My face feels hot, my jaw too tight. This can’t be happening. He can’t have fooled me for this long. But he told me to run. I heard that. I’m sure I did.
Something flings past me. Maggie’s thrown a chair. It hits Adam in the shoulder, and I don’t know if she’s acting or if he’s acting. I don’t know what’s happening, but I run. We rush into the hallway and around a corner with Adam right on our heels.
He grabs both of us by the shoulder, hauling us back easily. I take a breath, feeling a scream build, but then Adam’s hand is over my mouth and his cheek is pressed to the side of my face.
His voice is low. “I’ll keep him off your trail, but you have to get out fast.”
Relief floods my senses. I nod and curl my fingers around his wrist as he pulls his hand away.
“H-how? Where w-will we go?” Maggie asks.
“Get the drugs and go to the police.” Adam holds my gaze. “You can do this.”
Distantly, I hear a scraping squeak. The cafeteria door squealing open. Daniel’s inside.
“Okay, I need you to hit me and run,” Adam says.
My head feels loose and fuzzy, like static is buzzing through my brain “No! We can’t just leave you.”
“Yes, you can. Use the back door in the library then cut away from the school. Now, hit me.”
I shake my head. “Adam—”
I see something flying by my face and then I hear the sickening smack of flesh against flesh. Adam’s jaw whips back, and I cry out as I see blood bloom on his lip. Maggie pulls her fist into her open hand, rubbing her knuckles as red blotches rise on her cheeks.
“Maggie!” I cry.
“Good hit,” Adam says.
I hear footsteps in a nearby hall. The sound sends ice up my spine. I turn to Adam, feeling my heart spiraling into my throat. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave him.
He reaches for me, his fingers warm against my cheek. “Be safe,” he says softly. And then he slaps his open hand against a locker. The crashing makes me jump. “Stop, you little bitch!”
We race back down the hallway, hearing the distant mutter of footsteps and then male voices in the front of the cafeteria. We cut across the back instead, passing the stairs where we eat lunch, and then the school office. We file into the library, wide-eyed and panting.
It’s darker than dark in here. The smell of aging books and new highlighters tickles my nose.
Mags volunteers in the library, so she knows it like the back of her hand, thank God. She slides along the south wall, and I follow her, spotting the muted red glow of the emergency exit at the end of a narrow row of shelves.
The door is old and wooden, a relic of a school with a limited remodeling budget. I twist the knob and push hard. Nothing. I twist again, grunting with the effort.
Maggie’s hand clamps like a vise into my shoulder. I’m about to yelp when I hear footsteps thundering toward the library.
I freeze in place, afraid to release the handle. Afraid to breathe.
“They’re probably at the front by now.” It’s Adam. I’m sure of it.
“You’d better be right, Reed.”
The footsteps move past, and the grip on my shoulder loosens. I take a single shuddering breath, and Maggie presses her hands to the door as well. Our eyes meet and we share a slow nod.
I lift up my fingers one at a time. One, two, three. We slam into it together, and the door flings loose.
We’re out.
We fly into the parking lot in a full sprint. My feet slide on the asphalt, but it’s Maggie’s gasp that stops me in my tracks.
“What is—” I cut myself off because I see what it is. A black Mustang, engine purring and headlights on. Blake.
I keep my eyes locked on the car, on the dark square of glass that hides Blake’s face from me. My hand searches blindly for Maggie until I find her coat sleeve and pull.
“Run,” I say.
“Where?” Maggie asks, her voice shrill. She’s got a point. High fences and thick brush surrounds the high school lawn. From this side, the only way out is the driveway, which means moving straight into the parking lot. We either take our chances of dodging Daniel again in the school—or we run for it.
“We have to book it,” I say.
Maggie follows me as I half run, half slide into the slick, white lot. Running isn’t going to be possible. Ice-skating would be closer to the truth.
I don’t look up, but I hear Blake’s door open and his feet hitting the ground. “Chloe, stop! Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
I just move faster, ignoring the way my feet slip and the way the cold air burns my lungs. We can do this. We have to do this.
