by Julie Daines
She ran her hand forward along the wall and took a step.
“A little higher.”
She raised her arm and brushed the switch plate. Before she flipped it, she turned and smiled at me.
* * *
I woke to the sound of Scarlett knocking on the sliding door window.
“Hullo out there.”
This time, I managed to extract myself from the sleeping bag without the whole flopping-on-the-ground thing. When I opened the door, she leaned against the frame with her arms crossed. Her hair was damp and smelled like men’s aftershave.
“Hi,” I said through a yawn.
“I hope you don’t mind that I showered. I used your shampoo.”
“No problem. You smell good.” Wait, did I just say that?
“Thanks.” She didn’t seem to think it was weird that I appreciated clean man smell. “I’m starving, and there’s nothing to eat.”
“Yeah, we don’t come here much. Give me a second to shower, and we’ll head into town for supplies.” I slipped past her and into the house. On the table lay the bag of corn nuts I’d bought on my way out of the city. I tossed them to her. It hit her in the chest and fell to the ground. Oops. “Uh, you can snack on these,” I said, picking them up and placing them in her hand.
I led her back into the family room, and she sat on the couch, fumbling to find the sealed end of the corn nuts bag. When she finally opened it, she smelled it and wrinkled her nose then popped one in her mouth. She chewed a few times. “It’s very crunchy.”
Thirty minutes later, we drove into Hood River—a quaint town that served as the hub for all of the recreational traffic in the area. Windsurfers on the Columbia, skiers on the volcano. There was a small grocery store by the highway, where we came in. Scarlett wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, and she had her face turned up, soaking in the warmth that came in through the sunroof.
We wandered through the store’s aisles, me pushing the wobbly shopping cart and Scarlett holding my arm, always walking a half step behind. I’d name various foods, and she’d say if something sounded good. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I never tired of hearing her British accent. I loved the way her voice bounced up at the end of her questions.
I dumped our loot onto the conveyor belt. The checkout lady stared at me a second then asked, “What happened to your face?”
“Someone gave my friend a hard time.” I tipped my head in Scarlett’s direction.
“You sure showed him,” the lady said dryly.
Scarlett snorted beside me.
While we drove back to the cabin, Scarlett snacked on Twinkies. “These are disgusting,” she said, tearing the plastic off another two-pack.
“Then wait for breakfast.”
“Don’t you fret. I’ll still be hungry.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Another message. I doubted it was my dad again. He’d already surpassed his lifetime phone-call quota. It was Jay. I ignored it. Sorry, man.
But the call made me wonder about Scarlett. “Do you want to use my phone?” I offered. “To call someone, Simon or whoever, and tell them you’re safe?” I hadn’t even thought about this last night, especially after Connor and his buddy had left their mark. It surprised me that she hadn’t asked for the phone before now. There must be someone wondering where she was.
“Sure.”
I turned on the phone and handed it to her, touching it to the back of her hand. She took it and ran her fingers across the face.
“I can’t use this,” she said. “It’s a touch screen.”
Duh. No buttons to feel. I took it and asked her what the number was. I had to pull over and look up the country code for the United Kingdom, but we figured it out, and I dialed it for her. She didn’t say who the number belonged to.
She held the phone to her ear for a minute then said, “He’s not answering.”
So she did call Simon. “Do you have another number?”
She rattled off a different one.
I dialed it, pushed send, and gave her the phone again. When I heard a faint hullo on the other end, I started driving.
“Hullo, Joannie? It’s Scar. I just wanted to let you know that I’m out of town for a bit, but I’m fine, and I’ll call you when I get home. Ta.” She passed me my phone. “She didn’t answer either. I left a message.”
“Okay.” That was it? Two people who worried about a vanished girl? Maybe in some ways, her life wasn’t all that different from mine. Did she feel as abandoned as I did? Totally alone?
