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, Hallie 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.

I wash out my mouth and splatter more water on my face before returning to the bedroom. Squatting down in front of the desk, my eyes glare at the laptop. Sharp pain stabs at my heart at the thought of replaying the video—I should tell Roy or at least Luke. They’ll know what to do, but in all likelihood, they will also insist on involving the authorities. Roy is close friends with Larouge, who still holds jurisdiction in my old case. He never got over the blow with the warrant and would probably itch to get something on Jed. Knowing him, he will get Hallie killed within a matter of minutes.

The grandfather clock on the wall keeps ticking monotonously while I try desperately to figure out what to do. If Jed kills Hallie, her death will be on my hands. I alone have the power to save her. Every day during my captivity, I prayed that someone would come for me and take me home, but no one ever did. It was a horrible feeling. I can’t just let Hallie go to her slaughter without at least making an effort to help her.

With a new determination, I grab my phone off the nightstand before rewinding the video just far enough to get the phone number.

Jed answers on the first ring. “Hello, honeybun. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

His snarling words almost make me drop the phone.

“What do you want, Jed?” My stomach is in knots, yet I’m surprised by the calmness in my voice.

He chuckles crudely. “I want you, honeybun. Napoleon and I bought you a great Christmas present and are eager to spend the holidays with you. I mean, you can’t blame us. Of all the little bitches around, you’re still the best in the sack.”

Nausea crawls up my throat as my breath accelerates. I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus. “Please Jed, just let her go. Haven’t you caused enough misery for everyone?”

“Forget it, honeybun. You have thirty minutes to get to my house, and if you don’t show, Hallie is dead. Don’t bother bringing the cops with you—she ain’t there. She’s with Napoleon, and if I don’t call at certain times, he’ll kill her. It’s all up to you. If you cooperate and do what we tell you, we’ll let her go.”

He cuts the line and I sink to the floor. I can’t do this. I sob into the crook of my elbow, wishing I was dead.

I don’t know how long I dwell in self-pity before the truth finally hits home. This will be my one chance at redemption, the one way to get my revenge. The anxiety is still keeping a grip on me, but the force that used to hold onto my own free will so tightly and crippled me in any possible way has eased. I can almost think clearly—for the first time in over three years.

A fuzzy memory enters my mind when Finn’s words break through: If you’re so unhappy, do something about it, but stop waiting around for someone else to save you. Move away and start fresh, or find Jed and cut off his balls—anything—but stop being such a crybaby. We all have a lot of shit to deal with and your whining is getting on my nerves.

Back then, I could have slapped him, but now, I understand what he meant. Bad things happen to good people all the time and you can either allow your demons to destroy you or fight back. It’s time for me to crawl out of the hole I dug for myself and do what I should have done a long time ago—put Jed Edwards in his place and not allow him or anyone else to run my life. It’s time to stand up and say enough is enough.

 

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Fifteen minutes later, I am in the woods on my way to Jed’s cabin. Roy and my mom were in the living room, decorating the Christmas tree, when I snuck out the back door. I left a note on Luke’s pillow with some bullshit story that I need some time to myself to work things out. At first, I was going to tell him the truth, but I was scared that Jed will find out. Roy has always figured that someone from the Stonehenge Police Department had tipped Jed off about the warrant, and if he truly has a friend on the force, Hallie will be dead. Luke hopefully knows me well enough to realize that something is wrong when he finds the letter and it won’t take much to convince my mom to call the police once I disappear without a trace.

The night is freezing. I cuddle into my warm winter coat, my eyes fixed on the foggy breath streaming from my mouth. At the last minute, I grabbed a screwdriver from the garage as a weapon, which is buried deep inside my pocket. My fingers curl around the handle as my walk turns into a jog. With every step, my grip tightens as I imagine ramming the metal through Jed’s eye. That’s what Finn would do.

