Unlocked (29 page)

Everything was quiet, and I froze. I was a fool. Plug was an expert at picking locks. He threw the door open and lunged toward me. I ran for the stairs, but he tackled me at the base.

“Hannah, I don't want to hurt you, but we can't stay here. That man has sunk his claws deep into your mind.” He loosened his grasp on me, and I rolled over to face him. A tear ran down his face, and blood trailed down his chin. “Please, Hannah, I love you. But I need you to fight this guy. He told you not to trust your friends. He told you to wait here for him. He left you in a hypnotic trance. I don't know how to get you to wake up. Please let me take you away before he gets here. I can't stand the idea of him touching you. It rips out my insides. Wake up, Hannah. Use the guided imagery Rose taught us. Take back your mind. Please, Hannah.”

My stomach twisted. Every fiber of my body told me to distrust Plug. But that was absurd. Plug had been by my side throughout this horrible journey. He'd never hurt me. But what if I was wrong? What if my feelings toward Plug weren't real? Maybe my attraction to him was merely a planted suggestion. How was I supposed to tell the difference?

“I'm so confused,” I whispered.

Plug caressed my cheek. “That's a step in the right direction. Fight, Hannah, fight for your own free will.”

“Yes, Hannah,” a deep voice said, “fight for your own free will. That will be entertaining.”

The voice wasn't a demon or my imagination this time.

Master Gira—John Harrison—stood behind Plug.

My heart beat in my throat, and I struggled to take a breath. This couldn't be happening. I had been unsure in the hotel lounge, but now I knew beyond any doubt this was the same man I'd met on the stage at the fair.

“Go to your safe place in your mind,” Plug whispered. Then he hopped up and positioned himself between me and the hypnotist.

Harrison puffed out his chest. The same glimmer in his eyes. The same bushy eyebrows. The same hands. I gagged and twisted to the side to wretch, but produced only dry heaves. The sour flavor of bile still filled my mouth. Pressure throbbed inside my ears.

Plug's feet moved. He shifted his weight to his back leg and kicked with his front. He landed a blow to Harrison's chest and smashed him into the display case. Broken glass flew everywhere and clattered against the wall. Harrison snatched a large shard and flung it at Plug. It sliced Plug's wrist as he tried to dodge out of the way. Harrison leaped and swung with another piece of glass, but Plug blocked him with his forearm. Plug struck Harrison in the neck, sending him down. Harrison tried to shake it off and lift himself up, but he slipped on glass and fell back to the floor.

Plug glanced at me and pulled out his phone.

“Plug!” I shot forward to help, but I was too slow. Harrison came at Plug on his blind side, his swollen eye useless. Harrison clubbed Plug with a bronze sculpture from the display case. Plug collapsed, his phone cast aside. Harrison hammered his skull over and over.

“No!” I grabbed Harrison's arm, but he flung me away like a waif.

Plug lay limp on the floor. Blood glistened along his hairline and oozed onto the beige carpet. I reached for the phone—the display showed that he'd dialed 9-1- before he dropped it. Harrison stepped on my hand. The rubber tread of his powder-blue sneakers pressed my fingers deep into the soft fibers of the carpet. He picked up the phone and shattered it against the wall.

“Welcome to my Mystical Madness!” Harrison swung his arm wide and dropped the sculpture. It whacked my bare knee and thudded to the floor.

Harrison reached down and clutched my wrist. I yanked away, but he was stronger. He locked eyes with me and hauled me to my feet. His jeans brushed my exposed legs.

“Who seems foolish now?” he asked.

My chin quivered. I squinted and tried to think, but the room was spinning. The lights grew brighter, and my ears buzzed.

Harrison pushed me against the wall. He still held my wrist with one hand, and with the other he stroked my naked arm. Goose bumps erupted along my skin. I focused on the blacks of his pupils. I had to get away from him. I tried to shrug out from beneath his grip, but he slammed me back to the wall and wedged his forearm against my throat.

“You said you were alone.” His rancid cigarette breath hit me in the face.