I turned into the lane leading up to the cabin and slowed. The tail end of an older-model, black Chevy Tahoe stuck out beyond the trees that shaded our driveway.
“Scarlett, someone’s at the cabin. Pull your hood up.” She still wore my jacket, and she recoiled into it.
Was it the tall guy and his fist-happy friend, Connor? How did they find us? Maybe it wasn’t them. But who else would be at the cabin? Dad? Not a chance—and it wasn’t his car. He’d said he was worried. Would he have sent someone to get me? Never. It had to be the same guys from the restaurant.
I figured we’d be less conspicuous driving past nonchalantly than stopping and reversing down the narrow road, or worse, attempting a six point U-turn. My tinted windows would conceal us if they were watching the road. But if they’d found me at Shari’s, they must recognize my car. Scarlett sank down in her seat, and I drove past a little too fast. I kept my head facing forward while my eyeballs wrenched out of their sockets to watch the house. The front door was closed, and other than the Tahoe, everything looked just like we’d left it.
I drove about a hundred yards up the road and pulled into a driveway, concealing the Rover behind the neighbor’s storage shed. “Did you leave anything in the cabin?” I asked Scarlett.
“Like what? My skivvies? Or do you mean my Louis Vuitton suitcase with loads of nice clothes?”
Sheesh. Thanks for the rain of sarcasm. “I mean something that would tell them you’ve been here.” If they didn’t have proof she was there, maybe they’d take their search back to Portland. “Where are your sunglasses?”
“Here.” She pulled them out of the jacket pocket and put them on. “I didn’t leave anything. Haven’t got anything to leave, have I?”
“Fine. You stay here. I’m gonna see what they’re up to.” I quietly opened my car door.
“No. Don’t go.”
Even with her dark lenses covering half her face, I could see her fear. “Hey, I’ll be right back. I’m not gonna talk to them.” I rubbed my swollen jaw, remembering how well that had worked out last time. “I’ll just sneak in for a closer look.” I handed her the keys. “You’d better keep these just in case.”
“In case I need to drive the getaway car?”
For crying out loud! Could I be more stupid? I tried to salvage what was left of my intelligence—which wasn’t much. “In case you need to lock the car or something. The lock button is the top left.” I slipped out and closed the door, waiting until I heard the locks click.
I slunk through the woods, back toward my cabin, keeping low and sticking to the areas with heavy underbrush. When the house came into view, I hid behind a huge tree trunk and peeked around through the branches. I had a good view of the front yard and driveway. A faded sticker on the car’s bumper read, Someone in Oregon Loves Me. Who could that possibly be? His mother?
The tall man from Shari’s rounded the side of the house. He’d replaced his lame suit with casual clothes: jeans and an outdoorsy, moleskin jacket. He looked more like a model for some men’s casual wear magazine than a kidnapper. He opened the cabin door and called in, “You find anything, Connor?” His voice was deep and smooth.
Connor stepped out of the house holding up two limp towels, one in each hand. “How many guys you know use two towels when they shower?”
Shoot! I’d forgotten about those. It didn’t prove anything, except that these idiots were smarter than I thought. Smart enough to figure an unmade bed and a sleeping
bag crumpled on the hammock, plus two wet towels, could only mean one thing.
I toyed with the idea of approaching them again and dishing out another lie. I met my girlfriend here, or my buddy and me were going fishing and I came back because I forgot my net. But I’d have to go back to my car to make anything believable. And they’d likely just hit me again.
“Let’s go,” the tall guy said.
Connor shook his head. “They might come back. We should wait here.”
“Why? So you can overreact again? We didn’t hire you to take out everyone that gets in our way.” He tossed the wet towels into the cabin. “That’s not what this is about. You’re going to jeopardize everything if you don’t calm down.”
Who’s he taking out? Did he mean me? Or Scarlett? Or had he already taken someone out?
“Ha!” Connor said, using his foot to wipe out a footprint in the mud made by the other guy when he came around the house. “You would be lost without me.”
