Chapter Eleven
Carrie
I wasn’t going to die here, in this shitty motel room, surrounded by these two. I stared into the barrel of Brandon’s gun and lifted my chin.
“No one in St. Louis knew about my trust fund,” I told him, holding my breath.
Brandon’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?” The gun in front of my face lowered a fraction.
“Not the Oasis boys, Robert, or the detective assigned to Robert’s murder case,” I explained, twisting my wrists. “No one knew but my father, and he thought I’d spent it all.”
He looked back to Monica for a moment before looking back to me, lowering the gun. “How much do you have?”
“Two million,” I lied instantly. I had two million, but that was before I’d bought Blue Beauty.
A sinister smile found its way to Brandon’s lips then before he let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money, Carrie,” he said proudly.
I said nothing, working my hands still. I was almost there.
“Jesus, would you just get on with it?” Monica barked out, getting up from the bed.
My eyes flicked over to her as she put my coat back on. Brandon ignored her. “You’re going to give me that money, Carrie.”
“I’ll give you whatever you want if you let me go,” I told him, leaning forward so I could adjust my wrists and the angle.
Brandon chuckled. “Can’t do that, Carrie. You’re talking to a dead man, remember?”
My brows came together. A dead man? When I said nothing, Brandon, being the self-absorbed idiot he was, decided to monologue. I also didn’t like that he kept saying my name over and over. Thoughts of the last motel room started bubbling up to the surface, but I shut them down quickly.
That was a different category of nightmares I never wanted to analyze.
“I can’t believe Robert never told you about me. Did he at least tell you about our sister?” he prompted, raising his brows. The gun was at his side, and for now, at least, I could breathe easier.
“Robert told me he was an only child,” I confessed. It was the truth. I’d met his parents and got to know them on a superficial level over the years. We never spent the holidays together, and on Robert’s birthday, he would go celebrate with them on his own, telling me they would be disgusted by my appearance.
Monica huffed, shaking her head before looking up at the dated popcorn ceiling. “He didn’t tell her about anything—because he never loved her,” she quipped, as if that was going to hurt me in some way. However, I didn’t have any sympathy for her. Whatever moment we’d shared at the last motel was nothing more than a fleeting mistake.
Monica was the worst kind of woman.
Brandon continued ignoring her, and once again, his entire demeanor shifted. “She was only ten years old when we lost her,” he told me, a twinge of sadness in his voice. Brandon was a ticking time bomb, I’d noticed. His moods would switch in an instant, like he was multiple different people. It scared me, more so than Monica. She may want me dead, but if something set Brandon off, he would be the one to kill me, not her. She didn’t have the guts.
“No,” I told him. “Robert never mentioned either of you.”
“It wasn’t like she was a big part of Robert’s life,” Monica sneered. “The age gap was proof enough.”
The bomb had officially gone off. Boom.
Brandon peeled his eyes from me as he twisted his neck to look at Monica, his shoulders shaking with anger now. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he whispered. “That’s my fucking sister you’re talking about. She didn’t deserve what happened to her!”
Monica rolled her eyes and threw her arm out to the side. “Everyone gets sick, Brandon! Even children!”
A lump formed in my throat. She was sick? That’s why she died?
Brandon said nothing, glaring at her as his nostrils flared with each harsh breath he took.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Monica, being the love-sick idiot she was, didn’t bother to care. She was so wrapped up in her own hatred for me, she couldn’t see the damage she was causing, the danger she was putting herself in.
“We aren’t doing this for your sister. No one cares about her, and Robert sure as shit didn’t. He always said your parents having her was a mistake, a fluke. He said that her getting sick was the universe correcting itself.”
Oh, fuck. I swallowed the knives in my throat, ignoring the burn as I kept moving my wrists, faster now.
I needed to get out of here.
Brandon said nothing as he turned to face her fully now, flexing his fingers on the handle of the gun. My eyes lingered on it before bouncing to Monica and then to the back of Brandon’s head. She was pushing him too far. Both of them forgot about me, and I used that to my advantage, rubbing the plastic strip back and forth faster, holding my breath.
