Charming (28 page)

Haley peered through the trees and saw a man—tall, thin, with short, dark hair—descend the porch steps. From this distance and with the dim light of evening casting a gloomy glow on everything, knowing whether or not this was Walter/Todd/Officer Lyttle was almost impossible. But every nerve jittered with cold-hot intensity, Haley’s hands sweating, heart rate skyrocketing.

The man opened his truck door, the groan of the rusted metal hinges loud and horrifying, then slammed it. A few seconds later, he whipped the truck around and blew rocks from the back of his tires as he sped down the driveway and out onto Cross Road.

No time for breathing. “Let’s go.”

Chris grabbed Haley’s hand before she could get through the line of trees, careful to avoid touching any of the stitches. “You’re crazy. We have no idea when he’s coming back.”

“Then we have to move fast.” She gently shook free and waited for Christine and Richard to catch up, then kept moving. “You coming?”

“Yes.” Christine shoved her hands in her pockets, but she couldn’t hide the trembling from Haley. “But what if he’s just going for milk or something?”

“We hide, or run, or call the cops the second we hear his truck.” Haley pounded up the porch, the ache in her muscles nothing compared to the adrenaline coursing through her. She pulled open the screen door, Chris following close behind and checking the driveway, then darted to the front door covered in locks. Locks on the outside. Some required keys, others were sliding bars, but they all kept things in
and
out.

This was it. Had to be. “Look.”

Chris kicked the door, but it didn’t budge. He pressed his hand against his side again and sucked in a ragged breath.

Richard tried the door. Nothing.

They inspected the windows, but Walter had boarded them all up on the outside.

Haley searched for tools or something to pry off the wood. “I can’t find anything.”

“Me either.” Chris pulled a tarp off a pile of car parts. “Nothing but useless junk.”

“I could go back for the tire iron,” Christine said.

“Stay together,” Chris and Haley shouted.

They rooted around piles of split wood stacked beside the house, hoping to find an axe or maybe spot a window not boarded up.

“We need to call the police.” Chris kept searching, though his voice indicated defeat.

Can’t leave. Can’t leave. Can’t leave. Joce could be in there. She could be there, right there, waiting, crying, dying… dead
. Haley shook her head. “Not yet.”

They rounded the back corner of the house and discovered cellar doors, also locked from the outside, but warped from weather and time. A small tug at one of the splits in the thin plywood and the door would break. Richard did just that, and the stench of feces and rotted, dead things hit Haley and nearly knocked her down.

“Oh God.” She covered her mouth with the bottom of her shirt, slowly descending the stairs behind Chris, using her other hand to search for a light.

Richard and Christine hovered somewhere behind.

“Found a string.” Chris stopped, and Haley bumped into him. He was stiff, tense, and glanced back. “Haley, whatever we see, don’t freak out. We have to stay calm.”

Calm. Stay calm. Need to breathe, need to breathe. No time. “Got it.”

Chris pulled the string and dim, yellow light filtered into the hallway. Damp, dark wooden walls surrounded them on either side. They moved forward and found another door, another locked door.

“Harvey, can you attack this thing?” Chris moved out of the way, hand still holding his side. A small crimson stain poked through his Henley.

“No problem.”

Haley leaned closer to Chris and put her hand over his. “You’re stitches must have busted. You’re bleeding.”

“I know.” Chris quickly turned and kissed her forehead. “If you can take it, so can I.”

Haley had asked for so much. Too much. And her heart just wanted more, more of Chris, more time with him, more picnics, more of his lips on her skin. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed but cut it off short and sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t be.”

“Stand back.” Richard backed up against the opposite wall and then ran at the door with his shoulder. He shattered the thick door, and there Jocelyn was…

On a metal table that kept her half-sitting up and half-lying down, wearing a stained hospital gown, a needle stuck in her thigh—her
vein
—as though Walter was in the middle of drugging her and forgot what he was doing. Blood drained into a white bucket from cuts along her wrist, dripping, dripping, dripping.

Haley’s heart stopped, and Chris grabbed her hand.

“We need to get them and get out of here. Now, Haley.”

But all she could do was stare. Jocelyn’s normally soft ivory skin was pallor, sickly gray and covered in sweat, eyes sunk in and dark beneath. Niles sat beside her on a table of his own, wrists and ankles secured with metal cuffs, skin rubbed raw and bleeding, bruises and swelling covering his face. They held hands, but neither of them moved.

Were they breathing?

Christine threw up in the back corner of the room while Richard stared at the scene in front of them and panted.

“Guys, snap out of it.” Chris squeezed Haley’s fingers. “You all have to snap out of it. Lingering isn’t healthy.”

“Are they… alive?” She took a step forward and gasped.

Christine threw up again.

“They won’t be if we don’t get them help soon.” Chris moved toward the tables, pulling Haley with him. He reached out with their entwined fingers and laid them on Jocelyn’s leg.

She was cold, so, so cold.

