Chapter 27
Tatum
Earlier in the day.
“So weird KC didn’t show.”
I turn to Carson, who is focusing on the road.
“I know. I could’ve sworn that was his SUV pulling in behind the church.”
“When did you see that?”
“When I went to the bathroom, I was just passing the hallway window when I noticed this black vehicle pulling in. It looked like it was him driving. I even waved.”
Carson shrugs. “Guess it wasn’t him.”
Guess so. No wonder he didn’t wave back, I know it made me feel pretty stupid.
“So what’s this place you’re taking me to?”
“Watts Lake,” he says, shooting a smile my way.
I love it when he smiles. He has really white teeth, and a dimple on one side of his mouth that only shows when he’s smiling.
Carson is so good-looking, easily the hottest guy in school, and sometimes I catch some of the other girls looking and talking about us when he sits with me for lunch. The best part about that is he doesn’t even seem to notice all the attention. Or maybe he does and is used to it.
I’m not used to it though, and I normally don’t really like people checking me out, but it’s different when I’m around Carson. He only talks to me and ignores everything else, and that makes me feel pretty special. Like it’s just the two of us.
“What’s special about Watts Lake?”
“It’s pretty. Not as pretty as the view from Sheriff Colter’s barn, but still pretty.
We won’t be able to stay for the actual sunset if we wanna be back before six, but since practice ended early anyway, I thought I’d quickly show you.
When the lake is calm, the water is like a mirror and it reflects the mountains.
When Mom was sick and after she died, I used to go there quite—”
He abruptly goes silent as he glances in the rearview mirror, but when I start to turn around to see what he’s looking at, he grabs my arm.
“Don’t. It’s just gonna make us look suspicious.”
I’m about to ask him what he’s talking about when I catch lights flashing behind us in my side mirror and hear a few short bursts of a siren.
“Shit,” Carson curses softly before pulling over to the side of the road. “Just stay quiet, let me do the talking.
My heart beats in my throat. I’ve never been pulled over by the cops before. Are we going to be in trouble?
Carson rolls down the window and turns his upper body so I can’t really see who’s outside, and it would be hard to see me from the outside. I’m pretty sure he’s protecting me again.
“Did I do something wrong, sir?”
Instead of an answer I hear a loud crackle and suddenly Carson jerks and slumps over, knocking me sideways.
I struggle to push him off me and try to find the handle to open the door to get out, when suddenly the door is ripped open.
Next thing I know, I’m being dragged from the car, an arm wrapped around my neck making it hard to breathe.
The last thing I remember is something sharp jabbing my shoulder.
My head is throbbing.
I try to open my eyes, but it’s hard. My eyelids feel like they weigh a ton and I can barely lift them a hair.
I don’t know where I am. It smells a little musty, like the time I forgot to move the sheets from the washer to the dryer like Mom asked. We had to wash them again to get the smell out. I’m lying with my face on concrete, I think. Or some kind of stone. It’s cold and rough, biting into my skin.
Why can’t I move anything? Where is Carson?
Who was that?
I manage to open one eye to a crack but it takes a few moments before I can actually make anything out.
The light is faint, coming from a small window high on the wall.
It looks like I’m in a basement. When I try to lift my head to see better, I hear a rustle and find the source in the far corner of the space.
There’s a man crouched down over someone lying on the ground.
I immediately freeze, too scared to even breathe. Memories of the flashing lights, Carson slumping over, being pulled from the car, and the arm around my neck come flooding back.
Was I drugged? Is that why I can’t move?
I watch as the crouching man seems to be tugging on the feet of the person lying down. Is he hurting him? Then I see him remove the other man’s boots.
Suddenly the guy turns his upper body around, and I snap my eye closed, holding my breath, hoping he didn’t see me.
I only got a glimpse of his face but enough to recognize him, and I know I’m in deep trouble.
It’s eerily quiet. I listen for any movement, almost waiting for him to come over. If he does, I won’t even be able to run.
My eyes burn with tears I hope won’t escape or he might see.
I want my dad. I didn’t even have a chance to text him where we were going.
I wonder, would it hurt when you die?
When the sounds resume in the corner, I’m almost surprised. I was so sure he’d seen me looking. But I resist looking now, keeping my eyes firmly closed.
