Shackled (16 page)

NINETEEN

I became a minor celebrity for the second time in my life.

When Tara had disappeared, I'd been too young to be interviewed for
Abducted
, the TV show, but not anymore. I got phone call after phone call from TV stations asking for interviews. First they were calling me at the Hole in the Wall, which ultimately made me quit. Eli and the rest of the staff didn't need to be bombarded by this stuff.

By the time I got home, the media people—newspapers, websites, TV shows, you name it—had tracked down my address and even my mom's cell phone number. Surprisingly, Mom took it in stride, and I couldn't help but admire the way she really told off some of the reporters.

“She'll let you know when she's ready,” she'd say. “Until then, we ask that you respect her privacy.”

But during one particularly obnoxious call she ended with,
“So screw you and the horse you rode in on!” which made us both laugh so hard we almost fell to the ground.

I hadn't laughed with my mom in a long time.

Mom had come up to Canyon City with Jeffrey to pick me up from the police station. She hugged me so tight I thought she'd snap one of my ribs. She kept chanting, “I'm sorry, Penelope, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry,” over and over in my ear.

Jeffrey thought I was the ultimate badass, which I kind of enjoyed. Dad rushed home for the first time ever, and hugged me for so long it hurt my neck. I didn't mind so much.

A MONTH AFTER I RETURNED
from Canyon City, I woke up and moseyed into the kitchen for breakfast. Freshly made waffles, melting butter, and hot coffee made for an excellent first-thing-in-the-morning aroma.

“Morning,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. I plopped down beside Mom and reached for the carafe of orange juice to chase away my morning mouth. Jeffrey was in his room getting ready for school.

“Morning, Pelly,” Mom said, but was frowning with one hand over her mouth. “They haven't told you yet, have they?”

“Who told me what?”

“The police found three bodies buried in his backyard,” she said. She didn't have to clarify who she was referring to. “Three girls. They were beneath a bed of flowers. Ugh! What an awful human being.”

The juice curdled in my mouth.

The flower garden. Such pretty flowers. Without asking, I knew one of them was named Leslie.

I felt chains twisting around my ribs, squeezing the air out of me. My heart began knocking from the inside,
bam! bam! bam!
Let me
out
 . . .

No,
I thought.
Stop. You are safe. You are safe.

I finished my juice and wiped my mouth. “No,” I said. My voice came out higher than normal. “They hadn't told me that. Was one of them . . . I mean, Tara wasn't . . . ?”

“No,” Mom said, touching my hand. “Not Tara.”

I nodded. I didn't think so either. Had to ask.

“There's an article here, if you want to read it,” Mom went on. “But I don't suppose you'd want that.”

“No,” I said. The invisible chains around my body began to relax and drift away. “Not today, anyway. I'm a little distracted.”

Mom reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I'd imagine so.” With her free hand Mom brushed at her cheeks. “I'm so glad you're safe, Pel.”

Didn't know what to say to that, so I just squeezed her hand back.

Mom sniffed and coughed, then got up with her empty plate and put it in the sink. “You have an appointment later today, remember.”

“Four o'clock, yeah, I know.”

“How's, um . . . how's that going?”

She hadn't brought up Dr. Carpenter since I started going
back, which I appreciated. But I also appreciated that she was asking.

“Good,” I said after swallowing a mouthful of waffles. “She said I'm making progress. I don't know what that means, though. Maybe I'll ask her today.”

Mom smiled and pulled me over to her so she could kiss my head and ruffle my hair.

Jeffrey bounded into the kitchen with his usual enthusiasm. He gave me a hug from behind, nearly choking me out.

“Hey, sis!” he cried in my ear.

“Hey, Jeffrey,” I said, reaching behind me and tickling his ribs.

Jeffrey shot away from my fingers and went straight for the fridge. “You gonna see David today?”

“You bet,” I said. “He's picking me up in a few minutes.”

“So then after school can he come over and play games?”

“I'll ask him,” I said. “But probably, yeah.”

“Awesome!”

I smiled at my little brother as he poured himself juice. “Little” didn't seem to fit anymore. He was almost as tall as I was now, and probably going to get a lot taller.

“You're a crazy little nut factory, you know that?” I said as he sat at the table.

“Look who's talking!” Jeffrey said.

“Exactly. You're a nut factory because you make me nuts. Get it?”

My brother rolled his eyes. And I laughed.

David pulled up to the sidewalk a few minutes after Mom
and Jeffrey left. I went out to meet him, locking our door behind me. I climbed into the truck and kissed him.

“Morning, sunshine,” David said. “Mint mocha?”

He passed me the white cup with the Hole in the Wall logo on it.

“You are a god among men,” I said. “Thanks.”

“So?” David asked, pulling away from the curb. “How you feeling about today?”

“Nervous,” I said. “Hey, I talked to Jody last night.”

“Whoa, no kidding?” David said. “She call you?”

“Yeah. It was surreal. She's on medication, and getting therapy, so we sort of bonded over that.”

David snickered, and so did I.

“I know, right?” I said. “And I asked her why she never tried to escape.”

“She never did?” David asked.

“No. She said it was like Stockholm syndrome or something. Like she'd started depending on him. She said she was afraid she'd even started to enjoy it.”

“Wow,” David said softly.

I nodded. I knew what Jody'd meant, to some degree. I thought about the psych hospital I'd lived in. How it had gotten so comfortable. So easy after a while. Easier than dealing with the real world.

I didn't tell David this part, but on the phone Jody had asked me,
Do you think you can be addicted to something that makes you feel awful? Even when you know it's wrong, that it's not good
for you? I don't mean drugs. I mean people. Or thoughts.

