by B. B. Hamel
“I just need to pick something up. It’s not a big deal, it’ll just take a second.”
“What do you need to get?” I have a weird feeling as we pull down a side street. There are trees on either side of the car, and I vaguely recognize the place as one far end of the nature preserve.
“It’s just ahead,” he says. The car bumps over some stones and the pavement turns into gravel.
“What could you possibly need here?” I ask him.
“Just up there, I swear this’ll only take a second.”
I turn around a bend, and I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly afraid. I pull the car over, ready to turn around and get the fuck out of here, but before I can there’s a gun pressed against my side.
“Why’d you stop?” Reggie asks me softly.
“What the fuck?” I say, shocked.
Reggie’s grin is huge. “I told you, it’s just ahead.
“What are you doing?”
He leans toward me. “You’ve been a bad boy, Wyatt.”
“What the fuck?”
He shoves the gun harder against my ribs. “Drive or I kill you.”
I start driving again, mind racing. Why the fuck is Reggie doing this shit? Is he getting revenge for something I did in high school, or is he just trying to rob me?
And then the answer becomes obvious: he’s a fucking Niner.
Of course he is. That’s why he lives in a trailer, that’s why he’s still in Mason. That’s why he made up with Atticus.
I’m such an idiot. I should have done more research on him, at least checked to see who he was friends with on Facebook. Instead, I just blindly accepted that he’s the guy he used to be back in school.
They knew I’d do that, or at least he probably guessed. He knew I’d let him get close to me like this, and now I’m alone with the fucker, and he’s got a gun on my goddamn ribs.
Fear spikes, but I have to keep it at bay. I can’t let fear destroy my mind right now. I’m going to need it if I can get through this.
Unbidden, Cora’s face flashes through my mind as I come up to a clearing. “Park up there,” Reggie says.
Cora’s face, smiling at me, as I pull the car next to some trees.
“Get out,” Reggie says. “Slowly.”
I open my door and climb out. Reggie keeps the gun trained on me before slowly climbing out his side.
And I know it’s my only chance. I turn and sprint off into the trees. I briefly hear Reggie curse, and I brace myself for the gunshot, but he doesn’t pull the trigger.
I crash through the underbrush. I can hear him coming after me, but I have a good head start. I jump a fallen log and wind my way through trees, getting into denser and denser forest.
“Wyatt! Stop, motherfucker!” Reggie yells. He sounds out of breath.
I don’t slow down. I curse myself for not bringing my fucking gun, but I can’t do anything about that now. I keep pushing myself, running as hard as I can, my breath coming in ragged. I know I can’t keep running forever, but I need some space between me and Reggie.
I crash through a dense bush, right into the center of a small ring of trees. Instead, of going forward, I step to the side and press myself up against one of the trunks, my back against it. Reggie couldn’t have seen my move, and I’m hoping he’s running hard to just keep pace.
I hear him blundering closer. He curses and pushes in through the bushes, trotting after me. He goes past and I step out behind him, catching him by the neck on his shirt, yanking it back as hard as I can.
It catches on his throat, pulling him backward. He’s surprised, not expecting that, and he drops back. I slam him onto the ground and he makes an awful gagging sound as I drop on top of him, slamming my knee into the wrist of his gun hand. He releases the weapon as I slam the heel of my hand into his face, smashing his nose. I feel and hear the bone break.
“Fuck!” he screams. I grab the gun from the ground and get off him, rolling to the side and standing. “Oh fucking shit, you broke my nose.”
I level the gun at him. “You’re lucky that’s all I did.”
He snorts blood onto the ground and sits up, staring at me with these wide, wild eyes. “You should go back to the city, Wyatt,” he says.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because what happened to Atticus is going to happen to you.”
I step closer, gun held straight and steady at his skull. “What happened to him?”
He laughs. “I’d rather take a bullet than fucking tell you, pig.”
Anger rages through me. “We used to be friends.”
He sneers at me. “Friends? I was just some fucking nerd you pitied.”
“No,” I say softly.
“The Niners are the only people that ever cared about me.”
I stare at him, completely horrified. He looks like a monster, a shadow of the guy I used to know. I grip the gun and for a second, I picture what it would be like to kill him. Part of me wants to do it. This bastard is destroying this city, along with his gang friends, but it’s more than that. For me, it’s fucking personal.
I really did think we were friends. I trusted him, wanted to see him again, and he wanted to murder me. All for this fucking gang. I grip the gun, hand shaking.
He grins at me, eyes wide. “Do it, Reap,” he says. “I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
I relax my grip and shake my head. I pull my phone out of my pants and quickly pull a number up. I keep my eyes on Reggie as the phone rings.
“Hey, Wyatt,” Mitch says.
“Do you remember Reggie?”
“Shit, yeah, I do,” Mitch answers quickly. “Listen, Wyatt, he’s not the same guy you knew back in high school—“
“I have him here at gunpoint,” I say. “He tried to kill me.”
Mitch is silent for a second. “Where are you?”
I explain the best I can. “You’ll see my car.”
“I think I know the spot. You hang tight. We’ll be there soon.”
“Got it.” I hang up and Reggie starts laughing.