Even when moments later I can hear him moving, footsteps on the concrete floor coming toward me. I start chanting in my head.
If I move…I’m dead. If I move…I’m dead
It’s so hard not to react when he lightly kicks my foot. Then he kicks it harder, but I don’t cry out and I don’t move, even though it hurts and I want to puke.
His boots crunch on the rough floor as I can feel him crouch down beside me, his hand brushing over my hair.
“Didn’t exactly plan it this way, but this may just work out perfectly,” I hear him mumble, as he removes the hair clip holding back my ponytail.
That was the last thing Mom gave me.
She’d come home drunk the night before, stumbling around the house, knocking into furniture, and throwing up all over the carpet.
I had to clean her up, help her in bed, scrub the carpet, and straighten the house.
The next day I came home from school and she gave me that clip, telling me I was a good girl for looking after her.
I almost break my silence to plead with him not to take it.
“Almost time…” he whispers.
Then I hear him get up and walk away from me. More rustling in the corner, before the footsteps seem to grow more faint and finally disappear.
I’m not sure how much time has passed; it could be minutes, or hours.
The only thing I know is that it felt like forever.
I’ve been afraid to try and move, worried he might come back and catch me awake. I don’t know what he meant by “Almost time,” but I have a feeling it can’t be good, and that time is fast running out.
This time, opening my eyes is a little easier, and the tingling I’ve been feeling in my fingers and feet the past little while must’ve been the drug wearing off. I’m able to lift my head and shift my arms underneath me to push up. They feel like lead, but at least I can move them now.
Sitting up, I brace my back against the brick wall and scan the space around me.
A muted groan startles me, but it doesn’t come from the person lying in the corner, it’s coming from behind some kind of dresser on the other side of the room.
“Carson?” I whisper.
It sounded like it could be him.
I’m able to get myself onto my hands and knees and start crawling toward the sound.
“Carson!”
He’s lying on his back, a puddle of blood under his head, but his eyes are open.
“Tate…”
“I’m right here.” I move closer and carefully touch his face.
“You’ve gotta get outta here,” he mumbles, his speech so slurred I can barely make out what he’s saying.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Gotta get help…”
There’s no smile or dimple on his face now. He looks like he can barely keep his eyes open, and I’m really scared he’s hurt badly.
I nod. “Okay. I’ll try to find a way out.”
This time when I try, I can actually stand up. I’m a little wobbly, but with my hand against the wall for support, I manage to go search for an exit.
I try to ignore the still figure in the corner. He hasn’t moved at all, and if he’s already dead, I don’t want to know.
Beyond this room is a hallway with several doors, but I find those are all locked.
I don’t want to rattle any of them too hard.
What if someone is nearby? They might hear me.
To get to the window high on the wall—the only one I’ve seen— I’m going to have to climb up on something, and hope I’ll be able to open it.
The dresser catches my eye. If the drawers are sturdy enough, I could use those as a ladder to get up. I just hope I’m able to move it closer.
I try to push it with all my might, and then I try pulling it, putting my whole weight into it, but it still won’t budge. Finally, after taking out all the drawers, so it’s a little bit lighter, I’m able to push the dresser under the window.
The legs scrape along the floor, making a lot of noise, but I can’t stop. When I looked over at Carson moments ago, his face looked even paler, but his eyes were encouraging me to push on.
With the help of the drawers, I’m able to get myself onto the dresser.
My chin comes up to the windowsill, so I can easily reach the latch, which is a little rusty.
I can look out, but the glass is so dirty I can barely see anything.
The window has to flip out and up, but seems stuck.
I have to hit it as hard as I can with the heel of my hand.
By now I’ve made so much noise, I’m convinced if anyone else was here, they’d have come running.
Finally, the window flies open with a squeak, and I immediately recognize the church parking lot. How did we get back here? At least I know where to run for help as soon as I get out of here.
I grab the sill with my hands and try to jump so I can pull myself up, but that proves to be more difficult than I thought. My hands keep slipping, and my legs are still too weak to give me a good boost.
Frustrated, I’m about ready to cry, when I suddenly hear the crunch of wheels in the parking lot. I immediately pull my hands back and move to the side to stay out of sight. Carefully peeking over the ledge, I almost cry out in relief when my father’s truck rolls into sight.
I start yelling.