Blake is closing in behind us. The sound of his footsteps sends me rushing faster, but every step is a chance to fall. And we can’t afford to fall. I hear a scuffling and turn to see Blake in an awkward stance, his arms stretched wide for balance. I square my shoulders. We’ve got the edge for now.
And that’s when Maggie goes down, hitting the ground knees-first with a cry. I pull her up and look at the road beyond the school. We’re close now. The street and sidewalks are clearer, probably thanks to the last dusting from the salt trucks.
“C’mon,” I say. We head for the road and hear a desperate scrabble of boots on ice. I glance back to see Blake on the ground now, swearing.
I don’t look back again. Not when I hear him limp his way back to the car. Not even when I hear the crunch of his tires on the fresh snow. He’s coming for us.
“Chloe?” Maggie’s voice is small.
All I can do is nod. The sidewalks are better, so we pick up speed. But Blake is right beside us, that big engine growling as he keeps pace with our jogging. I don’t know why he doesn’t stop. I guess he doesn’t need to bother. It’s not like we can outrun him.
Not on the street anyway.
Nudging Maggie, I veer into a yard, cutting toward the narrow space between two of the houses near us.
I hear the whirring of a window rolling down and then Blake’s voice.
“Don’t be stupid, Chloe. My dad called. Just show me where it is and nothing bad happens.”
I ignore him and my burning lungs. We climb a chain-link fence and move diagonally across a snowy backyard. Blake speeds up, no doubt trying to cut us off. We switch directions halfway through the yard and cut through to Beech instead of Maple.
Not that it matters. This isn’t Manhattan. He can loop all the streets in town until he finds us. We’re like rats running in a maze.
Maggie stays close as we head back to the road, trying to stick to the shadows. It’s six blocks to her house, and my boots are soaked through. I can hear Maggie’s teeth chattering. How the hell are we going to get there without him seeing us?
“W-w-why is he staying in the car?” she asks.
“Because he knows he has a better chance of keeping an eye on us.”
“So he’s just waiting t-to tire us out?”
“He doesn’t need to catch us, Mags. He just wants to know where I’m going. Let’s cross here.”
We move quickly and quietly across the street, eyes darting in both directions, but there is nothing. No headlights, no rumbling engines. The quiet is almost enough to convince me that I’ve lost him. We’re in and out of a half dozen lawns, zigging and zagging through the growing blanket of snow.
Sometimes, I hear a car that sounds like his. But it’s not. We’re getting lucky. At Main Street, we finally stop. Maggie braces her hands on her knees while I wipe sweat from my brow.
“We have to keep moving,” I say, too nervous to be standing on this corner.
“The p-police,” she gasps out, nodding left.
“Your house is closer. That’s where the drugs are.”
“You d-didn’t bring me anything, Chlo. I d-don’t have them.”
“The Not Treasure Box,” I say, and it is all she needs.
We start to cross the deserted street and then I hear it. A rumble that settles in my bones in all
the wrong ways. For a moment, I think of turning back, of slipping into the shadow of the pine trees.
“Run!” I say.
But it’s too late. The engine speeds up, and I know he’s seen us.
Maggie and I are bolting across, but he’s going to be right on us. It’s a straight shot to her house from here. He’ll know there’s nowhere else we could be going.
I change my mind and reach for Maggie’s hand. “Let’s double around. We’ll go by the doughnut shop.”`
Blake’s already approaching the intersection when we change directions. The car starts to turn, but he’s going too fast. The tires slip, and I hear the rapid thud-thud-thud of antilock brakes kicking in. He tries to swing back to the right, but the Mustang shudders on the slick pavement. The rear fender squirrels to the left. Too far left.
He’s going to hit something.
I jerk Maggie the rest of the way across the street, my fingers curling hard in her jacket. I can see Blake through the windshield, his face pale and tight with fear. And, just like that, he hits. The right front fender slams into a telephone poll. The smash of metal into wood is like a scream.
And then it’s over.
