Trapped

by Sally Mason

  I sulk around the house for a few days, hoping for Luke to show, but he’s staying with a buddy in Portland to work on a big term project that is due after the holidays. Roy is busy with a murder trial and hardly home, so it’s only me and my mom for a change. A few times, she tries to reach out to me, but I’m still holding a grudge that she had me committed to the hospital. Her mother-daughter bonding efforts fail.

  After all the exercise I endured at the clinic, cabin fever gets the better of me in the end. I venture outside after agreeing with my mom on a new check-in routine since Jed has still been sighted around town on a few occasions. She insists on hourly phone calls with an additional call if I spot Jed or feel threatened in any way, which includes anxiety attacks. Though I feign disapproval, I’m secretly thrilled about the extra layer of protection.

  It’s a crisp winter’s day with a bright blue sky, the distinct smell of snow in the air. A light breeze bites the tip of my nose and my eyes water from the chilly wind. When my fingertips get numb and my toes start to prickle uncomfortably in the woolly socks, I come to the conclusion that I’ve had enough exercise for today. With a sigh, I am about to turn around when my eyes fall on the Ice Princess. It’s by far the best ice cream parlor in town. It also sells a killer hot chocolate with loads of whipped cream all year around.

  The sudden urge for a special treat hits me and I stroll across the street without hesitation. The café is warm and cozy, but also packed with kids from the high school. They stare at me, some with their mouths open, as soon as I enter. For a second, I want to spin around and run, but my newfound determination to not allow even the smallest challenge to trip me up prevails. Proud of myself, I head toward the counter.

  I avoid glancing around the diner when I order. “One large hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream to go, please.”

  Eyes burn into my back from every table. I begin to twitch under the stares while I wait, folding a five-dollar bill into a small square before unfolding it again. More than once, I curse myself for even stepping foot into the place in the middle of the afternoon, but there is no backing away now. It will only be a few minutes. I desperately swing my mental pom poms, my gaze fixed on the money in my hand.

  Someone leans against the counter next to me. “Hey, Kelsey, what’s up?”

  I don’t even give him the benefit of a glance. “All good, Justin. How about you?”

  “I’m great. Working over at the plant and taking a couple of courses at the community college.”

  I feel his eyes drilling into the side of my skull.

  “Good for you, Justin.”

  A girl giggles beside him. “Ask her,” she mumbles and I recognize Cynthia’s voice.

  “My girlfriend wants to know if it’s true that they locked you up in the loony bin?” His tone is taunting; he can barely stifle a laugh.

  My face is on fire as I begin to fold the five-dollar bill again. “Not sure how this is any of your business.”

  He chuckles. “Come on, Kelsey. You can just admit that you’re a total nutcase. We all know.”

  Chuckles follow his words; everyone must’ve been listening. I quickly wipe my eyes to prevent a tear from getting loose—the hot chocolate is totally not worth this humiliation. Ready to take flight, I am about to push past him to get to the door when a calm voice comes to my rescue.

  “Yo, I hope y’all not givin’ my friend a hard time.”

  My head snaps up and I find Marcel right in front of me, glaring at Justin. Sober and in broad daylight, he appears even more menacing than at Tyrone’s house. Though he is at least half a head shorter than his opponent, his shoulders are probably twice as wide, and solid muscles bulge under his shirt. A long scar I didn’t notice before runs from his right eyebrow to the middle of his clean-shaven skull.

  Justin glances around as a few of his friends slowly rise from their seats. With a triumphant grin, he gazes at Marcel. “And who are you?” There are a few snickers and he gains momentum. “Kelsey’s new pimp?”

  A small smile plays on the gangbanger’s lips. “Man, you really have no clue who you’re dealin’ with.” Casually, he raises his shirt by a couple of inches, exposing the grip of a gun. “Sure you’re ready to play with the big boys?” His voice is so cold that the temperature in the café drops by at least a few degrees.

  All color leaves Justin’s face. “I’ll call the cops if you threaten me again.”