“Hal…” Joce’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open, and her lips were dry and cracked.

But Joce was alive.
Alive
.

“Get Niles off that bed.” Haley jumped into action, shredding her shirt and tying it around Joce’s elbow. Slowly, and with a ton of pressure where the metal entered the vein, Haley pulled out the needle.

“He… he… lp.”

“I’m here, Jocey.” Haley caressed Joce’s cheek, dragging the back of her fingers along her clammy skin. “I’m here.”

“Got the cuffs off.” Chris looked back at Richard. “Oh shit. Shit.”

Haley couldn’t help but look. She wished she hadn’t.

TV screens hung on every wall on the opposite side of the room: Chris’s house, across the street from the remains of Haley’s, outside Berkshires,
inside
Berkshires, in half her classes at school, and the
cemetery
.

“Chris, I told you everything at the cemetery. Everything about my life. You told me about telling your dad. If Walter”—Haley gasped—“If Walter saw that, then he must be pissed. He’s psychotic—”

“Schizophrenic is the term the doctors use, I believe.”
Walter Withe
.

Christine screamed and ran at the man. She knocked him off guard and pounded her fists against his cheek. “You crazy old bastard.”

Walter threw a right hook and knocked her down, then braced himself for a fight, gaze flitting in all directions. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday; a layer of fine scruff grew around his mouth and up the sharp planes of his jaw line. Big, heavy bags rested under his gray eyes. He looked like hell, especially with the bright-red fist print Christine marked him up with. “Come on, Haley. You know you want to take out all your anger on me. Hit me like your daddy hits you. Oh, that was so much fun to watch—and I’ve watched you for so long, talking to your momma in the cemetery as though no one could hear you.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Chris pushed Haley behind his back.

“Even now, you’re afraid. You can’t stand up for yourself. You run, Haley. Do you enjoy it? Have you lived this way for so long it’s now the only thing you want? Your mother would be so ashamed of you. I’m ashamed for her.”

Chris took a step forward, and Walter shook his head. “No. Not you, my friend. This isn’t between us.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You threaten my family, attack Haley’s and threaten her.” Another step forward.

Richard mirrored each of Chris’s steps.

They worked together, moved together.

“No.” Walter stepped back. “You’re too good to call that man family. You’re too good to defend the pieces of shit Haley calls family.”

“Too good?” Chris balled his fist and took another step forward. “I’d be nothing without my dad and without my mom. You’re confused, twisted. You don’t even know me.”

In the blink of an eye, Walter pulled a revolver from behind his back and pointed it at Richard. “Don’t say that. I know you. I know all about you. From Haley, from watching you. She and I are friends—or were. We’ve been friends for the last year, almost two. Just think about what you would gain without your father standing in your way. Think of what you could give Hal—”

“Like what you’ve gained?”

The gun shook in Walter’s grasp. “No. My father fought for his family. He treated everyone with respect.”

Richard stepped to the side, inching away from the gun’s barrel. “Except himself.”

Walter released the safety. “Insult him again, Richard Harvey, and I’ll end your pathetic existence. Do you a favor. God knows you won’t amount to much, just like your father never amounted to much.”

Did Walter know everyone? Did he know that Richard was Frontier’s star quarterback, just like his father had been? Probably. Small towns and all that.

“Walter, look”—Chris held up his hands, surrendering—“What can I do to convince you to let us go? We can set up a meeting between you and my dad. You can clear the air?”

Walter shook harder and pointed the gun at Chris.

Haley stepped in front of him.

Walter smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Redefined the meaning of family, have I?”

“No, but you were right about one thing, Walter. You were right when you said you were helping me. Not about Dad and Joce so much, but getting me to open up about Chris. Of course, at first I thought that was advice from my sister. But thank you.”

“Love, then?” Walter smiled brighter and lowered the gun. “I’ve helped Maggie’s daughter find love?”

Love. Was this love? Had they spent enough time together for that? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe eventually, after counseling, after finding a new place to live, after confessing to Joce and getting life back on track. Haley wouldn’t mind that with Chris: kissing, laughing, talking, holding, supporting each other. “Could be.”

“Then why the fuck won’t you help me?” He raised the gun and swung it toward Richard.

Fired.

alter’s bullet pierced straight through Richard’s shoulder and sunk into the wood on the other side of the room. Richard dropped to the stained concrete floor, gasping, hand pressed to his shoulder.

But he was alive.

“You’ve taken and taken and taken from me, Haley. Used my generosity up.” Walter stalked forward, gun in front of him, and pointed at Haley’s forehead. He pushed the barrel against her skull, pushed, pushed, pushed until she and Chris bumped against Jocelyn’s table. “You’re no better than his sleazy father. You take shit, and now you’ve turned into it, consumed so much that you’ve forgotten a world outside you exists, forgotten how to help others, forgotten how to be like your mother.”

“Walter,” Chris said, hands braced on Haley’s arms, keeping her rooted in reality, standing.