Monica continued, apparently letting out everything she had seemed to bottle up over the years. “Honestly, Brandon. You’re the fucking problem. I should’ve never even called you, because what help have you even provided? You have this weird sexual obsession with her now,” she screamed, pointing at me, and I froze, goosebumps spreading across my skin like wildfire. I braced, waiting for him to turn his attention back on me and resume what he started.
But he didn’t…
He was too far gone now.
The words were on the tip of my tongue, the part of me that valued human life. Monica, stop.
But I couldn’t. At this point, it was coming down to her life or mine, and I had to choose mine.
“You don’t even want to avenge Robert! You never fucking cared about him, and now, you’re talking about your poor little sister who died peacefully in a hospital bed—”
“Is that what you think happened, Monica?”
His words were haunting—chilling, right down to the bone, and something in his tone made my stomach twist.
Monica’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes widening as she stared up at Brandon’s face. In that moment, I was thankful I couldn’t see it. The fear in Monica’s eyes was enough for me.
“Whatever my fucking brother told you is a fucking lie. Amy didn’t die because she was fucking sick,” he pushed out in a heavy, jagged whisper, his shoulders moving with every harsh breath he took.
She said nothing and took a step back, closer to the bathroom door.
I worked my hands faster, using my arms now. My fight or flight was kicking in, and everything about this situation, from Monica anger to the gun in Brandon’s hand, was telling me to get the hell out of here.
“What? You got nothing to say, bitch?” Brandon taunted, and I looked up just in time to find his head cocked to the side, the gun shaking in his hand. “You know nothing, Monica. You were in love with the way he fucked you and the dream he promised you.”
She flinched as he took a single step forward.
“Do you honestly think he would’ve married you? If he wanted to marry you, Monica, he would’ve done so the second you both turned eighteen,” he explained, laughing at the end of it. He shook his head and raised the tip of the barrel to his temple, tapping it twice. “Think, Monica. If my brother really loved you, he would’ve built a fucking life with you.”
“Stop,” she commanded, holding her hand up.
As if that would help.
The tension around my wrists popped as Brandon said, “Robert was incapable of love, Monica. He was incapable of feeling. ”
My hands were free, and tears stung my eyes, but I kept them together, watching the scene unfold, waiting for the right moment. Incapable of feeling?
Brandon cornered Monica against the door, towering over her thin frame as she remained frozen by fear. In a flash, he had the gun pressed to the bottom of her chin and my gut dropped, landing on the floor with a splat as I stared at them in horror.
He was going to kill her.
Right here.
“You’re in this for avenging that sack of shit,” he bit off, getting into her space.
“G-get a-a-away f-from m-me,” she stammered.
“My brother owes me,” he growled, reaching down for the doorknob of the bathroom. I blinked, and the door was wide open as he shoved her inside, the gun still pressed against her skin. “I’m going to get what I’m owed, Monica.”
Then, they were both inside the bathroom, and Brandon kicked the door shut.
The only thing I could hear as I bolted up from the chair and out of the hotel room was Monica’s screams.
The cold, early February wind whipped around me as I cut through it, my heart pounding, matching the pace as my bare feet hit the ground. I looked over my shoulder, my hair covering the bottom half of my face as I kept running, grateful to not see either one of them coming out of the motel parking lot.
“Thank God,” I whimpered, breathless as I righted my head. I pumped my arms as my legs carried me as fast as I could go. I couldn’t even feel the cold underneath my feet. I didn’t care. I had to get out of there. The sky above me was gray, snowing covered the ground, and I was on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. The motel was the only building I could see, and that was a problem.
I ran and ran and ran.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Not yet.
I kept running, staying on the side of the road, my eyes on the closest mountain straight ahead of me.
Despite my weight, my body could handle the running. I used to run three miles a day before Robert’s murder. I knew how to control my breathing, and how to ignore the burning in my muscles. I also could guesstimate the distance I’d run.
When I was about two miles away, I slowed, turning around to find an empty road. As my chest heaved, the sting of the cold began to settle into my cheeks, the adrenaline fading slightly now. My body was on fire, and I could feel the sweat on my face. I walked backward, keeping my eyes on the empty highway, fearful they were going to come.
