I hurried to my dad’s office and closed the doors behind me. “On the day I got into the accident, you were at the debate tournament,” I whispered, “which means Mr. Tama would have been there too, right?”
“ ’Course he was there. He’s our coach.” He paused. “And that means Mr. Tama wasn’t the one who crashed into your car.”
I had been so focused on the evidence against Mr. Tama. I’d been so sure—at least I thought I was, until now. Either Mr. Tama was completely innocent, or he had help.
To steady myself, I pressed my hand on the back of one of the leather chairs. “Mumps could have stolen pictures from my locker,” I said, words tripping over each other. “He could have put the white box in my backpack. He was probably the person Chase was looking for the night of the party, and he could have broken into my room and stolen my uniform, and if he wasn’t at the tournament the day of my accident . . .”
“Go wake up Parker,” Nicholas said. “Is anyone else there?”
“Forrest,” I said, my voice tight.
“I’m at the store, but I’m coming over right now.”
“Okay,” I said in barely a whisper. “I’m going to go get Parker, and then we’ll get Mumps out of here.”
I opened the office doors. My mind felt heavy with confusion, my feet heavy with hesitation. I willed myself to go back to the kitchen, where I collided with Mumps.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “I was coming to check on you.”
“There’s actually been a family emergency,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave. Can we reschedule?”
“Yeah, no problem,” he said. He lowered his eyes. “Is there something I can do? I can stay and help.” He looked concerned, but it felt false.
“I appreciate the offer, but I really need you to go.” I pushed myself around him and into the kitchen. “Let me help get your stuff.”
Forrest caught my expression and stood. “Is everything okay? Who called?”
“Uh, something happened to my mom,” I said.
From the way Forrest looked at me, I could tell he knew I was lying, so he didn’t ask more questions.
I handed Mumps his backpack, and he put his textbook inside. Practically shoving him outside, I said, “I’ll be in touch,” and closed the door. I turned the deadbolt and struggled with the chain lock. Forrest lifted it from my shaking hands and slid it into place.
I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the flowers off the counter. I hadn’t paid much attention when Mumps had handed them to me.
Peeling back the cellophane and tissue paper, I found four white flowers. Four. Shi. The homophone for death. White, the color of death. A tag hung from a ribbon tied around the middle of the bouquet. I turned it around.
My name was there, written in red. Red, like the color they used for people’s names on gravestones.
Forrest wrapped his arms around me, tucking me to his chest. “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed a cry. “It’s not over. I need to call my dad.”
Something landed upstairs with a thunk.
“Parker?” I shouted.
No one answered.
“Parker?” My stomach dropped. I ran to the base of the stairs. “Parker, you’d better answer me.”
I dialed Dad’s number. His phone rang and rang. I realized I couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually answered the phone when he was on a business trip. He always called back, and usually it didn’t take too long, but—voicemail answered.
How careful did I need to be? Were there bad people out there like Tony Akiyama who might hear my message? I didn’t want to do anything to compromise Dad or our family, especially when I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but Dad needed to know.
The tone sounded, and signaled me to begin. “Hello, I’m, uh, calling from the Copper Cactus and this message is to Claire-ify that the matter in regards to the Tama deal might not be finalized. It’s possible something was missing from your order, but um, Calvin Harper can provide the information required. We did have a little scare there, but I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Mrs. Parker is mostly likely lying in wait to pounce on me for no good reason at all except to be annoying. At the present, the warehouse is filled with a Forrest of antique furniture, and I’m sure other items will be arriving in the Nick of time. But you should call when you have the chance. Good-bye.”
That was stupid. I shouldn’t have emphasized everyone’s names. Why did I do that? Would he even know what I was talking about? Maybe he had a completely different cell phone he used in the field. I should have asked him when I had the chance. Wait. I’d left messages—normal messages—for Dad before when he was out of town, hadn’t I?
Forrest stared at me, brows bunched. “What in the hell kind of a message was that?”
As I returned my phone to my back pocket, I realized no one else knew what Dad did, and I didn’t have the time or permission to explain. “I’m under a little stress right now, if you can’t tell. I think Mumps might have been the one who tried to run me over with the white car.” Unless Parker answered me soon, I was going to hurt him. “Parker!” I shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
Forrest stayed close as I made my way toward the steps. My eyes scanned every shadow and dark corner.
“Parker, this isn’t funny.” I clutched Forrest’s hand, gripping until the circulation left. My fingers searched blindly for the light switch in the hallway. The beats of my heart grew stronger.
“I swear I’m going to kill you if you jump out and try to scare me,” I yelled. Each time silence responded, my stomach flipped. If Parker wasn’t playing a joke on us, then . . . no, he had to be. No one would have had the chance to come into our house without one of us noticing.
Unless someone had gotten inside before we came home. I didn’t want to even consider that. We’d already been through so much.
To my left, through my bedroom door, I could see my curtain flapping in a wind that rushed into the house. Had I not closed that window?
Forrest drew me nearer to his side.
I approached Parker’s door past mine and turned the knob slowly.
I pushed open the door.
I looked at the floor.
And screamed.
