be upset tomorrow when I don’t come into the shop or answer her calls. I hope she doesn’t blame Christopher. God, please don’t let people blame him. This is no fault of his. But damned if I didn’t tell Carly I was going to see him. How could the police not take a clue like that and run with it? I punch the metal above my head, frustrated. He doesn’t deserve this. Neither of us does.
I only hope he doesn’t blame himself. There was nothing he could have done to protect me. Lucas was determined to get to me.
The car slows, then stops. My heart begins to race. Oh, no, this is it. I thought I was okay with this, but now I’m not. I don’t want to die. Oh, God, please don’t let me die.
The slam of the door. Footsteps. Keys. A beeping noise—the lock releases. The trunk opening.
If my legs weren’t so stiff, I’d kick out at him and run. I wish I’d thought of that before. I’d have tried to move them. Now I’m useless. Laying here, shielding my eyes from the bright neon light above Lucas’s head.
“Hi there,” he says brightly. Is he actually happy right now? Oh, right. Of course he is. He has what he always wanted.
“Where are we? Why are you doing this?”
“So many questions.” Like he’s talking to a willful child. He takes me by the shoulders, his hands rough. I forgot how big his hands were. The way they hurt when they curled into fists. He pulls me to a sitting position. I look around.
“Where are we?” I ask, and I hate myself for the pleading note in my voice. There are cars whizzing past, maybe a few hundred yards away. The trunk of the car is facing the road. I couldn’t run for it if I tried. I’d fall, cramped up. He might kill me then and there.
“A diner. A very special diner.” Now he’s the benevolent parent, or even the happy child. With a big surprise for me. He helps me from the trunk, almost careful with me now. Strangely so, considering the way he hit me over the head to get me to go with him.
I stand and instantly crumple to the ground. “What’s with you?” he asks, laughter in his voice.
“My legs are all cramped,” I say, rubbing them.
“Oh. Didn’t think about that.” He gets down on one knee, rubbing my legs along with me. His face is so close to mine. His curly, blond hair is shorter than I remember it when I last saw him. It smells like product, a menthol smell. He’s overwhelming my senses. I feel torn between wanting to be sick and wanting to drive my knee into his nose. I’m afraid he has a gun. It’s the only thing stopping me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, sensing politeness wil
l get me a lot further than rudeness. Soon I’m on my feet again.
“Hmm…” Lucas looks me over. “I can’t take you in there with…this.” He motions to my head, where I was bleeding earlier. Am I still? I reached up, but he smacks my hand away. Like it’s nothing, like he wasn’t the one who did it to me. “Don’t worry about it. Here.” He reaches into the trunk, pulling out a wool hat. “See? I thought of everything.” Jesus. He foresaw this being a problem? He shoves the hat over my head roughly. It hurts. I wince. “Stop being such a baby,” he mutters.
My eyes sting with tears of frustration and futile rage. It’s so cold out here, very cold for Texas. I’m glad I’m still wearing my coat at least.
“Let’s go inside,” he says, taking my arm in his. Like some chivalrous prince, instead of my kidnapper. I look away from him, my eyes taking note of the diner for the first time. Oh, no. Not this place.
“Remember when we met here?” he asks, leaning conspiratorially toward me, squeezing my arm in his. “It was the best day of my life.”
Yes, I remembered it very well. I was with a group of friends, on a road trip to Austin for a music festival. He was on his way to the same event. The fact he was alone should have raised a red flag. It didn’t. I thought he was cute. We happened to cross paths at this diner along the way. Promised to meet up again when we made it to Austin.
How different would my life be if we’d never stopped for something to eat that day? If I hadn’t decided to go to Austin in the first place?
My mind is racing. What can I do to attract attention? He’s going to be watching me closely. What if I start screaming, just shouting at the top of my lungs? He hasn’t threatened me with a weapon yet, aside from whatever he used to hit me over the head. What would happen?
“I know I don’t need to warn you about this,” he murmurs, as though reading my thoughts, “but I thought you should know I wouldn’t want to have to use the gun in my coat pocket. On you, or on any stupid Good Samaritan. Get it?”
I nod, miserable. So much for that.
He requests a table for two. The waitress leads us to a booth. There are only three other tables with customers at this point. I look at the clock on the wall. It’s already two in the morning. We’ve been in the car for over three hours. No wonder I was so stiff.
He sits me down in the booth, then sits opposite me. I open the menu, not seeing the words in front of me. Trying to think of a way to get help. I look at the other patrons over the top of the menu. They’re all tired, minding their own business. I guess that’s how it goes at this time of the morning.
“See anything you like here?” Lucas asks, now the indulgent parent. He’s so pleased with himself for remembering this place. I’ve been trying to forget it for years.