The tall guy didn’t answer. But for a second, it looked like he might punch Connor.
I watched them for a couple more minutes while they conferred together. They spoke more quietly this time, and I caught only parts of what they said. “Who tipped him off?” “How much does he know?” “Is he heading back to his house?” “His father . . .” That was the last I heard before they got in their car and drove away.
They went to my dad. That’s how they knew about the cabin. Somehow, they’d figured out who I was and connected me to my father. Did Dad take one look at those thugs and decide good-bye and good riddance, telling them all the information they’d needed to track me down and rid himself of me forever?
What about Scarlett? What did they want from her? If they wanted her dead, they could have taken care of that in London. Why drag her halfway around the world? I didn’t dare leave her alone any longer. I started back toward the car, cutting through the woods to avoid walking out in the open.
I was in way over my head. How could I protect someone from guys like that? I had no idea. Again, I fell back on my Hollywood education. Jason Bourne would’ve walked up and killed them both with the wet towels. They didn’t teach those skills in boys PE. They taught badminton and bowling. If only I’d had a ten-pound bowling ball, I could’ve knocked ’em right over.
When I reached the car, it was empty. The doors were unlocked, and the keys lay on the cargo holder between the front seats.
“Scarlett,” I called.
No answer.
Chapter Five
Christian vs. The Shopping Trip
“Scarlett?” I raked my hands through my hair. “Scarlett!”
They must’ve seen me drive by after all. And when they found the towels . . .
“Scarlett!” I studied the fallen leaves on the gravel driveway, looking for signs of a struggle. The only thing I made out were tire tracks leading to my Range Rover. But what did I know about tracking? Once again, my education failed me. I was now one hundred percent convinced that schools in America did nothing to prepare kids for life in the real world.
“Scarlett!” I screamed. A dozen birds flapped out of a tree and took to the sky, raining golden leaves on my head.
I checked behind and under all the seats in my car. I searched the woods surrounding the neighbor’s place and my cabin, all the while calling and calling. I rattled the door of the shed. Locked. I stepped back and kicked it as hard as I could, right next to the handle. The door crashed open. The sudden release of energy felt good. Scarlett wasn’t there.
“No, no, NO!” I’d watched them drive away in the opposite direction. How did they get her? I paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching my fists. The layer of fallen leaves muffled the crunch of my feet stomping on the gravel driveway.
An old-fashioned metal garbage can stood against the side of the house. I hauled my leg back to kick it all the way to the top of Mount Hood. But I didn’t. I lifted the lid. There was Scarlett. Huddled in the bottom, her head on her knees, hands covering her ears.
I swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”
Her face turned up toward the sound of my voice.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“I heard you. The people in China heard you.”
“Then why didn’t you answer?” She’d given me a heart attack for no reason. I lifted her out of the can and set her on the ground.
“What if they’re still here?”
I shook my head. “They’re gone. I saw them both get in their car and drive away.”
She stood still, her head bent down. “I didn’t.”
No. Of course not. She might have heard a car leave. But what did that tell her about who might have stayed behind? Or who might be lurking in the forest.
I reached out and pulled her into my arms. It was like hugging a fencepost, only warm and soft and curvy. Maybe I’d overstepped my bounds, but she didn’t push me away. Instead, she put her arms around my waist and sort of squeezed. It had been so long since anyone had hugged me. “I’ll make you a deal. I promise I will never call you out of hiding unless I know it’s totally safe if you promise to answer.”
“Deal.”
“You scared the mess out of me.” But I figured she already knew that, considering her ear was pressed up against my chest, listening to my heart pound away.
“Sorry,” she said.
I helped her back into the Rover. “I don’t think we should stay here. They could come back. Or they might have bugged it, waiting for us.”
“Okay. Where to?”
