True Intentions (12 page)

Walter is livid.

"Shut up," he snaps, tension building in his fists.

I try to stop, but I'm emotionally worn out. I'm out of options. I'm doomed.

It will all be over soon—first my plan at relating to him, and now, soon enough . .

.
my life
.

With each passing second, my inability to stop crying makes him more irate. He leans over and grabs my hair to drag me from the RV. The pain is excruciating. It feels like my scalp may rip completely off. With my hands still tied, I'm helpless to fight back. I look up toward the sky to position my head, so I feel the least amount of pain.

In the near distance, the sun's rays peer out from the tall trees. We're parked along a trail in the woods. We might be in the national forest. I have no idea how long I was knocked out.

We could be in Canada as far as I know.

He forcefully throws me to the ground, once again using my hair for leverage.

Dirt flies as I land on the hard soil. A cloud of fine dust fills the air. Debris enters my eyes, but I can't use my hands to wipe them. I blink my eyelids furiously, trying to clear my teary, dust-blurred vision. It doesn't help.

He starts unbuttoning my favorite jeans. I pull my legs as close to my chest as possible and start kicking. It's my only defense. Walter struggles to pin down my flailing legs while simultaneously fidgeting with the buttons. He is growing more irate with each passing moment we struggle for dominance.

"Stop It! You're ruining everything," he yells, his voice leaking desperation.

But, I am not about to stop. I've made up my mind. This is the end. He is going to kill me.

It's now or never.

Walter's frustration grows to enormous proportions. He finally lets go of my pants and wraps his large, dry, filthy hands tightly around my neck. I inhale for the last time as he starts to squeeze.

Chapter Fifteen – Pure Bliss

His dirty hands tighten their grip, causing my body to feel numb. He spits as he yells, "You ruined everything!"

Within seconds, I'm unable to make out his words. They become muffled as the pressure of his body on top of me intensifies. Yet there's no pain. My vision becomes foggy, and I can barely see the trees or sky anymore. I hallucinate, seeing a beautiful, male angel dressed in a white, button-down shirt rather than a gown. He emerges gracefully from the thick, white fog.

His eyes meet my gaze. I hope Aiden and my father were at peace
when they
died
—like I am now. My eyes grow heavy. Every time I blink, the fog grows thicker. I close my eyes, not wanting to see this world anymore.

Unexpectedly, I feel the pressure decrease, and my lungs gasp for air. Pain overcomes the blissful moment. I struggle to open my eyes. They feel heavy. I see my angel more clearly as the fog disappears. He is . . .
on top of Walter?

I look closer, while I struggle to sit up.

My eyes open in shock. It's not an angel. It's my Mr. Mysterious,
Sam
Perry!
He's straddling Walter and hitting him with such force his face is starting to cave in. Sam's white, button-up shirt is covered in splattered blood. Walter lies motionless under Sam's fury. The violence so gruesome, I turn my head away.

"Sam," I cry out, my voice breaking.

He pauses, and our eyes meet. Something is unusual about his eyes. They are filled with darkness and fury rather than the teal blue I distinctly remember. He stands up, lets out a deep sigh, looks up briefly at the sky, and then glimpses back at Walter's lifeless body on the ground. It doesn't matter how many times he hits Walter at this point.

It is over . . . .

I want to stand up and run to him, but I'm too weak. Sam gets off of Walters'

dead body and rushes over to me, throwing himself on his knees.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. His hand caresses my cheek. Our eyes lock, and I'm mesmerized at the change. His eyes are sparkling and beautiful once again. The teal has returned. They display kindness rather than the fury I saw minutes earlier.

I start gasping, wanting to talk, but words don't come out.

"I'm sorry I failed you," he says kissing my brow. His lips trace my forehead from side to side then stop at my hairline, kissing my tattered and matted hair.

"Sam, how did you find me? How did you know?" I ask desperately between my sobs.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he tears the ropes off my wrists using his bare hands.

I throw my numb arms tightly around his waist. I can't remember a time I felt so ecstatic to see someone I despised.