***
All is quiet and still. The only thing moving is the airbag sagging behind the windshield. I hold my breath and watch it, looking for Blake.
“Is everyone all right?”
Maggie and I spring apart in shock, looking up. There’s an older guy looking down at us. He’s still zipping his coat up over his pajamas, so he must have heard the wreck.
“Are you all right?” he repeats. “Did you get hurt?”
“Yes,” I say, pointing at the wreck automatically. “No, we’re fine. It’s—”
The sound of Blake’s door grinding open chokes my words off. I see one of his feet hit the ground outside the car. Then a second one. Maggie’s grip on me tightens.
“Blake? Is that you?”
Someone else has pulled up. She’s got a coat pulled around her and a scarf knotted at her neck. I don’t know her, but she looks like someone’s mom. Behind her, I see the gray minivan she obviously just stepped out of.
“Honey, are you all right?” she asks, gingerly crossing the road.
“I already called the police,” the guy says. We are instantly forgotten as he walks into the street, checking out the front of Blake’s car with a low whistle. “I’ll call for a tow too.”
Blake steps out of the car then, and his gaze doesn’t stay on his rescuers. He looks past the wrecked car and the melting snow and the people who are gathered in close. Instead he looks at me. His eyes go as hard as Maggie’s grip on my arm.
The mom-type touches his sleeve. “Sweetheart, let me call your mom.”
I see the resignation in his eyes. Because he can’t just leave his wrecked car and chase me through town. He’s stuck here with the concerned neighbors and the police who are already en route. And I can’t help but to smirk at him before I turn away.
“Come on,” I say, as I tug Maggie along with me.
“Wait,” she says quietly. “The police.”
I keep walking, and she trails after me, asking again. “Where are you g-going? The police are coming.”
I don’t answer until I’m sure we’re far enough away that no one will hear. “So what, we just run up to them in the middle of an accident scene? They’ll think I’m crazy, Mags. Honestly, until I see these drugs myself, I’m not sure they’ll be wrong.”
I hear the soft wail of a siren from the opposite end of the street. Maggie looks over her shoulder longingly before speeding up to keep pace with me.
Maggie’s yard is empty when we arrive. Neither one of us says a word. Talking about the Not Treasure Box is a little like talking about where we’re going to eat lunch. We just don’t. She grabs a shovel from the shed, and we run to the tree where we’ve spent countless summer afternoons burying sentimental junk or digging it back up.
It was supposed to be a time capsule. We’d created it in the second grade, some notes and a current newspaper, stuff like that. I’d put in my favorite pencil, and Maggie had included a pink plastic ring that she’d worn all year long.
She’d cried all night over that stupid ring. The next morning, I woke up early and trudged through the dew in her yard. I came back with muddy feet and a piece of pink plastic jewelry. It wasn’t technically a time capsule after that. But it was something else. Something good.
The ground is hard like clay beneath my shovel, but it isn’t buried deep. I chip away at the dirt until I feel my shovel strike something hard. This is it.
I wrestle it out, fingering the rusting latches with a sense of déjà vu. I pop it open and touch the black box inside. And then, just like that, the pieces of my lost summer snap back into place.
I remember being here. I remember burying this box and calling Adam. I remember everything before it too. The months slide back into place like a key tumbling in a lock. The afternoons in study group. The evenings with Blake. It’s all there. The hole in my mind is gone. Dr. Kirkpatrick’s hypnosis sessions. New friends. Cup after steaming cup of that damn lemon—
My head snaps up, tears clouding my vision. “The tea. Oh my God, they put the drugs in the tea.”
Maggie just watches me, one hand at her chest.
I leave the box where it is and lean back on my heels, letting out a long breath. It steams around my face and mingles with my tears as I remember my words to Maggie, my voice so awful and superior. I can see her like it was yesterday, back against the lockers and an expression of dark betrayal on her face.
I take a breath—so cold it stings my lungs. “Maggie…”
Snow is still falling thickly, but I can see the realization dawn on her face. “You remember, d-don’t you?”