THE FIRST THING I saw was Parker’s limp body on the floor.
The next thing I saw was a red Japanese demon mask with horns and sharp teeth. A beat passed before reality sank in. I froze.
“What did you do to my brother?” I demanded. “Is he still alive? Mumps? Is that you?” I screamed as the intruder launched himself at me.
Out of instinct, Forrest countered and tackled him to the ground. The man grunted and broke free. He shoved Forrest off, but Forrest charged at him again. I broke out of my stupor and launched myself at his legs.
Neither of us saw the gun the man was holding.
When Forrest leaped at him, the man flung out his arm and hit Forrest across the face with a strong backhand with the hand holding the gun. Forrest went flying backward, landing at the top of the stairs.
Everything slowed as I turned on the floor, several feet away from the intruder, to watch Forrest. As his feet flipped over his head from the momentum, his body hit the staircase wall, which flipped him sideways. Then he rolled down the stairs until he crashed into the wall at the bottom.
“Forrest!” I screamed. Each thud punched me in the gut as his body hit the steps. Now he lay crumpled and still at the base of the stairs. The silence crippled everything inside me. I didn’t know if Forrest was alive, but I knew part of me would die if he didn’t get up.
Forrest didn’t move.
I needed to get him help. If I tried to call 911, the intruder would reach me before I completed the call. I’d have to find a way to put more space between me and this monster.
A rush of heat flooded my chest. In order to get downstairs, I’d have to get past this demon—obstacle—blocking my path. I drew in a
deep breath and tapped into my dad’s voice, the one he used every Saturday morning to coach my self-defense moves. I stood from the floor with a new sense of bravery. I fixed my gaze on the deep void of the demon’s dark eyes behind the mask.
What is the first thing you do when you’re attacked?
I screamed and screamed. I yelled and called for help.
When he charged at me, I rolled to the side to lure him away from the stairs, but he was too fast. His elbow caught me across the chest and flung me on my back.
What are the most vulnerable parts of his body?
Pointing the gun at me, he tugged at the collar of his black turtleneck where a scratch across his neck trailed blood. Then he adjusted the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulled it tighter around the mask. His body was shorter and thicker than Mumps—much closer to Chase’s build. Had they been in this together with Mr. Tama?
Eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, and legs.
He had a gun. My only chance was to attack one of these areas.
“Chase?”
A spray of spit flew out of the mask’s mouth with each exhalation. I could almost picture his hidden lips forming a sick smile as he reached down, yanked me to my feet by the front of my shirt, and directed the gun in my face.
“Why?” I swallowed back tears. “Why would you do this?”
A wicked laugh escaped from the mask’s angry mouth, but he didn’t answer. Now that I was under his control, he pointed down the stairs as if commanding me to walk down.
I glanced down at Forrest and then at Parker and felt my nerves strengthen, but my legs shook as I spoke. “No.” I stiffened my back and willed myself straighter.
The man raised his weapon and pointed it at me. “Go,” he said in a gruff voice—a voice I couldn’t be sure, but thought I’d never heard before. Spit collected at the corners of his demon mouth.
I stared straight into the barrel and refused to budge. Whatever he was going to do to me, he would have to do it right here. Worse things could happen if I let him take me to another location. That’s what Dad had said in our trainings. This was the time to fight back. Fragmented thoughts tore through my mind as I faced what would certainly be my final moments—would he hurt the rest of my family after me? Would Parker live? Forrest wasn’t moving. Could I at least do enough damage to buy time and give everyone a better chance?
“Nicholas will be here any minute,” I said, shutting down that line of thinking. “He’ll never let you get away with this.”
“Nicholas.” He sneered.
“He’ll call the police. He’s big. He’ll hurt you. He’ll . . .” There was nothing Nicholas could do against a gun, and this man knew it too. If there was any chance of getting away, I needed to take it.
I turned and raced down the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t shoot me. I missed a few steps. Stumbled on others, and had to jump Forrest. He bounded after me, almost tripping on Forrest’s lifeless body.
I sprinted to the living room, whipping my phone out of my pocket to call 911, but as I reached the front door, he tackled me from behind. The phone flew from my grasp, crashing to the floor and shattering as it landed. I wriggled from his grasp and grabbed a lamp on the end table next to the couch. He started to stand as I swung at his head. His body collapsed in front of the door.
Almost immediately, he tried to rise, the mask still attached to his face. Balancing himself on one knee, his head swayed.
I didn’t stop to see if he recovered—I ran past Dad’s study and into my parents’ bedroom, where I searched for a place to hide.
Under the bed.
In their closet.
Through the window.
But I couldn’t break through on the first floor. And they weren’t made to be opened. I couldn’t think straight. My heart pounded and my hands shook.
I tore into their bathroom and climbed in the cabinets beneath their sink. I had used this as a hiding place before, as a kid, but was surprised and grateful that I still fit. I shut the door as quietly as I could and scooted to the back.
As I had done many times when I was younger, I sat on the left side and grabbed the toilet-paper rolls on the right to build a wall in front of me. My hands trembled, and I worried I was making too much noise. It felt like the loud thumping of my heart might give me away.