Or memories,
I'd said.
Yeah. I do.

“Anyway, she just wanted to say thanks again and all that,” I went on to David as he made a slow left turn.

“Very cool,” David said. “I'm glad you got a chance to talk to her.”

“Me too,” I said.

Up ahead I saw one of the few things that still scared me. My right hand reached for my left, searching instinctively for my rubber band. It wasn't there. Hadn't been there, in fact, since I fired my last one at Rebane. The memory almost made me laugh. But—not quite.

I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled slowly from my mouth, the way David had been showing me. It worked. My thoughts settled into a jumbled pile instead of zipping around like little angry bumblebees. It was a start.

David pulled into a large parking lot and, after jockeying a bit, managed to find a space somewhere in the middle. The lot was packed, and people streamed toward the building in the chilly air.

“Ready?” David asked, turning off the engine.

“No,” I said.

“What's up?”

“
What's up?
I'm scared to death, that's what's up.”

He twisted his mouth around a couple times. “Scared, or afraid?”

“I just said I was scared. You don't listen so well, Harowitz.”

“That's true,” he said, grinning. “What I'm saying is that ‘scared' is an adrenaline dump. It's that fight-or-flight thing. Scared helps keep you alive. Afraid is . . . it's a lifestyle. It's a slow burn, always on. So you're scared, or you're afraid?”

I'd never thought about distinguishing between the two. Terrified, horrified, afraid, fearful, scared—synonymous to me. But I saw his point. I didn't answer right away.

“Okay,” I said. “Scared, then.”

“That's good,” David said. “I mean, good that you're not afraid.”

“I just don't want to go in there,” I said, gazing at the monumental building beyond my passenger-side window.

“Me either,” David said. “And I'll take you home right now if you want. But then you'd have to have lunch all by yourself. And that would suck for me.”

He smiled. It settled my nerves just a bit.

“They're going to stare,” I said.

“Probably.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Lying to you won't help. Yes, they'll stare. Some of them. But honestly, a lot won't. And the ones that do, so what?”

“Will you beat them up for me if they do?”

“Excuse me, I just got my stitches out from being
shot
,” David said with faux indignation. His wound had been ugly but not bad. He'd been able to come home after a few days in the Canyon City hospital.

“And besides,” he went on, “if anyone in this car can kick
someone's ass, it's you. Don't tell me you forgot what you can do when someone makes you mad. I mean, I wouldn't cross you, and I know wing chun.”

“And tap,” I said.

“Yes,
and
tap.”

Finally I smiled back at him. Couldn't help it. Then my calves burned, aching for relief, to bleed, to drain the pressure and stress off what I had to do next. What I'd
chosen
to do next. But I couldn't cut now. Not now, and not here. Maybe when I got home.

And maybe not even then. David knew about the cuts, and now so did my family; I'd had to explain why and how I came to have a razor blade in my pocket that awful night. I'd told Dr. Carpenter right away too, when I went back for my first appointment. She didn't act surprised, and she didn't tell me to stop. She just asked if I wanted to work on stopping. And I said yes.

I was already five days in, so. That was something.

“Is there a smoking section?” I asked.

“No, but I know the people who know where you can get away with it. I'll introduce you.” He smirked. “I got a guy.”

“Nice.”

“You're still going to quit, right?”

“Someday.”

“It's a lot easier to kiss you when you haven't been smoking. Just, you know. FYI.”

“Someday
soon
,” I corrected.

“Cool,” David said. And kissed me. I hadn't smoked yet that morning. “Ready to go?”

I nodded, and we climbed out of his truck. As I expected, even before we reached the sidewalk, a few people turned their heads to look at me. Or maybe they were looking at us. Meaning,
as
an “us.” I don't know. But a few of them smiled. So that wasn't so bad. One guy even flexed a fist and gave me an approving scowl.

I took David's hand in mine. He looked down at them entwined, then up at me. He grinned, and bobbed his head toward the imposing redbrick building.

“You got this, you know,” he said as a bell rang. “You can do it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I got this.”

I wished, of course, that Tara was on my other side. I wondered what she'd think of David. I wondered if she was still out there, like Jody had been, or if something worse had happened. If there was any chance I'd see her again.

And I wondered if I'd ever stop wondering. Probably not. That was okay. I still had to do this part. I knew she'd want that.

Hand in hand with David, I walked into school.

About the Author

Tom
Leveen
is the author of
manicpixiedreamgirl
,
Party
,
Zero
(a YALSA Best Book of 2013),
Sick
, and
Random
. A frequent speaker at schools and conferences, Tom was previously the artistic director and cofounder of an all-ages, nonprofit visual and performing arts venue in Scottsdale, Arizona. He is a native of Arizona, where he lives with his wife and young son.

MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

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Also by Tom Leveen

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition August 2015

Text copyright © 2015 by Tom Leveen

Jacket photograph copyright © 2015 by Stephen Mulcahey/Arcangel Images

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The text of this book was set in Minion Pro.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Leveen, Tom.

Shackled / Tom Leveen. — First Simon Pulse edition.

p. cm.

Summary: When Pelly sees her best friend, who disappeared six years ago, in a coffee shop with a strange man, she's determined to discover the truth of her friend's disappearance and rescue her from her current captor.

[1. Kidnapping—Fiction. 2. Best friends—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 5. Emotional problems—Fiction. 6. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.

PZ7.L57235Sh 2015

[Fic]—dc23

2014022800

ISBN 978-1-4814-2249-9 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-4814-2251-2 (eBook)