“Who the fuck was that?” he asks me.
“That was the end for you,” I say to him softly. “I really did think we were friends.”
His laugh cracks through the air, sending chills down my spine.
21
Cora
My mom doesn’t look at me when she opens a second bottle of wine. I don’t say anything, but the room’s tense anyway.
Some old Western movie is on TV. Mom sits on the bed, propped up with pillows, drinking. I lean back in my chair by the table, stretching my legs.
“This shouldn’t last much longer,” I say, breaking the silence. I’ve been here for maybe ten minutes and we’ve barely been talking.
“Yeah, I know,” she says, not looking at me.
“Mom, come on.”
“What?” She drinks her wine. “I can’t have a drink to loosen up?”
“Not what I mean,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” She glares at me. “You think I have a problem.”
“You admitted it yourself.”
She shakes her head. “I was just stressed. I didn’t mean it. I’m fine.”
“Mom,” I say softly. “Come on. We both know you’re an alcoholic.”
“No,” she snaps at me. “I’m stuck in this hotel room with nothing to do, so why not drink?”
“You’d be drinking this much at home too,” I say.
“No way,” she answers, shaking her head. “One glass, maybe two. No more than two per day, sometimes three if it’s been a tough day, but no more.”
I sigh. She can’t even see her own hypocrisy. I shouldn’t be surprised. Wyatt said she’d need time, and I’m trying to give it to her, but still… it’s frustrating.
I look out the window and glance at my watch. It’s around three in the afternoon. I expected to hear from Wyatt by now, but he hasn’t called or texted. I thought he was just having lunch with that guy from school, but I guess it’s taking longer
than he expected. I was in my room for a while, but I got bored enough to come check on my mom again, which of course I’m regretting.
It’s hard to watch her drink herself to death. I want to help her, but it’s hard. Wyatt seems so patient, but I don’t know if I have that patience. I’ll have to ask him for more help. I think if anyone can help, he can.
I sigh and lean back in my chair. I watch TV with my mom, not really paying attention to what we’re staring at. She drinks steadily, not even bothering to offer me any, since she knows I’d turn it down anyway. We’ve gone through this little charade enough times at this point that she knows how the game’s played.
A half hour slips past and I’m starting to worry. I glance at my phone, but there aren’t any messages. I have full bars, so I should get any calls or texts. I know Wyatt doesn’t have to check in with me or anything like that, but with everything that’s happening, I just thought he would.
As we’re sitting there, I suddenly hear someone banging on a door near here. I don’t think anything of it until I hear more banging, and this time someone shouts my name.
I stand up as my mom looks at me sharply. “Don’t,” she says.
“That could be about Wyatt.” I walk to the door, fear spiking through my chest.
“Cora,” Mom snaps. “Don’t.”
I put my hand on the doorknob. I hear more knocking, and someone yells my name again. It’s a man’s voice, though I don’t recognize it. I glance back at my mother and I can see the fear in her eyes. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help myself.
If something’s happening with Wyatt, I have to know. I push the door open and look out.
Jaxson Moyer is standing outside of my room’s door. He looks over sharply and our eyes meet. A creepy grin spreads across his face.
“There you are,” he says.
I duck back into the room and slam the door. I slap the locks shut and run back to my phone.
“What is it?” Mom says.
“It’s him,” I answer. “It’s the guy.”
“Cora!” Jaxson yells my name from outside the room. “Cora, Cora, Cora!”
He slams against the door. The locks hold but I don’t know how long they’ll last.
“What did you do?” Mom hisses.
I grab my phone, ignoring her, and call Wyatt. He doesn’t pick up, so I call again and again, all the while Jaxson’s yelling my name and slamming against the door. The wood’s starting to buckle, and I can see the screws in the lock starting to twist and pull. Obviously this motel didn’t bother to install real security, because it shouldn’t be breaking this easily.
I give up on Wyatt and start calling the police. But before I can connect, the door smashes open, wood splinters kicking along the carpet. Jaxson steps into the room, a manic grin on his face.
“Cora, Cora, Cora,” he says, walking toward me.
I want to scream. I back up, staring at him with wide eyes.
His smile is so sickening, so starkly gross, that I can feel nausea bubbling up in my gut. I suddenly know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man killed my brother, and he’ll kill me next. He murdered Atticus in a horrible and brutal way, an unnecessarily bloody and gruesome way, and he’s about to do that to me.
He stops just inside the room, his smile enormous, swallowing his whole face. “It’s good to see you again,” he says, and he slowly pulls a gun from his waistband.
I’m shocked when my mom suddenly moves. I didn’t realize she had gotten out of bed, wine bottle clutched in her hand. She brings it down on Jaxson’s head, coming at him from the side. He clearly was too fixated on me to notice her. She smashes the bottle down hard, green glass cracking and breaking, and he crumbles down to the floor.
“Run!” my mom screams.
That snaps me out of my haze. I get up, darting up and over Jaxson. As I get past him, he reaches out and grabs my ankle, tripping me up.
My mom is out the door already. I scream as I go down and Jaxson groans, blood running down his face. His eyes are wide and there’s a shard of glass stuck in his scalp as he crawls toward me.