I shrugged. “These guys are persistent. We can’t run forever. They’ll find us. They’ll find you.” I’d already proven that I stank at keeping her safe. “I think we should tell the police.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “Tried that, didn’t I? And it didn’t do a bit of good. I already told you, that’s how this whole thing started. I dreamed about Katie and went to the police. Then, when Katie actually disappeared, the police came back, asking me questions. It’s not coincidence that the next day the kidnappers came after me.” She was shouting now. “So, you can just leave me here, because I won’t go. I won’t.” She turned her head away and felt for the door handle.
I locked the doors so she couldn’t escape and leaned my head back on the seat rest. Stubborn punk Brit-girl. “Fine. Have it your way.” I let out a loud sigh, careful to add extra exasperation on the exhale. “Scarlett, you have to tell me what they want. Do you know them?”
“No. I don’t know them, or I would have given their names to the police in London, wouldn’t I? And I don’t know what they want.”
There had to be something in all of this to help me understand why they were searching for Scarlett. “What about the dream? Can you give me more details about that? Do you know if the men in your dream are the same as the ones in the restaurant and snooping around the cabin?”
“Maybe. Describe them to me.” It sounded like a reasonable request, but in her voice, I sensed a challenge. She was testing me. But about what?
“One was tall with light-brown hair.” I paused. Okay, I got it now. She wanted me to prove I was worthy of associating with a blind girl. I closed my eyes and recreated the scene in the restaurant, since that’s when she’d said she recognized one of their voices. I tried to block out any visual aids and focused on the other senses.
I started over. “One was tall, taller than me.” Maybe she could sense height based on voice direction, so I kept that in. “His voice was deep and throaty, like he had a cold or something, but also soothing, like the voice-over for movie trailers.” What else? “Um . . . Oh! He smelled like Old Spice.” I knew ’cause Jay wore it too. “And he chewed gum, so there might have been some mint scent, but I didn’t smell it myself.” I’d covered sound and smell. Taste? I couldn’t help her there. All I tasted was blood in my mouth after Scarface hit me.
That left me with touch. “He wore a cheap suit, so his clothes would’ve been rough, like polyester.” Rough clothes?�
��totally lame. What a bunch of useless garbage. Just because he chewed gum and wore a suit in the restaurant doesn’t mean he did in Scarlett’s dream.
I looked over at her, and she was covering her mouth, trying not to giggle.
“Shut up,” I said.
She let it all out and laughed even harder. When she finished and wiped her eyes, she said, “Actually, that was brilliant. Probably the best anyone’s ever done. Especially after such a short time.”
I gave myself a pat on the back. Another wasted gesture because she couldn’t see it. If she only knew how many times I’d blundered, she wouldn’t be so liberal with her praise.
I guess I passed the test because she got serious again and said, “In my dream, there are three people, plus Katie, my friend from the Shepherd. They’re in a room with a hard, smooth floor. Katie lies on a bed with a cold metal top, no mattress or blankets. A bright light shines on her face, making it warm to the touch. The other three people surround the bed. There is a rolling tray to the side, filled with small tools. When I run my hands over them, they remind me of silverware, but heavy for their size. The tools clink and clatter as they are used and exchanged for others.
“The room smells like medicine and surgical spirit. One person is female. She’s tall for a woman and wears glasses. Her hair is pulled up in a knot on her head. ‘We failed,’ she says, and her voice is deep and soft, like lying on a bed of cotton fluff, but full of disappointment. The other two are men. One, I think, is the man with the scar; when I touch his face, I feel the mark. The other man fades away, and I wake before I can know him.” By the time she finished speaking, all remnants of laughter and joking were gone.
How did she glean all of that from a dream when she had no vision? Maybe she could see in her dreams. Or maybe she saw the dream world clearly but within her own scope of sensory perception. She’d painted a perfect picture of some kind of medical procedure gone awry. “What did they do to Katie?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands.
“Don’t cry.” I reached over and put my hand on her back, rubbing in gentle circles.
