How We Fall (34 page)

“I’m here. But it’s pointless.”

“You said before you weren’t okay with us being together, for yourself.”

“I wasn’t.”

“And you still think that?”

I could be following the wrong person. Mitch could be far away by now. If that was the case, I’d done my best. I’d tried everything. “No.”

His voice went up a bit. “Then—what do you think?”

If I’d told Will, and Claire, and thought about telling Kelsey, I could certainly tell Marcus. “I don’t really care anymore if people don’t like it. People at school can talk about me all they want. We’re us, and if they don’t like it, that’s their problem.

But I do care what our families think. I don’t want the kids getting bullied. I don’t want our families to split up.”

I swerved a little on the road. Driving without my lights was terrifying. My tires kept hitting the shoulder, spinning and jerk-ing on wet gravel, so I drove down the middle of the road. I’d see lights from any oncoming traffic. Hopefully.

“Same. I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Me either.” I topped a hill and had to brake hard. The car fishtailed. The vehicle ahead had slowed down and was only 265

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maybe two blocks ahead of me. He didn’t use a turn signal but pulled off the road. A flash of lightning lit up the vehicle.

Not a white truck. “Marcus, it’s not the truck. It’s a green car.” I’d seen it before, dropping Sylvia off in the park. Driving past our house yesterday. “It’s turning onto a gravel road.”

“Does the road have a marker of any kind?” He sounded panicked again. I must have, too.

“No. Unmarked. I don’t even see—wait, yeah, those little reflectors marking the ditch on either side. That’s it.”

“Okay, if it’s a gravel road, then he’s probably stopping soon.

Park the car on the side of the road, keep the doors locked, and don’t go any further.”

I’d tell him I was sorry for lying later. “I should go. I need to call in the location.”

“Okay. Stay in the car. Someone should be there soon.”

It wouldn’t be soon. The police could still be in Manson.

“Yeah. Talk to you later. Bye.”

He hesitated before saying, “Bye.”

I zipped up my jacket and, after calling to report the location and telling the woman that yes, I was actually going home now, I slid my phone into my pocket. Lights still off, I turned the car down the gravel road and crept along. I could go slower now; I’d see him again eventually. Unless he knew the area, and this road connected to the highway further down. I sped up a little.

Two miles. Three. I watched the odometer climbing and the glowing clock on the dashboard changing as the minutes ticked past. Finally, I saw the car’s lights wavering ahead of me.

I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do. I couldn’t save Sylvia—I wasn’t dumb enough to think I could rescue her or stop him. But I couldn’t leave. Knowing all this and being right behind him meant I had to do something.

He turned off the gravel road onto a muddy lane. His head-266

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lights lit up a building; from here I couldn’t see what it was. An old barn, maybe.

I pulled over to the soggy edge of the road and felt the grass and dirt give beneath the tires. He would see me if I drove up the lane. He wouldn’t be able to miss it. I had to park the car here. A fringe of trees hid this part of the road from view of the building, so for right then I was safe.

With the car parked, I rested my head on the steering wheel for a moment. I couldn’t screw this up.

My jacket was soaked, so I took it off and grabbed my hoodie from my shoulder bag.

I dug through my purse to see if I had anything useful.

Gum, mints, my wallet, a handful of crumpled receipts, loose change, a nail file, a notepad, lip gloss, spare eyeliner, and three pens. When had I started carrying around so much useless crap?

The trunk kits. Another one of Aunt Shelly’s internet ideas.

Each of the family vehicles had a storm kit, an emergency kit, and a first aid kit in the trunk. Excessive, as always.

Bless Aunt Shelly and her constant over-preparing.

I scrambled over the seats and onto the bench in the back.

The middle section of the seat pulled down as an interior access to the trunk. I had to crawl halfway in to reach one of the waterproof plastic containers that had slid, but I found all three and pulled them out onto the bench. I pulled the lids off and dug through them. An all-weather radio, card games, glow sticks, a flashlight and batteries, a small, tightly rolled tarp, and a laminated sheet of instructions detailing what to do in case of a tornado were in the storm kit; the first aid kit held gauze and scissors, antiseptic, Band-Aids, antibiotic salve, a first aid guide, pain reliever, and hand sanitizer. I grabbed the scissors, gauze, glow sticks, and the flashlight, then dug through the emergency kit and pulled out duct tape and the survival knife.