“Oh, I don’t know…I don’t usually eat at this time of night. I’m not very hungry.”
“Come on. If I know you, you love your French toast. Right?” At least he remembers that.
“Yeah. French toast. That’s usually my favorite.”
He claps his hands. He literally claps his hands like a little boy. If I didn’t feel so dead inside, I’d laugh.
“See? I know you. I’ll order you some of that.”
“Okay, sure. Thanks.”
No sooner do I put down the menu than he takes my hands in his. I use every bit of self-control to keep from screaming. I do flinch, but only slightly. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve missed you so much. I bet you didn’t think I’d come for you, did you?”
“No, Lucas. I knew you’d come eventually.”
He smiles, not hearing what I’m actually trying to say. Only hearing the words. “You did? You knew I’d rescue you?”
“Yes. I knew you would come. No matter how hard I tried to run away from our relationship, you’d never let me get away. You don’t give up that easily.”
“You’re damn right, I don’t.”
The waitress comes over, looking bored. “What can I get for y’all?”
Lucas grins at her. “This little lady will have French toast and sausage. I’ll have buttermilk pancakes and bacon, please. Oh, and coffee for both of us.” He smiles at me. “I know you like your coffee, too.”
“Yes. I run a coffee shop.”
The waitress doesn’t care either way, and walks to the kitchen.
His face changes. “You did run a coffee shop. That’s all in the past, now.”
“Oh? Why? Where are we going?”
“You don’t think I’d ever let you go back there, do you?”
“I guess I should know better than to think that.”
“You should. No, we’re going to the place I told you about in the last messages I sent you. Didn’t you get them?” I search my memory, but come up empty. He frowns. “You mean to tell me you’re here with me, and you don’t even know where we’re going? God, how rude of me! You must be completely confused.” He laughs like this is all a joke.
I crack a tiny smile. “So where are we going?”
“We’re going back to the tower. Remember? Where we first fell in love?”
“Oh, right. That’s very romantic.” I can’t bear to squeeze even a bit of emotion into my voice, but he couldn’t care less. He’s on cloud nine, thinking how impressed I am.
“Remember? When we went up there together and could see the entire campus and then out in the distance for miles and miles? And you said you felt like a princess in a tower, and I was your prince? How I’d come to rescue you? Don’t you remember?”
I do remember that. I’d believed it at the time, too. How could I have been so naïve? He wasn’t a prince. He was a demon.
“I remember,” I say, my voice still flat. Like a robot.
He doesn’t notice. “I thought it would be fitting for us to go back there. See, that’s where I first knew I loved you. When we stood in that tower together. You were my beautiful princess. I was your galant prince. Rescuing you from a life of loneliness. And I’m rescuing you again. Taking you away from that awful place. That town you ran away to. What made you do that?”
“I don’t know, Lucas. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“To put it mildly.” Has he always been this completely insane, or did it just happen? Did my leaving throw him off the deep end? Maybe he needs medication. This isn’t the man I used to know. He wasn’t this delusional. I guess time spent alone, brooding, might do this to a person. Maybe he was always sick, and it didn’t start showing until now. Either way, he’s unnerving.
The food comes quickly. I was secretly hoping it would take a while, not because I wanted to spend so much as an extra second with this insane person who I once thought I loved but because I know he plans to kill me. All he wants to do is get me to the tower. Not live happily ever after. I notice he says nothing about the future.
I put the sausage off to the side.
“What are you doing?” Lucas asks.
“I don’t like sausage,” I say. “I never have.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.” I have no idea why it’s so important to have my way in this. Maybe I need to be myself, for only a minute. He doesn’t know me anywhere near as well as he thinks he does.
“You are so ungrateful!” His fist hits the table, causing heads to turn our way. “This is so like you. Throwing my generosity back in my face. Being a little bitch.”
Good. Throw a fit. Let everyone see how insane you are. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I just don’t like sausage. I’ve never eaten sausage in your presence.”
“No, but I bet if some biker trash gave you his sausage, you’d put that in your mouth fast enough. Wouldn’t you?”
I’m shocked, not only that he’d say something like that so loudly, but that he just referenced Christopher.
“Excuse me.” The waitress has come over to our table. “Do you need assistance?” She looks at me.
I look up, desperately trying to send her a message with my eyes.
“We’r
e fine. Thank you.” Lucas’s tone is cold.
The waitress shoots me another look before turning away.
“Don’t look at her again,” he whispers in a warning tone as she walks back to the counter. “Remember what I have in my pocket.”
I turn my attention to my plate, half-heartedly picking at the food. Shifting it around on the plate so he won’t bug me about it again.
“Why do you make me do things like that?” he whispers urgently. “Why?”
