by Sloan Archer
What if Robert couldn’t be found? It was a possibility I didn’t want to think about, but it was a reality I might have to face nonetheless. What if Serena had hurt him?
No . . . I wouldn’t—couldn’t—fathom anything so awful.
And then there was the most glaring obstacle that I faced (other than my current imprisonment): Robert’s vampirism. Robert and I were already facing a tough challenge as a couple because of my inability to turn vampire. I’d decided long ago that I’d change over—I wanted immortality. It wasn’t a decision I’d come to lightly, but it was what I ultimately wanted. But I’d tried—three agonizing times—and it didn’t take. So how would we function with Robert being immortal and me (and presumably the baby) being human?
I was so confused.
And then my appetite intervened and cleared things up.
My stomach growled, loudly and painfully. I rubbed at my midsection, wildly outraged. It was that simple growl that changed my outlook. My sweet little baby (which is what I now thought of him or her—my sweet little baby) was being starved. It was ludicrous, of course; I was only a few weeks pregnant and it was probably no bigger than a peanut. (I knew absolutely zilch about pregnancy.) But, still, I envisioned a squishy pink baby that was handsome like Robert, with big grey eyes and a tuft of dark hair, locked in a cell, famished, with nothing but dry fortune cookies to eat.
I was seething. Those Nolan fuckers! They could deny me food all they wanted, but now they were messing with my baby.
I had to get out of there. I would kill every single one them if I had to, but my baby and I were going to get out of there. Alive.
I rubbed my belly and whispered, “Don’t you worry, my sweet peanut. I won’t let anything happen to us. I swear.” Look at me, I thought. My baby hasn’t even been born yet and I was making faulty promises.
I began pacing, which was essentially five steps forward and then five steps back, given the cramped space. It only took a few rounds before I started to feel dizzy. I had another look around the room for something that could be used as a weapon. I was getting creative, considering whittling the bar of soap into a shank and using it to stab Maxine. But, alas, it was too soft. Why couldn’t there be a piano in the room? Spies in books frequently used piano wires to strangle the bad guys, didn’t they? But if I was wishing for a piano in the room, why not wish for a gun or meat cleaver?
I sank down on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. I wouldn’t necessarily need to kill my kidnappers—perhaps I’d been a tad hasty on that decision. I’d only need to distract them long enough to make a run for it. But I’d have to do it while the door was open, or else I’d have no chance of getting out past Jason.
But how?
How?
The exposed light bulb above was burning my eyes, so I turned on my side—
I sat up with a jolt. The light bulb!
It was one of those energy saver bulbs, twisted white and made of thick glass. If I broke off the tip, it would be a fine weapon. It wouldn’t be as solid or lethal as the end of a broken beer bottle, but it could definitely do some damage if I brandished it with conviction. While I hated the idea of doing it, stabbing Maxine in the gut when she came back in the morning would give me the best chance of escape. Perhaps Jason would be so preoccupied with tending to her wounds that I’d be able to slip past him and out the door.
Or perhaps I’d fail miserably and they’d retaliate by executing me. No! Thinking like that would do me no good, I told myself, and it would only give me pause when the actual time came. Any hesitation on my part would probably get me killed.
After I broke the light bulb, I’d have to commit, since there’d be no explaining that away. I got out of bed.
I was ready to commit.
First, I’d have to prepare. I got dressed in my own clothes down to the bra, and then set my ballet flats right next to the mattress for easy access. Here’s how (I was hoping) it would go down: Maxine and Jason would come into the room in the morning, where I’d be waiting behind the door with the broken light bulb, ready to strike. Once Maxine walked in, I’d stab her in the gut, catching her off-guard. She’d start wailing, which would cause Jason to rush in. At this point, I’d either push past Jason, or be forced to injure him too, with maybe an elbow to his nose. (I may have not been able to kick his ass, but I could temporarily incapacitate him.)
The only hitch to the plan was the darkness that would fall over the room after the light bulb was removed from the ceiling. Oh well. It wasn’t like I had a masterpiece to paint or anything.
The ceiling was low enough that I could reach the bulb without even having to go up on my tippy toes. I used the sweatshirt to grip the bulb, because that sucker was hot. There was a brief moment when my heart caught in my throat as I lost my grip on the bulb and it slipped from the sweatshirt. I held my breath and listened for the dreaded sound of breaking glass, but the room remained silent. The bulb must have fallen down onto the mattress. I took that bit of good luck as confirmation that it was meant to be. It was like I was meant to stab my great-grandmother in the gut with a broken piece of light bulb! Yes siree, Bob!
Whatever you have to tell yourself, right?
It was easy to locate the bulb by groping around on the mattress for it, since it was sizzling hot. I cocooned it inside the sweatshirt, so I wouldn’t end up rolling over on top of it in my sleep and stabbing myself in the gut. I placed the bundle at the top of the mattress by my pillow. Now all I’d have to do is wait.
It took a surprisingly short amount of time to fall asleep. Was that what pregnancy was like, being hungry, nauseous, or tired (or all three simultaneously) every second of the day? I was just so exhausted . . .