"Ava, please trust me. Let's get you out of here," he pleads.

I can hear the sadness in his voice. I'm utterly baffled.

"Trust you . . . . Trust you," Desperate for answers, my tone grows louder and more forceful.

"You find me in the middle of a national forest while I'm being strangled. Kill this . . . g-guy." There's no right word to describe that monster, Walter. I stare at Walter's body for a moment and then continue. "And when I ask you how this happened, you say
trust me
?"

"Ava, please . . . ." he begs. "I can't explain this. Not now. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I demand, pulling myself to my feet. I'm shaking uncontrollably, but I don't care.

My stomach rolls. I taste blood in my mouth.

He stays on his knees. He doesn't look up.

I wait, unwilling to compromise.

I'm not falling for the
trust me
line, even if he did just save my life. Something's not right. There's no way he could have known how to find me. Hell, I might even believe him if he claimed to be psychic. At least tell me something!

He remains calm, even with blood covering his hands and clothing. He sighs deeply then closes his eyes. He looks up to me, almost pleading.

"I can't explain, not here," he says, glancing at the RV, at Walter's body, and then at the blood on his hands.

"Come with me. Let's get out of here and I'll explain."

"Get out of here? Aren't we going to call the police?" My legs tremble uncontrollably.

"We can't call the police." The tone of his voice says it all.

"Are you serious? What about . . . . Well, about what happened here?"

"I'm taking you back to my house. I'll make sure you get cleaned up and get new clothes. Get in the Jeep. I'll take care of the rest." It sounds like a vow.

"Jeep? What Jeep?" I ask, looking around. My Jeep is strapped to the rear of the RV. I don't challenge Sam. I get inside the passenger side and
watch
. . . .

Sam picks up Walter's limp body without effort and places it inside the motor home. He returns without his shirt, and removes the tow strap. Without saying a word, he jumps into the driver seat and backs out using the four wheel drive. I can see smoke coming from the RV in the side-view mirror. Flames pour out the windows.

Chapter Sixteen – My New World

I stare out the window, too startled to talk.

"It's almost seven o'clock. Call your mom, and tell her you're hanging out with Sara for a bit," he insists without explanation.

The veins on his neck bulge.

I don't question him. I reach in my backpack and pull out my cell. My mom's phone rings, and luckily her voicemail kicks in, delivering her happy "I'm not here"

message.

"Hi Mom, I finished shopping and am going to go out to dinner with Sara before I leave tomorrow. I shouldn't be too late . . . . Hopefully the house closing went okay."

Knowing my mother, she's probably already remodeling the place.

Sam is watching me more than the road.

I hit end, and our eyes meet. His stature takes my breath away. I move my eyes across his body. I don't want to look away. He looks amazing with his shirt off, even with blood all over his pants and skin. His muscles are perfect. I have never seen a seventeen-year-old boy with such a flawlessly sculpted body. As I stare, I feel self-conscious about my own body. Why can't I be that perfect? I cringe—we're heading to his house.

His House . . . .

Will his parents be there?

I wonder what they look like to have created such a perfect, human being.

Longing to feel protected, I want to nestle my face into his hard chest and express my gratitude.

I don't know what to say or even if I
should
say anything. I spit out, "Thank you."

"I'm sorry I let this happen. I won't fail you again."

What is he talking about?

"You didn't
fail
me, you
saved
me," I reply. I'm alarmed at his statement. Why is he blaming himself for this
. . . situation?

He responds as if he's reading my mind. "You don't understand, Ava. This is my fault. I
am
responsible. For Walter and for putting you in danger.

"Walter?"

How in the world does he know the guy's name?

Had I mentioned it?

No, I don't think so.

I squint. My mind shuffles through my limited conversations with Sam Perry searching for any clues to help me understand his bizarre behavior.

"You'll understand what I mean. You'll hear the truth soon enough," he says, as if to reassure me. "Then we'll see if you have the same respect for me
saving
your life."

