CHANGE 2–DAY 226 (I THINK)

Some strange organ music has started, likely from a boom box or speaker placed on the other side of the metal door. There is faint narration beneath the music, but I can’t quite make out what it’s saying. Or maybe I’m imagining it.

Elyse is asleep in the corner. There’s not much else to do.

I don’t really know what day it is, and I’m not even sure how long I’ve been in here. How many nights do I have to be gone before my parents give up hope I’m alive? On the cop shows it’s always forty-eight hours until the odds of finding a missing person drop to nearly nothing. I know it’s been longer than that.

I wonder if Snoopy was found, or is he stuck in some prison cell like I am, both of us paying for my recklesness?

I guess I kind of brought this on myself, being a selfish teenager, worried about me me me and nobody else. This is the last thing my parents need to deal with when they’re already stretched to their limit with Nana. I can only imagine how crazed my mother must be. She’s always been so reasonable, shrinky-chill, except when it comes to protecting me. Then Mama Bear Banshee comes out, and G help anyone she perceives to be threatening her baby. What I wouldn’t do to see her bust through that door . . .

The music’s still playing, in fact is getting louder, the voices chanting more insistently. The only words I can make out are, “Stay one, stay strong . . .”

Or maybe it’s the voices I was hearing before the music even started. I can’t tell; it’s all running together.

Is Tracy looking for me? Is Mr. Crowell helping her? Is Audrey worried since I haven’t been in school? Or just relieved . . .

* * *

The bandanna brigade just came back, huffing as they heaved a big dude by his arms into the room, his legs limp and dragging heavy behind them. His face was still covered by a hood, his muscled arms bloodied and dirty, tied together so tightly it was cutting into his skin.

In the light Elyse and I exchange a look, tacitly deciding whether it’s worth trying to rush these guys again. I mouth, Not yet, and she scratches her nose in agreement.

The Abider goons drop the unconscious guy’s arms, twisting him so he lands on his left shoulder and side on the cement floor, head lolling to the ground, causing the dark hood to inch up his neck. I frantically scan our captors while there’s light, try to find something, anything notable about them that might help us escape. Where is Sherlock when you need him? He could probably make out their life stories from the scent of their farts.

“Good catch,” I hear one of them say as they leave.

The music swelled when the door opened, and now fades as they exit, like a waltz in hell. The zealots slam the door shut, padlocking it on the other side, as has become the routine.

“One strong!” They shout to each other in the hall. If one of the voices belongs to Jason, I can’t tell.

Elyse and I are silent as our eyes readjust to the dark, the outline of this burly passed-out guy a linebacker-sized clump on the cement between us. I’m so hungry, but I don’t feel like rooting around like an animal to locate a crappy sandwich. It seems like such a giant task in the dark.

We wait. The music surges, the light around the door probably at its brightest point (high noon?), but I don’t really care to Chronicle many of these details anymore. Why bother? They don’t matter. We don’t matter. Nothing does.

The guy on the ground stirs a little, flops onto his back from his side, wrists still bound together. He must have put up a serious fight. I wish I’d been able to.

I scoot closer, Elyse approaching him from the other side. It seems like he’s having trouble breathing beneath the fabric, so I reach out, grab a corner at the top of his head, and yank. It’s pinned where the crown of his head is heavy against the concrete. I yank harder, twice, and finally the hood pulls frees, sliding off.

I blink hard, lean in closer. His head seems to be bloodied and badly beaten, swollen and misshapen around both eyes, which . . . are starting to flutter open. I dip my head toward his, inches away now.

OH M—

“Chase?”

His eyes snap wide, a lopsided grin breaking across his broken face. He lurches upright. “Fancy meeting you here,” he slurs through wobbly teeth, as I smother him in a messy embrace, just as his head snaps forward and he slumps over, oozing back to the floor.

“Chase,” I say.

Nothing.

“Chase!” I shout. “Wake up, buddy!”

He doesn’t stir. I poke at his shoulders. Elyse grabs his legs and shakes. Pinches his skin.

“Come on, Chase, come back!”

I strain, but I can’t see any more details in this dark. Not his eyes. Not his expression. I put my ear to his chest but I can’t hear anything, no heartbeat, no air passing through, no sound at all beyond the chanting on the other side of the door: “Stay one, stay strong, stay one, stay strong, stay one, stay strong . . .”

 

 

 

(NOT) THE END