“I. Was.” Each word hurt as he pushed harder. I strained my eyes to get a glimpse of Plug. He hadn't moved. The puddle of blood on the carpet had grown. Shapes and silhouettes crept along the base of the wall. They grew and began to churn near him.

“Plug!”

“He's dead,” Harrison said.

Harrison stroked my face. Those large, hairy hands that I'd feared in my delusions touched me. I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but I had to save myself, and I needed to get help for Plug.

I gasped for a breath and then choked out more words. “Why. Are you. Doing this?”

Harrison drew his fingertip along my lips. “You should still be in a hypnotic state from our phone conversation.” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“I never. Did anything. To you.”

Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision. I closed my eyes and struggled for air. Harrison caressed my eyelids, and I jerked them open. The sun must have gone behind a cloud, because the house grew darker. I pushed against Harrison with all my might, and I dug my fingernails into the side of his face. But then he wrenched my arm behind my back.

“You are my greatest victory,” he said. “I've achieved more with you than I ever dreamed possible. I've stirred your inner conflicts and heightened your emotions.” He pressed his body against mine. “You know . . . you look like your mother did back in New Jersey. The same jawline. The same lips.” He drew the tip of his nose along my cheek and inhaled deeply.

“If you'd given me a chance, Beth,” he said, “we could've been together all these years.” He leaned in, his lips next to mine.

“I'm not Beth,” I whispered.

He pulled back, and his fingers moved to my neck. “You're right. Beth told me to leave her alone and threatened to call the police. Said she was married, but I knew she was unhappy with your father. She stayed with him even though he was such an arrogant man. He took more than Beth from me; he took my future. He lied to the Dean of Students and had me kicked out of Princeton. But it wasn't long after that . . . I showed him I was the master.”

His grip tightened around my neck.

“Beth should've come to me after he died.” Harrison tilted his head and leaned closer to me. “Instead, you left town, Beth. Changed your last name. Changed your appearance. That made it harder, but four years and five private detectives later, I found you. I suppose that gave me time to devise the perfect revenge with Chelsea. And I'm here now. Killing your husband didn't work out, but maybe killing your daughter will.”

I tried to swallow, tried to breathe, but he tightened his grip. My mind raced, analyzing everything he'd said.

He loosened his grasp, and I gulped for air.

“With Chelsea?” I asked.

“Yes.” Harrison laughed. “She's performed flawlessly, invading your life and taunting you . . . laying the groundwork to make everyone believe you'd gone stark raving mad.”

Images flashed through my mind of Chelsea at the fair, in the broadcasting room, and at Clandestine Coffee.

“The breaker box at the warehouse?” I asked.

“And so much more,” he whispered.

“The pink elephant?”

He smiled and dug his fingers deeper into my neck. I needed to keep him talking. I needed to figure a way out of this.

“You've been here. At least a year,” I said, but he pushed against my windpipe. “Why wait. So long?”

“I told you. Perfect plans take time.” Harrison smirked. “Your father's demise took years of stalking, and planning, and practicing my craft—”

“My father?” Nausea flooded through me. Tears raced down my face, and I glared at Harrison. “You hypnotized him? Made him think he was crazy? Made him think he'd done horrible things?” The weight of the truth sank down on me.

Harrison grinned. “But he was nowhere near as fun as you have been.”

The light bulb above us burst, like the one in the warehouse had, casting us deeper into the shadows. Darkness filled my soul, and rage seeped through every pore. I kicked and flailed, because I wanted him dead.

“My dad killed himself because he believed he was crazy!” I screamed.

“So will you.” He shoved me against the wall. “When I'm finished, you'll believe you killed this boy, and you'll hate yourself for hurting everyone around you. You won't be able to end your life fast enough.”

“Have you hurt my mom?” I hit him again, but he laughed at my fruitless efforts.

“Don't worry,” he said. “She's tied up right now, but she'll be waiting center stage for the final act when we arrive.”

He jerked my left hand up.

“No.”

He touched my fingertips.

He lowered his voice and spoke in a rapid monotone.

“From the tips of your fingers I want you to relax all your muscles.” His touch moved from my hand to my wrist.

“No!” He did this to me the first time we met on the stage, but I still couldn't react fast enough to fight his words.