* * * * *

We pull into a long, dirt drive. It leads down a hill to a large, unique, newer home and an older barn nestled in a secluded, wooded setting. Three horses graze inside a small, fenced field.

He has horses?

I know nothing about Samuel Perry. No matter what he says, just being in his house is beyond my wildest dreams.

The garage door opens, bringing my attention back to the Jeep. He pulls into the garage next to the same Audi I've seen at school.

How did he get all the way into the forest so fast
on foot?
That's impossible.

Nothing makes sense anymore. I can't keep up . . . .

He jumps out of the Jeep and opens my passenger door before I've had a split second to grab my backpack.

"It's okay, no one is here right now," he says while reaching for my hand and helping me out of the vehicle.

"Follow me."

I nod and follow him through the garage into the most marvelous home I have ever seen. I feel
guilty
walking inside all battered up and bloody.

He grabs my hand and leads me through a large, marble foyer. We stop at a spiral staircase.

"Head upstairs to the left. There's a bathroom through the first door. Take a shower, and I'll grab some clothes. Kate's clothing should fit you."

Who's Kate?

"Okay, thanks." The wood staircase is dark in color and beautifully carved. The landing breaks into two hallways. The hall on the right is long and narrow. A banister overlooks a great room down below. The ceiling is vaulted with skylights. Natural light fills the room. I imagine how amazing this place would look during the day rather than it does now, at twilight.

I open the first door. Inside, a sauna styled bathroom with a granite countertop and travertine tile floors. Some type of natural slate covers the walls of the enclosed spa-like shower.

"They don't even look this nice on
HGTV
." I say to myself. My voice cracks.

I don't bother searching for a towel. I turn the water as hot as it will go and stumble inside the shower. The burning hot pressure against my dirty skin feels better than I'd imagined.

I start to think . . . .

Is there anything about Samuel Perry that's not perfect?

I wash my skin over and over; I want Walter off me once and for all. Dried blood tangles my hair together into knots. I cringe when I feel a knot on the back of my head about the size of a plum.

At least I'm not bleeding anymore.

The water trickles across my face while I try to forget about my recent, near-death experience.

I turn off the shower and open the large, glass door. Several clean, white towels sit on the counter. I stare at my naked reflection in the steamed mirror with disbelief.

Bruises cover my body, especially around my neck.

How will I ever explain this to my mom?

Fresh blood from my hair stains the bright, white towel. By the looks of the clothing Sam laid out, he must have noticed my neck bruises. There are: jeans, socks, new underwear with a tag still in place, a gray turtleneck, and a gray, hooded sweatshirt that reads
Cal Poly
.

I quickly scramble to get dressed and leave the used towel and my old bloody clothes folded neatly on the counter. Goose bumps cover my skin, but it's not 'cause I'm cold. I head downstairs to search for Sam, my heart racing.

He sits on a leather sectional in the living room looking out the window. His hair is still wet from his shower, and he is wearing different clothing. Now a black, button-up, dress shirt, jeans, and black, leather flip-flops cover his amazing body.

No matter what, Samuel Perry is hot!

The closer I get to the couch, his cologne fills my nostrils. I smile out of reflex.

The cleanliness of his aroma makes me feel . . .
safe.
I take an exaggerated breath, yearning to smell more.

As soon as I sit next to him on the right side of the sofa, I feel awkward. I readjust my position, trying to relax. After a few different positions, I turn and sit cross-legged so I can face him.

"Hi," he says, breaking the silence. His tone is more serious than usual. He looks like he might be in pain. His narrowed, strained eyes make me nervous.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No, I am fine." His eyebrows rise together with curiosity.

I get the vibe he's shocked I would ever think such a thing. As he looks over my way, his eyes relax slightly. He lifts his right arm and places it on the back of the couch.

He runs his hand along the dark, brown leather, giving me the strange impression he's struggling with something. If we were dating, I would swear he was about to break up with me . . . .

"Oh," is all I say. Why can't I be myself around him? Why do I go mute?