His footsteps grew closer, and as they did, I could hear his voice singing. The tempo was slow, and his voice was low and mournful.
“Ue o muite arukou . . .” The melody grew louder as he opened doors and searched around.
First the coat closet, then my dad’s study.
My parents’ bedroom door creaked as it swung wider.
Their closet door opened. The hangers swished and the clothes ruffled.
The comforter and sheets crumpled. I could picture him searching in the bed. And then underneath.
His shoes tapped against the bathroom floor as he crossed closer to the sink. His song grew stronger, the tempo remaining slow, but my blood coursed faster and faster.
The shower-curtain rings scraped against the metal rod as they slid from one side to the other.
The cabinet door where I was hiding opened. I froze behind my toilet-paper wall, holding my breath, and struggling so that a whimper didn’t escape.
The door closed. I wanted to exhale, but didn’t dare.
And then the singing stopped. His footsteps faded. Everything was silent.
I began to breathe again. A minute passed. And then another. I didn’t dare move.
The cabinet door ripped open. My toilet-paper wall crashed as his hand broke through. He yanked me out by the hair.
I struggled against him, punching and kicking, as he dragged me out of the bedroom, still pulling me by the hair. At the edge of the kitchen, he grabbed me from behind by the waist.
I dropped my weight and twisted my torso to connect my elbow to his head. He fell backward, but grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me to the ground with him. Pain jolted through my body. I bit his hand. I gouged into the mask’s eyeholes.
He let out a sharp yelp as I sent a hard kick to his left knee and then followed the kick with an elbow to the throat. His gun skated across the floor.
But the demon recovered quickly and charged at me. He caught my shoulder and upended me on the ground. Before I had the chance to catch myself, my chin hit the hardwood floor, my teeth crashing against each other with a loud crack. I flipped onto my back. He crawled closer and straddled me. With his arms pinning my shoulders, and his face so close I could smell tobacco on his breath, I delivered a head butt to the mask.
My forehead exploded in regret.
A deep, throaty snarl erupted behind the mask’s sharp fangs. Blood flowed down the side of the demon’s mouth. As I reeled in pain, he got up and retrieved the gun and lunged at me, propelled by feral fury.
The front of my head screamed, but I jumped to my feet and charged to the back door. But the door was locked—I’d locked the door. It took time to unlock it, precious seconds that slowed me down. As I pulled the door open and took a step, he caught up and tackled me again. With my stomach against the ground, I pawed at his tight grip.
A sharp pain exploded on the back of my head. The world around me became gray and ragged shadows.
I wasn’t out entirely, but I wasn’t entirely conscious either. I could tell what he was doing, but everything was fuzzy. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take something out of his coat pocket, with which he tied my hands and feet behind me. I struggled to break free. His footsteps faded into the kitchen. The door leading into the garage opened. Then shut.
The sound of his shoes treading toward me grew louder.
A cloth covered my mouth.
The odor was sweet and chemical and made everything even fuzzier.
When I woke, I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. My cheek was flush against the floor by our back door. The room spun. I didn’t know if he expected me to be conscious, so I closed my eyes and lay still, too groggy to
do anything anyway. With enough time, whatever he gave me would wear off, and I’d have a better chance of freeing myself from whatever he had used to bind me.
Before long, he returned and tied something around my mouth that forced me to suppress a gag. He hefted me onto his shoulder and headed to the unlit garage, where he dropped me into the trunk area of a black SUV.
Inside, I could feel myself rolling over another body that lay still at my back. Forrest? I couldn’t speak around the gag to call to him.
I opened my eyes long enough to take in our surroundings. With the two of us in there, the space was cramped because the seats weren’t laid down, and there wasn’t enough room to turn and see who was locked in there with me.
Although I tried to tell myself it wasn’t Forrest, the only picture that filled my imagination was his lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs.
Dad would tell me to try to kick out the taillights so a cop might pull over the driver or someone could see me through the hole, but they were impossible to reach. Every time I moved, the rope chewed into me. A moan escaped my lips.
The man growled, and I knew he’d discovered I was awake. Within a minute, the cloth returned to my face. I swept my head from side to side, held my breath, and tried to fight. But the scent was sweet.
And then there was only darkness.
MY SKIN PRICKLED as if small shards of ice stabbed from all angles. Every muscle tensed. I struggled to open the heavy and swollen lids of my eyes. As moonlight fell on them, I winced.
How long had I been unconscious?
The first thing I saw was high, broken windows—I seemed to be in some sort of dusty industrial room, lit only by the bright moonlight falling in from outside. Tipping my head backward to this view as I awoke, my neck could barely hold any weight. The back of my head felt as if a jackhammer had pounded on it. I tried to move anyway, but my hands were numb, bound behind a cold metal seat, my ankles tied to the legs of a chair.
The room smelled of rusted metal and old motor oil. Stretching my neck, I saw layers of dust blanketing old engines. Propellers, wings, parts with gauges, and large pipes cluttered the floor in front of me. I was in an abandoned warehouse or factory somewhere, filled with airplane parts. This room was huge, maybe a hangar of some kind.
Ink and Ashes Page 27