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I put everything but the scissors and the knife in my shoulder bag; those I slid into the front pocket of my hoodie. My keys and cell phone were in the front pocket of my jeans where they couldn’t fall out.

I cinched the strap all the way down on my shoulder bag and slid it over my neck and one arm, with the strap across my chest.

I put my cell phone on vibrate, pulled up my hood, covered the flashlight with my hand before turning it on, and stepped out of the car.

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My high-topped sneakered squishing into the roadside mud. Rain pierced my hoodie and I closed the car door quietly. Tree branches whipped back and forth. I cracked two of the pencil-sized glow sticks so they’d start glowing, and wedged them straight up against the rear windshield. A confirmation this was the place.

Walking up the lane, no matter how dark it was, wouldn’t be a good idea. I stepped through the wet grass to the line of trees that would, on a sunny day, shade the lane.

Maybe if I’d been able to see Sylvia was just a scared teenager, I would have been able to figure this out sooner.

I’d already lost too much time. I walked as fast as I could, following the line of trees. The long grass soaked my shoes and whipped the legs of my jeans.

The building ahead of me was an abandoned farmhouse.

Lightning illuminated it every few minutes. Part of the porch roof had fallen in. An enormous tree grew to the side of the house, its swaying branches spreading over the peak of the roof.

Behind the house stood a giant barn. The doors hung open. A vehicle was parked inside, and I’d bet it was a white truck.

A pale light flickered in the house. Maybe this was where he’d taken Ellie. An abandoned farmhouse forty-five miles from St. Joseph.

Places like this weren’t that rare. A family farm with the grandparents gone. The land around it turned to crops, no one wanting to tear down or sell the old house. Instead, it decayed.

I stuffed my hands in the pocket of my hoodie to keep them 269

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from shaking. I gripped the knife, then pulled it out and un-snapped the strap of the little sheath.

The house was huge. Two stories, a big cellar door on the side I could see, and a yawning front porch with three windows and six pillars. This might have been the last place Ellie had ever seen. It wasn’t going to be the last place Sylvia saw.

The little green car was pulled around the side of the house, away from the road.

I hadn’t planned on getting out of the car. I hadn’t planned on going up to the house. But the police still had half an hour before they could be here.

But they could be earlier. Some random cop could be closer than I thought when the call went out. I had no idea how things like that worked. Getting myself killed wouldn’t help Sylvia at all, and my little knife and my determination wouldn’t take down Mitch Stevenson.

Another light went on in the house. The shades were pulled but light still shone through.

All I had to do was make sure he didn’t kill her in the next half hour. If things got bad, cause a distraction. Stall for time.

If she even was here. He’d driven down this lane, but what if Sylvia wasn’t with him? Maybe she’d run out of her house and gotten away. Maybe I was doing this for no good reason.

A flower pot tumbled across the yard, a big, bucket-like thing that sailed in the wind. A dozen steps and I’d be at the porch. Thunder pounded directly overhead.

The light from the windows flickered. My clothes were completely soaked now, and if I weren’t already shivering from fear, I’d be shivering from the cold.

The steps looked solid, even though the roof had collapsed at the end of the porch. A giant limb from the tree that spread over the house had speared the rotting roof, dangling by the branches caught on the frame. I crept up the steps and 270

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knelt on the porch by one of the windows. The shades were old pull-downs that didn’t fit the windows. A gap next to the frame showed me an empty yellow-carpeted living room, but I couldn’t see Sylvia. The light came from the kitchen.

I circled the house and found the rickety back door—an ornate screen door that had long ago rusted. Holes had been torn in the screen. The wooden door was open. I stayed away from it and crouched by a window to the side. These blinds had slats, and through them I could see a table and chairs right next to the window.