  That gets a chuckle out of Marcel. “Y’all little country boys think you’re so tough, but y’all don’t know what’s out there in the real world.” He eyes Cynthia from top to bottom. “Fuck with me or Kelsey again and I’ll smoke you before showing your girl here what a real pimp looks like.”

  When he takes a step forward, Justin jumps back, knocking hard against the side table next to the counter. The sugar basket develops a mind of its own, soon decorating the floor in white and pink packs, and is quickly joined by the stash of napkins. Justin’s face flushes when he bends down to gather up the mess.

  Though I should probably be appalled by Marcel’s behavior, I can’t help but gloat. Justin got exactly what he deserved. His face could compete with any tomato, and judging from the glint of fear in his eyes, Marcel made an impression. Cynthia’s gaze is glued to the floor, a few droplets dripping off her chin and splattering on the tiles.

  The waitress sets my hot chocolate on the counter. “Look, sir, I don’t want any trouble and must ask you to leave.”

  “That’s no problem, ma’am.” Marcel gives her a beaming smile. “I’ll go as soon as this douche apologizes to my friend.” His attention returns to Justin. From the now grim expression on his face, there’s no doubt that he’s done playing. A physical altercation will be next if he doesn’t get his way.

  Justin avoids my eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry, Kelsey.” His voice is trembling.

  I decide he has suffered enough and reach for the hot chocolate.

  Marcel places a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “For your troubles, ma’am. Keep the change.”

  With his hand on my elbow, he guides me toward the door. All eyes burn into my back just the same way as they did when I arrived, but this time, they feel different. There is a smell of fear which I relish. Marcel might be a violent drug runner, but in this moment, he is my hero. No one is mocking me—there is nothing but respect with him around. For a second, I wonder how it would be to be his girlfriend before I discard the idea with horror.

  When the cold air hits me outside, I come to my senses. He thinks I’m Finn’s woman and likely in Stonehenge to take revenge. He probably just rescued me from Justin so he could harm me instead.

  I wiggle myself free from his grip. “What are you doing here, Marcel?”

  He takes a step back, throwing up his hands. “Hoo, I expected a thank you, not this attitude, girl.”

  I remember the gun in the waistband of his pants. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you.”

  His gaze is intense. “You’re afraid of me. Why?”

  “For starters, you’re carrying a concealed weapon and threatened the life of my ex-boyfriend.” I hug my chest, wondering if he would shoot me in the back if I ran. “Finn got you to spend time in jail and you must be absolutely pissed. Wouldn’t you be scared under those circumstances?”

  He actually laughs at me. “I guess, but you got this wrong. I’m not pissed at Finn.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

  “No. When this stuff happened with your stepbrother, he rang me and called in a favor. Tyrone wasn’t thrilled that I had to spend some time in jail, but he got over it, so that’s it.”

  “So you don’t care that you went to jail?”

  “Nope.” He gives me a small smile. “Finn and I go way back and he helped my nephew out when he was in a bind. I owed him.”

  Stunned by such loyalty among thugs, my respect for him rises a few notches. “So what are you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to Finn’s uncle’s to find out if there’s any n
ews about Finn’s condition. The cops have him all locked up in the hospital, and since I’m not a relative, I can’t get any information from the doctors.”

  I frown. “Why is Finn in the hospital? I thought he was in jail.”

  He sucks in a deep breath. “You don’t know.” It’s not a question. When his eyes find me, his gaze is full of pity.

  My heartbeat almost comes to a standstill. “Marcel, what’s going on? Is Finn alright?”

  If something happened to him, it’s my fault. He was only in jail because of me. If I hadn’t cut myself because of the book, he would never have beaten up Jed and gotten into trouble.

  Marcel sighs. “While I was at the jail, no one dared to touch him and all was good. Last week after I got out, the guards let it slip to the others that he was a convicted sex offender and had raped a young boy. Guys in jail don’t like that type of stuff, so they beat him up.”

  My stomach turns to knots as tears fill my eyes. “Is it bad?”