Sometime in the middle of the night, the door flew open with a crash. I knew it was still nighttime because the moon was shining high in the background. I also knew that I wasn’t dreaming, because not even my worst nightmares were this bad.
The lights from the house were bright enough for me to see that my visitor held in his hand a syringe filled with murky yellow liquid. The pale moon highlighted it in the most gruesome way. My visitor was holding the syringe away from his body like it was poisonous.
Jason had come to kill me.
I jerked up on the mattress and screamed, frantically pawing at the blanket for the light bulb. I felt its cool glass against my fingers and closed my palm around the opposite metal end.
I got ready.
Jason lurched forward, grunting, the personification of the worst night terror most adult women have envisioned at some point in their lives: giant man at the edge of the bed, smack dab in the middle of the night, deadly intent.
Jason sounded winded, like he’d sprinted to the shed in a panic. He fumbled around for my limbs, disoriented. The one thing I had going for me was the light being out. Jason hadn’t expected the darkness, so he was thrown off his game.
I screamed again when he said, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this. But I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything!” I shrieked, scrambling away from him.
“I can’t let you go. You’ve seen my face, you know my name.” Jason’s voice was eerily calm. I yelped as he seized my ankle. “I’ve got a wife and kids. I can’t let you go.”
I kicked out at him with all my might, careful not to knock the needle. I made contact with his nose and it crunched sickeningly under my foot. All those hours I’d spent doing TaeBo had really paid off—thank you, Billy Blanks.
Jason cried out but he did not release me. “Now, stop it, girlie! It will hurt much less if you don’t struggle.”
“No!” I wailed. “No!” I clawed out at him with my empty hand and he jabbed the syringe at me. “Please! I’m pregnant!”
“It’s gotta happen tonight! I’m so sorry about this—I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry,” he kept chanting.
Like that would make a difference to me when I was gone. Yes, he did murder me, but, gee, he was awfully sorry about it.
&nbs
p; “And I’m sorry about this!” I roared.
Shrieking like a Viking warrior princess, I jabbed the light bulb into my attacker’s neck. I had fear on my side, which Jason didn’t, and it had given me mighty, adrenaline-induced strength. For a hideous moment I thought nothing would happen—that the glass wouldn’t break against his elastic skin— but as the bulb made contact with his jawbone, it shattered.
The sound of that glass shattering was the greatest sound I’d ever heard in my entire life.
Groaning, Jason staggered away from the mattress, his arms flapping wildly. Dropping the syringe, he groped at his throat. I could hear shards of glass pinging down onto the floor as he swiped at his skin. His injury wasn’t lethal, but it must have hurt like hell.
Wasting no time, I made a run for the door. My chest burned as I sob-breathed tiny gulps of air. My ears were ringing with terror, but the sounds of my hysteria were worse. I slipped on one of the ballet flats and sent it skidding across the floor, tripping myself up. No time to stop and put on shoes, anyway. As anyone who has ever fled for their life can attest, running barefooted really is one of the last worries on your mind. The first—and only, as it was for me—concern you have is getting the hell out of there.
Jason’s giant meat hook flew up from the darkness and seized my calf. He yanked hard and, because I was already unsteady from the stumble, I lost balance. Instinctively, I threw my hands out in front of me as I fell to the floor. There was an awful pop, and then white-hot bolts of lighting shot up my left arm, where I’d landed on my wrist. My tongue hurt, too, where I’d bitten down on it.
Jason pulled me toward him. He had the syringe clamped in his teeth. His breath was coming out in from his clenched jaw in agitated snorts as he straddled me. I clawed out at him and he slammed my skull down on the floor.
“Stop fighting, goddammit!” he exclaimed.
I screamed . . . and screamed. “I won’t tell anyone who you are! I promise! I won’t talk to any—”
Bang!
Jason’s mouth fell open in shock. The syringe tumbled from his teeth and bounced down on my face. Fortunately it was capped, or else it would have stuck itself in my forehead like a unicorn horn.
Jason groped his shoulder as he rolled off me.
He’d been shot.
I rolled onto my stomach, dazed from my head slamming. Standing in the doorway was the silhouette of a tall and lanky man. He charged forward into the shed and pulled me to my feet, kicking the syringe to the other end of the room.
“Did he inject you?” The voice was a lot younger than I’d expected.
“What?” My brain was taking a moment to engage with what he was saying.
He peered into my face. “With the needle? Have you been injected?” From up-close I could see just how young the gunman was, about eighteen.
The teenager raised the gun and pressed it to Jason’s skull.
“No! Wait, please!” I screeched.
“But he was going to kill you,” the kid said incredulously, as if I hadn’t realized this fact.
Yes, but Jason had also dropped a couple fortune cookies for me when he hadn’t needed to. And he did seem sorry about having to inject me. And I really didn’t want to add “gunshot execution” to the list of horrible things I’d witnessed in the past few months, particularly not while I was pregnant. But I didn’t have time to explain any of these things to the teenager, who was looking dangerously close to pulling the trigger.