I waited a few seconds, waiting to see something come over the top of the small hill I had just run up. When nothing came, an overwhelming sense of gratitude slammed into me, and my soul brightened.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you .
I chanted those two words in my head as I looked up to the sky, a small sob leaving me.
Then, I looked around, taking in my surroundings. I turned to face the other direction and walked up to a road sign. I narrowed my eyes to try and read the faded wording, but it was no use. The sign was old and most likely forgotten. There was a dark forest to my right, a snow-covered pasture across the dark pavement, lined with barbed wire fencing. I couldn’t stay on the road, because even though they hadn’t found me yet, didn’t me they wouldn’t come flying down the road in that shitty black van any minute now.
I looked down at my feet, noticing how red my toes were.
Frostbite was my first concern.
My second concern was wildlife.
I didn’t know what state I was in, but judging by the mountains and the thick forests, bears would be present. I wouldn’t stand a chance in the forest. I’d be dead before nightfall, and that would be unfortunate.
Stop with the dark humor, Carrie.
Blowing out a breath, noting how long it lingered in the air, I looked down the street once more, listening and watching for cars. That was when I noticed it.
The silence.
I couldn’t hear any cars, people, or even birds. The wind had stopped as well, and suddenly, I felt like an intruder.
I looked up to the dark sky again, holding my breath, waiting for just the smallest of sounds. There was nothing. This small glimpse of the world in front of me was paused, frozen by winter as nature waited for spring to come.
“Okay, Carrie,” I said, looking at the concrete as I weighed my options. “You need a phone. You need to find some people. That’s your best bet.” I looked over my shoulder to the forest behind me, taking in the snow-covered branches on the trees and the wet ground. “That isn’t going to work. I don’t want to get eaten by a bear.”
I’d seen The Revenant . Leonardo DiCaprio survived a bear attack, but that didn’t mean I would.
With a sigh, I looked straight ahead once more, my eyes on the field. I studied it for a moment before I looked at the barbed wire fence. “Humans own this land. Humans are good.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek as another chilly breeze hit me.
I was too busy worried about my life to complain about the cold.
Go, Sunshine. Go into the field.
Grayson’s voice had a lump forming in my throat, and I took a deep breath. Then, I moved, running a bit further down, watching the fence line, looking for a break in the barbed wire. I knew I wouldn’t be able to squeeze in between the lines, and I couldn’t afford to have an injury.
But I would if I had to. I just hoped the universe would grant me a shred of grace.
Minutes passed before I spotted it and I let out a choked sob, laughing slightly as the small flicker of joy brightened in my heart.
There was a missing section of barbed wire, and I noticed brown a leather bag on the ground, nestled into the snow by the post.
“Humans,” I whispered as I stepped into the white blanket of ice, wincing at the cold. The bag didn’t have snow on it, which meant someone was just here. I bent down, scooping it up and opening it.
Another sound left me as I spotted a small bag of food —jerky.
“I’ll pay them back,” I promised as I ripped the bag open and grabbed a piece, bringing it up to my mouth. My taste buds exploded after taking a small bite, and my knees nearly buckled as another realization hit me.
I hadn’t had any food in days.
Brandon gave me a few sips of water now and then, but…
I shoved the piece all the way in, chomping down on it.
Thank God.
This was the best thing I’d eaten in my entire life.
After swallowing that down, I shoved in a second piece of jerky. I searched the rest of the bag and found a small toolkit, some rope, and a pair of worker’s gloves.
Gloves.
Clutching the bag of jerky to my chest, I let the leather back fall to the ground again as I nabbed the gloves, shoving them on my hands quickly before putting the bag over my head, letting it rest against my hip.
I had food and gloves.
All in all, that was a pretty good start.
I looked straight ahead, towards the end of the field that butted up against the base of a small mountain. Chewing the jerky as my eyes followed the height of the mountain, my head fell back and my eyes widened, noticing how half the mountain was charred.
There must have been a wildfire here.
Another gust of wind slammed into my back, and I grabbed another small piece of jerky. Then, I started running across the field, the snow going up to the middle of my calves, soaking my thin, black leggings. I kept my eyes straight ahead, focusing on the base of the mountain and controlling my breathing. The freezing temperatures didn’t make it easy, but I did what I could.