  “He’s still in the ICU and they don’t know.” As my tears begin to fall, he shuffles his feet. “I’m sorry, Kelsey.”

  “Why didn’t the guards help him?” I ask between sobs.

  “That’s not how it works in jail. When it comes to sex offenders, everyone looks the other way. They’re considered scum.”

  I still don’t understand. “But Finn never raped anyone.”

  “He pled guilty”—he grimaces—“so for them, that’s good enough.”

  We stand out in the freezing cold while I continue to weep in the middle of the street like a big baby, but for once, I don’t care. Let people think what they want to think—I need to grieve for my friend until I feel better. The warmth from the hot chocolate is comforting, and with anger, I toss the cup into the bin. I don’t deserve a treat. If I had just stopped and thought of anyone but myself for once, Finn would probably be right here with me.

  Marcel just lets me be. I’m sure he is at a total loss about how to soothe a crying woman. He must think I’m either crazy or pathetic. When I finally settle down, I wipe my tears away with the sleeve of my coat before fumbling in my pockets for a tissue to blow my nose.

  “Can you call me later and let me know how he is?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I give him my number and he programs it right into the phone. Just before he takes off, I call out to him. “You should really be careful with that gun. This is a small town and the cops focus on outsiders. You could end up in jail again.”

  “Don’t worry, I have a concealed weapons permit.” He laughs at my dumbfounded face. “I work officially as a PI.”

  My jaw drops. “Seriously?”

  “Yep, no joke. Got my license a couple of years ago.”

  “What about your conviction?”

  “That don’t matter. Only felons can’t own firearms under federal and state law. Tyrone owns half the police force on top of that, so no worries.”

  I grin. Why am I not surprised about this latest revelation? I hate to admit it, but if Marcel wasn’t a gangbanger, he could potentially grow on me. In a sense, it’s scary that I currently prefer the company of criminals over regular folks.

  My steps are heavy on my way home, my hands buried deep inside the pockets of my coat. The wind has picked up and I battle against the arctic air with every step. It numbs my brain and in a way, that’s a good thing. Emotions rage through me—guilt, confusion, and disgust—not only for what happened to Finn but also about myself. I don’t deserve a friend like him.

  When I get home, I hide in my bed under the bright comforter, which doesn’t lift my spirits. My heart is aching. I’m so worried that I am sick to my stomach. Nothing seems to distract me—neither the music I begin to blast nor the movie I start to watch on the laptop. Finn’s angry eyes, the way they were the last time I saw him, scorch my mind like a flame of vengeance.

  Finally, Marcel’s call comes in. His voice is muffled by the engine of a car. He must be on his way back to Portland.

  “Good news. Finn’s out of the ICU and the doctors said he will fully recover. He should be out of the hospital before Christmas. The jail will probably let him go straight away. Tyrone will sue their asses and they might even throw some money at him.”

  I can breathe again without the guilt. “Thanks, Marcel.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I cut the line and sink back into my pillow. The room is spinning and the knots in my stomach slowly unravel. The elation that Finn will be okay burns in my heart. Now I can only hope that he’ll be able to forgive me.

  CHAPTER 14

  It has started to snow. I sit in the window seat that my father built for me when I was little, watching the snowflakes whirl around as they slowly cover the dirt with fresh whiteness. I used to hate snow. It meant being stuck in the house for days during a bad storm and ruining my shoes the minute I ventured outside again. The hat my mom made me wear never worked well with my hairstyle, and the warm sweaters I forced myself into scratched my neck until the itch drove me nuts.

  Now I love the snow. It allows me to hide in my room without having to make excuses. The therapy sessions have been suspended until the new year and my mom doesn’t expect me to leave the house or help with the groceries. She usually warms up some precooked meals from the freezer and we can eat whenever and wherever we like. This gives me even more opportunities to stay in my room and sulk.

  The guilt and worry about Finn have been consuming me. A few times, I’ve started a new letter and even considered calling his uncle to beg him to take me to the hospital to see him, but my fear of rejection always prevailed in the end. That would be a setback from which I wouldn’t recover easily and not contacting him keeps the hope alive.