It has stopped snowing, but the wind has picked up, biting at the tip of my nose and ears. I wish I put on a hat and a scarf. My eyes wander to the sky when I pause at a clearing to catch my breath. There are hardly any clouds and hundreds of stars twinkle above, a full moon hanging lazily over the trees like a big fat orange. This is so cliché—the perfect night for one of those werewolf or vampire encounters. A chill runs through me when I ask myself what I’m even doing here. This is not me—I’m a chicken. As I spin around to head back, Hallie’s scared eyes flash in my mind. I grit my teeth. I can do this.

The creek gurgles in the distance as I get closer to Jed’s cabin. This path is full of bad memories. I hold my breath before exhaling with a small groan. Fine mist temporarily steals my vision and blurs the picture of Jed walking me here for my exercise when I was hooked up to the dog chain.

I force myself to continue, my heart pounding heavier and heavier with every step. I fight the oncoming anxiety attack by focusing on the image of Hallie on the bed. If I lose my sanity, she’ll be dead.

“I have to go on,” I mumble to myself, repeating the words over and over to drive myself forward. The snow crunches under my feet. I’m almost startled to death by the barking howl of a coyote. One last turn and the woods open up to the familiar sight.

The cabin lies peacefully in the darkness. There are no lights other than the moon from above. I hesitate for a moment before stepping out of the protection of the forest, almost running when I close the gap between the tree line and the porch of Jed’s home. By the time my fingers wrap around the porch rail, I’m out of breath.

“Jed, where are you?” I try to keep the fright out of my words, but my voice still trembles. My hand fumbles with the handle of the screwdriver—I am ready for him.

“I’m right here, honeybun.”

Every part of me turns numb when he slowly approaches from behind. I am glad to hold onto something, or I would have collapsed. My grip around the rail tightens until my knuckles turn white at the same time my fingers clamp around the screwdriver. A hitch in my throat cuts off my oxygen supply—who am I fooling? I’m so not ready.

His warm breath grazes my neck when he halts behind me. “I knew you’d come.” His voice is hoarse and full of longing. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, honeybun.”

I’m frozen, my stomach revolting when he leans in and nibbles my ear. His hand glides into my free coat pocket and pulls out my phone, which disappears into his own pocket.

“You should be more careful.” His words are scolding. “I followed you all the way from your house and you didn’t even notice. There’re some crazy folks out there. You should really glance over your shoulder once in a while.”

His hand moves over to my other pocket, jerking on my arm to free my hand. This is my last opportunity.

With a low growl, I turn, my arm rising with the screwdriver in my hand. The sharp metal tip glimmers in the moonlight before I stab at his face. Without any effort, he blocks my blow, his reflexes still as impeccable as they were during his boxing days. He chuckles when two of his fingers dig into the soft centers of my wrist like pincers. I cry out, letting go of the screwdriver as pain shoots up my arm. He doesn’t loosen his clawing grip until after his feet kick my weapon far away into the snow.

“That was really stupid of you,” he hisses. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me firmly in place when I try to wiggle free. The angry glow in his eyes reminds me of burning coals. “I should call Napoleon and tell him to punish Hallie for this stunt.”

“Please, Jed, I’m sorry.”

His fingers run alongside my jawbone. “Swear you’ll behave. I promised Napoleon I’d deliver you undamaged, and it’d be such a shame if I had to break my word.”

A few tears spring loose and trickle down my cheek. “If I come with you, do you swear you’ll let Hallie go?”

“I do, honeybun.” His tone is soothing. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Even though I have my doubts, my chances to overpower him without a weapon are nonexistent. For the moment, all I can do is play along.

His arm supports me while we make our way to his van. I stumble along with wobbly knees, my legs barely under my command. He buckles me in before kissing my cheek.

“Smile, honeybun. The party is just starting.”

Smiling is the last thing on my mind; I’m about to throw up all over the car. As the engine starts and the van sways forward, the feeling of total helplessness spreads once again in my chest before this incredible will to live takes over. I have two choices—die or fight to retake my life. On second thought, I fully intend to go with the latter.