I nod, swallowing thickly, wishing I could claw the awful images back out of my head. And maybe the memories of Blake too, his mouth on mine and hands under my shirt. I feel my throat close up, a gag rising through me.
Maggie grips my shoulders and shakes me. She isn’t gentle.
“D-don’t!”
I scrabble away from her desperately, away from the little black box and all the months I wish to God had never happened.
“Maggie, I said things—I did things—you and Blake and—” I cut myself off because I can’t even talk about the images running through me, the ugliness in these memories. Ugliness in me.
“You did things, Chlo. Past tense.”
I shake my head, ball my cold fingers into fists. “No.”
“Look, it wasn’t pretty, b-but there was drugged tea and creepy hypnosis, right?” She stops until she’s sure she’s got my attention. “Look, it’s time for you to let it go. Do you hear me? You need to move on. We b-both do.”
She puts the black box in my hands, and I feel the edges, clean and smooth. Smooth like Maggie’s speech used to be around me. Come to think of it, it’s pretty smooth right now. Is it really so easy? Am I forgiven, just like that?
I pull the latch open, finding four syringes like I remember them. The label on the syringe reads “High Concentration—Test Lot 1.” My fingers tingle as I read that. God, wasn’t it concentrated enough already?
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they used this on us. They drugged us. They put this poison into our tea, maybe straight into us through needles like this. And now I can prove it. “Let’s get this done,” Maggie says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “My phone is dying. We’ll c-call from inside.”
I close the box with a nod and tuck it in my pocket, not trusting my voice as I stand up. We slip back through her yard and up the steps. The idea of her warm kitchen is like heaven. The only thing that would be better than being warm would be knowing that Adam is safe.
But he is safe. He has to be. I can’t have come this close to lose now.
Maggie heads through the back door, and I’m right on her heels. Everything is warm and perfect. I take a breath…and Maggie screams.
Something�
�s coming at me. It hits fast and hard, and then there is nothing but darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The pain wakes me. For a moment, I think I’ll just go back to sleep. Or maybe I’ll get something from the medicine cabinet because my head feels like it’s turning itself inside out and my stomach is rolling in all the wrong ways.
I smell yeast and cinnamon, which tells me I’m not at home. I’m at Maggie’s house. On Maggie’s floor to be precise.
The memory of Maggie’s scream comes back to me, and I try to bolt upright. My body doesn’t comply. I groan and try to open my eyes instead, but my vision swims through the slits I manage. Oh God. I’m going to vomit. I’m sure of it. I breathe deep and will the nausea to pass. Around me, the muddy blurs try to slide into focus.
I see fragments. Maggie’s shoes. A pair of gray pants. Adam slumped on the couch.
Adam?
I sit up again. Too fast. The room spins, and I fall right back down.
“Oh, I think you should stay still for a bit longer, Ms. Spinnaker.”
The voice makes everything in me recoil. My body tenses, and I gingerly push up on my elbows.
What I see makes me wish I were still knocked out. Maggie, gagged and tied to a kitchen chair. Adam on the couch, eyes half-closed and arm extended. Daniel sits between them, pulling a needle out of Adam’s arm. The syringe attached to that needle is empty.
“Do you know why I love this drug?” Daniel says, capping the needle and putting it back in the case he’s holding. “I call it liquid cooperation. A little of this in your system, and you’re happy to think or do or remember anything I want you to.”
“How? He would never let you…” I trail off, dumbstruck that Adam just sat there, rolled up his sleeve and let Daniel pump a mind-altering poison into his veins.
“Well, I didn’t ask permission when I injected him the first time,” he says, smirking. “But your little boyfriend was feisty. An extra dose has made all the difference, hasn’t it?”
Adam blinks blearily, looking lost.
I lumber to my feet, wobbling around like a marionette. Daniel watches me from the couch. He knows he can take me if he needs to. I’d like to think otherwise, but he’s not small. Plus, he didn’t just get knocked upside the head.
Six Months Later Page 24