  I lean my cheek against the cool glass of the window, my warm breath fogging it up. In a forgotten time, I used to draw little hearts with Justin’s and my initials on the smooth surface. It seems so long ago that we were crazily in love. Back then, I never imagined that he’d become such a bully or that my other friends would just turn their backs on me. Now, the only one left is Luke and maybe, if I’m lucky, Finn.

  The soft sound of Christmas music floats up from downstairs, accompanied by the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies. I love the chocolate chip kind, especially warm from the oven, since my mom uses those big morsels that melt deliciously in my mouth. My stomach growls just at the thought of them. I can’t believe it’s only three more days until Christmas Eve. Maybe I should try to be a little bit more social this year. My constant foul mood has been hard on my mom and Roy, and at least for one day, I could make an effort to be part of the family again.

  The ping from an incoming email startles me. I eye the laptop with frustration. Deep down, I hope that Finn is out of the hospital, trying once again to cheer me up, yet there is always the chance that it’s just another spam message. In any event, I will have to move to find out. That alone is an unappealing thought. After a few minutes of glaring at the screen in a desperate attempt to open the mail with telekinesis, I decide that I will never develop paranormal abilities and get up with a sigh.

  My hand rattles the mouse to wake up the computer when I slump into my chair. There is a little red “one” next to the inbox. I click on it repeatedly with a low growl to determine if my latest physical exertions are justified. Squinting at the email heading, I frown. Some unknown sender, not Finn, claims to have “An Early Christmas Present” for me. Disappointment washes over me as I bite back the tears—he’s probably still mad at me.

  For a moment, I consider just moving the new email to the trash folder, but something makes me click on it. It has a link to a private VideoTube video and might be one of those electronic greeting cards. Maybe Finn remembered after all.

  My heart beats in my throat and a few butterflies in my stomach even make a fleeting appearance while the video buffers. I fully expect to see some singing Santa giving me a cheesy holiday greeting, but my insides freeze when the video begins to play. Tied up on a bed, Ha
llie stares back at me with wide terrified eyes, her makeup smudged from her tears. Sobs shake her fragile frame, a gag in her mouth preventing her from screaming. Bruises cover parts of her body, but I can’t see any blood.

  My stomach heaves; I can hardly keep in the bile. Images of me, lying in a similar bed, invade my mind before a huge claw gets ahold of my chest, squeezing hard. When I start to gasp for air, my hand flies toward the mouse to stop the torture just as the video ends with a message.

  You can save her, honeybun—just give me a call. 207-555-4502. Don’t involve the cops or she dies. Merry Christmas.

  Nausea finally prevails and I sprint into the bathroom, retching into the toilet. When I’m done, I lean against the wall, my whole body shivering. Tears drip onto my bare legs. I try to fight the oncoming terror by sucking in short gasps of air, but the oxygen is hard to retain in my burning lungs. What if the nightmare begins all over again? With a low wail, my forehead comes to rest on my arms.

  Pictures race in my mind of me crying in pain while Jed thrusts himself inside me, followed by my shrill pleadings that are muffled when Napoleon wraps his hands around my throat. The images melt together like a horror movie. A scream runs over my lips while I fight for air again, a spiral of darkness closing in on my mind.

  I force myself on my feet and stand by the sink. This is where I used to watch how the blood oozed from my veins when I cut myself, but not this time. To spite me, the room spins faster and faster. I splash cold water into my eyes so I won’t faint. Pain throbs through my head, but my breath becomes more even. It is not enough. The pictures still flash rapidly in front of my eyes and I need them to stop. The only way to battle them is pain. Hoping to snap myself out of my nightmare, my fingernails claw into my palms as my teeth begin to dig into my skin.

  This time it works. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, letting the air slowly escape through the corners of my mouth. After I count to ten and reopen my eyes, the room comes into focus. Burning pain radiates through my arm into my shoulder and I laugh. It feels good to have some control again. My shirt sticks to my back and I shiver, but I realize that my body reacts to the cold and not the panic.