“As you relax I want you to feel an overwhelming sense of peace and goodness. I want only an immense sense of calm for you.”

It was a lie, but my mind remained in his clutch. I tried to picture my safe place—the cabin, the flowers—but my anger painted everything with crimson red. I wanted John Harrison's blood. He needed to pay for all of this, but my mind was bewitched by his monotone phrases.

“Let go of your worries and relax. When I count to three you will slip into that deep resting place of serenity and comfort. One. Two. Three. Sleep!” He snapped, and my legs gave out from beneath me.

I fell to the floor.

My head bounced on the soft carpet, and my face landed inches from Plug's. The metallic aroma of his blood overcame my senses. I was conscious, but I couldn't move. My eyes were open, but I couldn't see a way out of this mess.

Harrison walked away from me toward the kitchen.

Swirls of smoke danced around Plug's head. I moved my lips to yell and wake Plug, but my words were inaudible. The mist twirled above Plug, as if brushstrokes appeared on a canvas. A dark vertical cloud began to take shape.

“No,” I whispered. A black feather drifted down and settled in the pool of Plug's blood. In the space above him, a shape formed out of the darkness. Featherless wings extended from the backside of a hooded robe. Bare-bone arms with claws reached toward Plug. This was not a hallucination. The buoyant beast loomed over Plug, and I pictured Plug's chalk drawing of the screaming skulls. Plug looked nothing like the victims he'd drawn. His muscles were relaxed. His eyelids were closed. Except for the pool of blood beneath his head, I would have assumed he was sleeping. He couldn't die. Not today. Not because of me.

“Wake up, Plug,” I whispered.

Footsteps moved across the kitchen floor.

The house remained dim, but the dark spirit faded away. In addition to Chelsea and Harrison toying with me, evil spirits continued to taunt me as well. And I had to fight against them all.

Harrison stepped next to me and set down two red gasoline cans. With gloved hands, he lifted me and sat me alongside the wall. He pressed my fingers around the handles of each can. Then he pulled out a cloth and wiped the things he had touched earlier, like the sculpture and the large shard of glass with Plug's blood on it.

“Hannah,” he said, “stand up and walk with me.”

I didn't want to, but my body surrendered to his command. I walked with Harrison, past Plug, past the broken display case, through the kitchen, and out to the garage. My plaid shorts snagged on a protruding piece of metal from Plug's damaged El Camino. I pulled the fabric free and continued walking with Harrison out through the open front of the garage.

Harrison's sedan was parked in the driveway. He opened the door to the back seat.

“Sit and stay put. Do you understand?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

I sank onto the vinyl.

Harrison slammed the door and went back inside the garage, closing the big door behind him. He didn't even bother to tie me up. He was confident I was under his influence, which I seemed to be, despite my efforts to fight. But I refused to give up.

I closed my eyes and worked to descend to that safe place in my mind—my cabin surrounded by cottonwoods, maples, and junipers. I needed to lock away Harrison's suggestions, and then I would fight my way out of this. But a thick blanket of fog covered everything from the elevator to the grassy hill, and a wisp of black smoke extended from the roof into the foggy sky. It twisted and jerked like a cobra about to strike. I froze. This was supposed to be my safe place, but the black mist shot toward me, swirled around my feet, and coiled up my legs.

“You cannot win,” a deep demonic voice said. “You're not strong enough. You're not smart enough. You're not—”

“At least I have a body!” I yelled. “You have nothing.”

“A body you cannot control is worse than nothing at all!” the demon roared.

I covered my ears. I knew he was right, but I had to find a way to help Plug. I had to somehow regain command of my body and get away from Harrison.

I steeled my nerves and chanted, “Be gone. You have no power here.”

The smoke receded a few feet. I chanted again, and it withdrew to the chimney of the cabin, but its laughter echoed in the hollows of the cabin.

It bellowed back to me, “You're too weak to defeat me.”

I staggered and faltered, but eventually I found the ornate lock box on the porch of the cabin. I wrote Harrison's hypnotic words on the small tablet, tore off the sheet, set it in the box, and secured the lid.