I said, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”
The kid shrugged and then brought the butt of gun down on Jason’s skull. Jason dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. And he was going to have one monster of a headache when he woke up.
I ran out the door with the teenager in my wake. Looking toward the mansion, I could now see why there had been so much light coming into the shed. The mansion was on fire.
I looked at the kid, “You?”
“No. Richard and Maxine torched the place so they could get away. Good thing I heard you screaming, or else I’d still be in the house looking for you.”
“They’re gone?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Why were you looking for me? Who are you? Did the VGO send you?”
The kid shook his head, but to which question I didn’t know.
I patted him on the shoulder. “Well, whoever you are, thanks for saving me. I appreciate it.” I sprinted down the driveway away from the house, hardly feeling the gravel digging at the soles of my bare feet.
The kid caught up with me. “I have a car,” he said. “I can take you out of here.”
“Yah right! How do I know you aren’t one of them?” I angled my chin towards the blazing structure.
“Because I just saved your life,” he smiled. “And because I’m your grandfather.”
“Right,” I snorted. “You’re a teenager.”
But could he be my grandfather? After the story Maxine and Richard had told me . . .
“My car is this way,” the kid said, tugging at my sleeve.
“But what if the fire reaches the shed?” I asked. “Jason is still passed out in there.”
He shrugged. “You didn’t want me kill him, so I didn’t. Richard and Maxine set the fire, not me. So it’s not my fault if the flames travel.”
Seemed reasonable—Jason had tried to kill me after all. He’d regain consciousness in time. Hopefully.
I paused for a moment, weighing my options. I was barefooted, miles from home, and it was the middle of the night. I had no idea if my demented kidnappers would come back or what Jason would do to me when he awakened.
After being threatened by Michael Graves, the VGO, and the Nolans, I had to be running out of nemeses, right? If the kid had wanted me dead, he probably wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of saving my life.
“You can trust me, Mercy.”
I sighed. “Where are you parked?” I sure hoped he was right.
14
I nearly wept as we pulled onto the main road.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t wholeheartedly believed that I’d ever see the outside of the shed again. I took in a few deep breaths, relishing the sweet smell of freedom.
“Are you cold?” the kid asked, angling the heating vent toward me.
“I’m okay, thanks.” After being disrespected by the Nolans, it was such a pleasant change to be treated kindly.
“You can put the seat back and sleep, if you like.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “I’m so amped up right now that I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a week.”
“Understandable. We have about an hour until we get to my place, so make yourself comfortable. ”
“Is that where you’re taking me? To your place?” I asked.
The kid glanced over. His eyes were kind and he was handsome in an old movie star kind of way. I could see why Grams had fallen for him. My belated mother had looked a lot like him, especially around the mouth. I had no doubt that he was family. “Unless there’s somewhere else you’d like to go? I figured that my place would be the safest, since the Nolans know where you live.”
I was suddenly wary. “How do you know that?” I certainly hadn’t shared this information with him.
“I’ve been following you for a while.”
“You have?”
He nodded. “Yes. You don’t remember seeing me at the wedding?”
I squinted at my rescuer. “No. But I think my friend Joseph noticed you watching me.”
“Your VGO friend.” He wasn’t asking.
“You’ve done your homework on me, I see,” I said.
“Richard and Maxine aren’t the only ones who have been keeping tabs on you, though my reasons are completely different,” he said. “Your safety was and is my sole concern.”
I turned and smiled at my grandfather. I believed he was being sincere. “Thank you, again, for rescuing me. I was about two second
s away from being poisoned.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said. He turned on the radio very low, so we’d have some background noise. He had it tuned to a classical music station. We were in a nondescript gold sedan; it was definitely not as fancy as what the Nolans drove. The kid had a completely different vibe about him than the other two members of my remaining family. I was tremendously comfortable around him.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked shyly.
“Sure.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. It’s Sebastian. Sebastian Monticello.”
“That sounds Italian.”
“It is.”
“Wow,” I commented, learning a new detail about my roots. It was all too much. Why, I wondered, did my life have to be that way? At least that was how it had been as of late; either nothing was going on or everything was happening all at once. “I guess that means that I’m also Italian?”
“Part Italian. Did you never ask Tilly about your ancestry?”
“It’s funny that you call my grandmother Tilly. Richard and Maxine called her Francine.”
“I knew your grandmother as Francine, too. But I know that you knew her as Tilly.”
“I only ever called her Grams, but I know what you’re saying.” I smiled to show that I appreciated him being so considerate. “Well, to answer your question, I never asked Tilly about my ancestry. Family was sort of a sore subject for her.”
“I can imagine,” said Sebastian.
“She thought you’d abandoned her.”
He frowned. “I know she did,” he said with regret.
“But I know about the deal you made with the Nolans.”
Sebastian was staggered. “Oh? They told you about me? That surprises me a great deal.”
“Not me,” I said acidly. “To them, it didn’t matter what they revealed to me, because they’d been planning on killing me all along.”
“Richard and Maxine are such loathsome excuses for human beings.”