I scream and kick at him. The gun fell out of his hand, and it’s halfway across the room. I know I can’t get to it in time. I kick again, connecting with his nose, making him groan.
But he grabs my ankle again, not letting me go. His grip is ice and iron. He pulls, coming closer as he crawls like a slug, making this horrifying groaning noise.
“Cora,” he grunts. “I’ll choke you, bitch.”
I scream again and kick. It connects solidly again, and this time his grip loosens. I shake him off and scramble away on my hands and knees. When I make it over to the broken door, I get to my feet and start running.
I keep running until someone grabs me. I don’t know who it is and my instinct is to fight, fight and scream, but he’s holding me tight, saying my name over and over.
It takes me a second before I realize that it’s Wyatt. “Cora, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s me. What’s happening?”
I look around. I’m down in the parking lot. Wyatt’s looking at me like I’m insane. My mom’s nowhere to be seen.
“Jaxson,” I say finally. “In my mom’s room.”
His face goes serious. “Stay here.” He strides away, moving into a jog. He heads up the front stairs and onto the balcony.
I can see the room with the door kicked open. Wyatt approaches it a little cautiously. He slowly looks inside, but pulls back as three loud cracks break the stillness.
I recognize the gunshots for what they are. They’re so much louder than I thought they’d be. I fall down to the ground, but I can’t stop watching Wyatt. He drops backward, flat against the wall. He yells something, but it’s lost in the gunfire.
He falls back. I watch him open his room’s door and step inside just as Jaxson emerges from my mom’s room. Jaxson looks around, bleeding and clearly dazed. He stumbles down the ramp, toward the stairwell.
Wyatt comes out of his room and yells after him. Jaxson doesn’t hesitate. He fires at Wyatt, forcing Wyatt back into his room. Jaxson stumbles away again, down into the parking lot, and I want to scream.
I’m so afraid he’ll find me. He’s going to kill me if he does, and I’m just crouching down in the parking lot, hands over my ears, eyes wide, tears stinging my cheeks.
But Jaxson doesn’t even look for me. He jumps into an old beat-up green sedan and it peels out, driving away from the motel. I catch sight of a second person in the car, but I don’t recognize whoever it is. I don’t get a good look as the car speeds out into traffic and disappears.
Wyatt appears seconds later. “Are you okay?” His voice comes through muffled and distant.
He pulls me to my feet, arms wrapped around me as I sob into his chest. “She saved us,” I say.
“Who?”
“My mom. She hit him with her bottle.”
“It’ll be okay,” he says, but his voice is flat and expressionless.
I press myself harder against him, still shaking, fear flowing through me. But he’s here now, and he’s going to keep me safe. It’s going to be okay. It has to be okay.
22
Cora
I stare at the gun on the bedside table and I keep seeing Jaxson as he kicks open the door. The splinters hit the carpet and I’m so afraid I can’t move.
Without my mom, I’d be dead. She saved my life. We don’t know where she is right now, but Mitch has his boys out looking for her. Jaxson’s out there somewhere too, and they’re trying to hunt him down.
For now though, I’m with Wyatt. He comes out of the bathroom and frowns at me, following my gaze.
“Ah,” he says. “That.” He walks over and picks up the gun. “Just a little present from our friend Reggie.”
I’m not sure what he means but I’m not sure I want to know. “Oh, okay,” I say.
He slips the gun into a drawer then sits down next to me. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
I nod and lean up against h
im. “I’m okay. Just afraid for my mom.”
“She’s fine. I bet she’s just holed up in some bar right now, hiding out with a good glass of wine.”
I can’t help but smile at that. I know it’s not great to imagine my mom drinking, but at least I’m picturing her alive, instead of with Jaxson standing over her. I doubt she has a “good” glass of wine, though.
He puts his arms around me and pulls me close. We have a quiet moment, and I try to concentrate on the sound of his breathing instead of the horrible film that keeps playing through my mind. I feel like some part of me is broken, or dirty, or both, but I know that’s just in my head.
“What happened,” he starts saying, and then stops. He takes a deep breath. “What happened should never have happened.”
I move back slightly and look up at him. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” he says simply. “I knew we were in danger, and I still left to see an old friend.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I whisper. By now I heard all about what went down with Reggie.
“I should have.” I can see the anger flare up. “It was too easy, too simple. I should’ve known nothing’s simple around here. I mean, having me come pick up him and drive into the reserve?”
“Wyatt,” I say, and I pull his chin toward me. “You couldn’t have known.”
His expression kills me. It’s anger and sadness and desire all mixed up into one. “I left you alone, and you almost got killed.”
“But we didn’t. You came back in time.”
“Barely. Your mom saved your life. Now she’s missing, Jaxson’s still out there, and you had to go through that.”
I pull his face toward mine, and I kiss him. I don’t know why I do it, but it feels right. He kisses me back with a sharp intake of breath as I move closer to him, and my desire flares through me. I didn’t know I could feel this right now, or really I didn’t think I could feel anything at all. But my need for him suddenly trumps any of the fear, the sadness, and the pain. I don’t feel right, I feel far from right, but at least this kiss makes me feel more whole.