Sylvia sat in one of the chairs not two feet from me. Her hands were in her lap, probably tied.

On the table was a lit candle. An oil lamp rested on the counter, its light flickering over the kitchen. The electricity had probably been turned off here years ago, if the power wasn’t out from the storm

Sylvia was dripping wet. I could only see the side of her face, but her whole body was tense, not moving at all. Her leg was tied to the chair.

The short, skinny man I’d seen so many times walked from the living room into the kitchen.

Sylvia started crying. I tensed, my grip tight on the knife. If I had to do something in a split second, I had no idea what I’d do.“Don’t cry,” he said. “We’ll go away and you’ll be happy with me.”His voice was muffled some by the rain and the window, but I could hear his words. He reached for something draped over one of the chair backs and held it up. Black cloth. The dress Sylvia had brought to our place. “You left this at your house.”

Sobs tore from her throat.

“You can’t keep telling me no,” he said. “It’s cruel. It’s not right. I said I’d leave that boy alone if you came with me.”

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“I’m sorry,” Sylvia sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I wanted to get her attention, to let her know I was here, but I couldn’t risk it. Thunder pounded and lightning tore through the sky. Something cracked. A branch from the tree hanging over the house hit the roof and scraped across the shingles before crashing to the ground behind me. Branches smacked into my back, but the limb itself missed me. I scrambled out of the way.He glanced out the window. Maybe he saw something in a flash of lightning or maybe he’d suspected he was being followed. He moved toward the door.

I turned and ran.

Footsteps pounded down the steps. I sank back in the shadow of the house, around the corner. My hands trembled so I gripped the knife harder. If I made no noise at all, he might think it was only the falling branch and go back inside. I didn’t think he’d actually seen me. He couldn’t have gotten outside in the time it took me to run around the side of the house.

If I ran, I risked him seeing the motion. If I stayed here—

“Hello, Jackie.”

I screamed.

He’d stepped around the corner of the house, not ten feet from me. I could barely make out his features in the dim light.

I ran, sliding on the wet grass, and he pounded after me.

I couldn’t outrun this guy. Within a few yards, he grabbed my arm and flung me up against him. “Give me the knife.”

I swung my arm but he caught it and twisted the knife away from me. He threw it into the yard and I couldn’t see where it fell.The pressure of his hands on my neck made me hold still.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” he said. My heart beat funny, skipping beats.

He pushed me back toward the house. I tried to jerk away, 272

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but he kept his hand on my neck. He was impossibly strong.

I should have stayed in the car. I never should have gotten out of it. His grip on the back of my neck made my whole body hurt. I stumbled on the steps and he forced me inside.

The wind caught the screen door and it banged open, held flat against the house. He left it.

Sylvia’s eyes widened when she saw me. Her face was streaked with black trails of mascara. “Jackie.”

I got my first good look at him close up, in the light. The dim light illuminated his shaved head.

He was soaking wet, but he didn’t seem to notice. Water ran off him and pooled on the kitchen floor. He couldn’t be more than ten years older than me, and he wasn’t as skinny as he looked. His wet biceps clenched and corded muscles stood out of his neck.

“Jackie knows what this is like,” he said. “She knows what you’re doing to me.”

Rainwater blew in from the open doorway, soaking the floor.

Sylvia stared at me, her face white and her lips parted. She’d had no idea someone was following her or anyone even knew where she was.

So far it wasn’t doing her much good.

If I told him the police were coming, he might panic and leave us, or he might take us with him. Or he could kill us both and then himself. I hadn’t seen a gun, but he might have one somewhere. He jerked my shoulder bag away from me and pulled my cell phone and keys from my pocket, then his hand closed around my arm and he pushed me into the living room.

Sylvia started crying again.

The living room was empty. Him separating us wasn’t good.

I twisted in his grasp, tried to kick him, but he clamped down on my neck and shoved me into the bedroom near the living room. I saw a brief flash of the room in the moment when he 273

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opened the door, but then he slammed it and the room went dark. I heard the door lock.