Time passed, but I kept going.
And going.
More time passed, the day growing shorter as the air around me grew colder.
Eventually, the warmth provided by my blood pumping wasn’t enough, and I was freezing, my body shivering as my teeth clattered. I was no longer running, slowly shoving my legs through the snow as I kept my head bent, trying to shield my face from the wind whipping around me. My sweater did nothing to protect me from the elements. I felt naked, exposed to the cold and bitter hell that nature was giving me.
I couldn’t feel the bottom half of my legs anymore, and the sky was getting darker by the second. It would be nightfall soon, and the temperature had been dropping since I decided to make a run for it hours ago.
I was very, very tired.
The jerky was gone, and I was running on nothing , the fumes having dissipated hours ago.
I’d crossed over the first pasture, going into the next after having to step over a fallen gate post. Whoever owned this land must own the entire state. The wind slowed then, giving me a mere second to look up. I halted, finding myself standing at the opening of a small, tree-covered section of the pasture. I blinked once, then twice, trying to decide if my mind was playing a trick on me—again.
I was standing in front of a graveyard.
The pine trees that were dotted all around it provided an umbrella of sorts, leaving some of the dead grass visible while the strong branches held up the snow. Patches of faint, dull light sank through the tops of the trees, giving me a few of the old headstones.
The wind picked back up again, and I made my decision. I stepped into the trees, heading straight for the first headstone. The grave wasn’t covered in snow, the dead, brown grass untouched by winter. I stepped out of the snow and winced at the sight of my feet. My toes were a deep red, and I felt like I was walking on pins and needles. But there was nothing I could do for them now. Taking my shoes from me was a smart decision on Brandon and Monica’s part. They didn’t think I would run away barefoot, but they knew nothing of the hells I’d survived, how desperately I craved freedom.
The wind howled all around the trees as I rounded the gravestone, sinking to my knees in front of it. I wrapped my arms around myself as I looked up at the headstone.
Nancy Cross.
Loving Mother and Friend
My eyes dropped to the date—she passed last year.
“I-I-I s-s-sorr-y-y,” I pushed out weakly through my chattering teeth. I needed to use Nancy’s headstone as a shield. I pressed as much of myself as I could against the rough stone and pulled the gloves off. They belonged to a man, judging by the size and I thanked the heavens for that. I slipped my toes into each glove and tucked my legs under me, pulling my hands into the sleeves of my sweater and wrapping my arms around myself, tucking my chin in.
The wind howled, but Nancy helped block it, and I was grateful.
Thank you, Nancy, whoever you were.
Time continued the pass as the day came to an end.
I was tired, cold, and thirsty. I’d been out here for hours, and there was no sign of human life. I didn’t even see any animals.
Stay awake, baby. Stay awake for me.
“C-can’t,” I whispered, barely hearing my own voice.
My eyes closed, and I was slowly drifting off, knowing that, in my dreams, I’d find warmth.
I’d find Grayson.
Again, the wind settled, and I heard something in the distance, an engine or something.
“H-help.”
My voice was gone, my throat burning.
Slowly, I lifted my head, and there, in the distance, I saw a light. It was getting closer and closer as the rumbling sound grew louder by the second. Suddenly, a new kind of fear took over, and I pressed up against the headstone, trembling.
The single light turned into two, and I recognized the shape of headlights.
They found me.
They fucking found me.
The vehicle stopped just outside the tree line, and I blinked, my eyelids heavy. Snow, so much snow. Cold. I was so cold. My body wanted sleep. I wanted sleep. I wanted warmth…
Exhaustion took over, and I tried fighting it, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
The dark figure drew closer, the snow crunching under its weight as my eyes finally closed.
“Ma’am. Hey, look at me,” a deep voice rumbled.
With every last ounce of strength I could muster, I forced my eyes open.
It was a man. A dark man. He reminded me of my bounty hunter, my Grayson.
The only difference was this man had a cowboy hat on.
A sound came from my throat, but I didn’t know if it was a word.
Then, everything faded away, and I was flying.