Chapter 2 Annalise #2
I can’t stop blinking, trying to process what he’s saying.
“Look, if I don’t make it…I don’t have anybody else. I just need someone to make sure my dog is okay and finds a good home.” He falters, turning onto another street. “A better home.”
I’m horrified when my eyes start to mist.
My God. I’ve gone from petrified to pissed off to empathetic in a matter of five minutes.
And I have no idea how to respond to that.
I collapse back in the seat, watching blowing tree branches and snow whiz by. I’ve wanted a dog since I was four years old, but my mother is allergic. And Alex? He says a dog would be too much responsibility, given our hectic schedules at the restaurant. He’s not wrong.
Chewing on my cheek, I cross my arms and look into the mirror. “You really don’t have anybody?”
Chase’s jaw flexes, his gaze fixed on the road. “No. Not anymore.”
The words sit heavy in the space between us as a new song starts to play on the radio: “I Only Want To Be With You” by Dusty Springfield.
Something in my chest tugs, but I shove the feeling aside.
I need to be smart about this. Strategic.
My adrenaline’s still pumping, my blood swimming with booze, my mind sorting through the havoc of the last few minutes.
I’m not about to let my guard down just because he has sad eyes and a dog named Toaster.
I don’t know anything about this man.
But I know what it’s like to make a bad decision that changes the course of your entire life.
“I’ll make sure your dog is okay.” I look down at my magenta-tipped toes peeking out through my heels. “Just in case.”
His head snaps toward me, bewilderment clouding his already wrecked expression. “You’re helping me?”
I guess I am. Because if I were him—if I were bleeding out in the middle of a frozen highway with no one to call, no one to help me—I’d want someone to give a damn.
And maybe because I can’t shake the memory of my brother last year, sitting on his couch at three in the morning, his hands in his hair: “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Annalise.”
I wonder if Chase has ever said something like that too.
If anyone was listening.
I inhale a frazzled breath and reply, “You said there’s no one else.”
The upbeat song echoes through the car, and I study the man behind the wheel. He’s fading. The hospital can’t be far, but I’m not sure how much longer he has before he succumbs to his injury, and I’m almost positive we’re heading in the opposite direction.
“You need a hospital, Chase.” I crane my neck, glancing out the back window and watching as the storm swallows the highway in a harrowing white vortex. “Turn around.”
“Can’t.”
I whip forward. “There’s no other choice. You’re losing too much blood.”
“My house…” He blows out a shaky breath. “It’s closer. Just another mile…”
My hand slaps against my forehead, fingers curling into my hairline as I watch his complexion turn a chalky shade of gray.
He’s not going to pass out. No way.
Peering down at his driver’s license again, I frown at the address: 112 Silverleaf Avenue. A sense of familiarity settles in.
Silverleaf.
I know that street. It’s just a few blocks from my parents’ old house. Tag and I used to cut through there all the time on our bikes, racing past the same handful of houses until the street curved toward the park.
Chase groans out a pained sound, his breathing shallow. “Think I might need you to…drive.”
My spine straightens with a jolt of unease as flashbacks assault me.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I-I can’t,” I whisper with regret, the traumatic memories tunneling through the fear. Truthfully, taking over the wheel sounds less hazardous than letting him bleed out in the driver’s seat, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t do it. Not after what happened to—
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the past to stay buried.
The shattered glass. The flashing lights.
“Please,” he rasps.
“I…I literally can’t. I don’t have a driver’s license. I don’t know how to drive.”
A quick shake of his head, fused with disbelief. “Phone?”
“My brother has it.” Unlatching my seat belt, I scoot forward, inching between the seats. “Listen, I’ll try to help. Just stay focused. We’re not far. I’ll call for an ambulance when we get to safety.”
He attempts a nod, his eyelids fluttering. “No police. No hospital.”
Right. We’ll deal with that later.
“Chase. Chase Rhodes?”
Another sluggish nod.
“That’s a cool name. Sounds like a frontman in a band or something.” This has to be the most bizarre moment of my life. I’m making small talk with my kidnapper while trying to keep him conscious, all while creeping down the snowy highway toward his house. “I noticed your tattoo. Do you play?”
“Yeah, I…build them.” His eyes dance over to the guitar charm dangling from the mirror.
“You build guitars?”
Those eyes start to close, his head drooping.
“Hey! Chase, whoa, stay with me. Keep talking.” Frantic, I shimmy my way onto the center console, squeezing between the seats until I clumsily plop into the passenger seat. “Shit. Please don’t black out.”
The car swerves, and I reach for the wheel.
“Keep your foot on the pedal.”
Blinking, he frowns, moaning in agony.
“Come on. Say something. You’re going to be fine. We’re almost there.”
“I’m…so sorry…”
My free hand flies to his leg, adding pressure to the wound. He’s lost so much blood. “This is a great song. Do you know it?”
His throat bobs through a swallow.
I start singing along, trying to keep him present, awake, alive.
A groggy smile twitches on his mouth, his eyes half-lidded. “You’re a good…singer.”
Blood oozes onto my palm as I press harder against his thigh, my attention split between the windshield and his face.
I look up as a suburban part of town comes into view, a few approaching headlights warped by snow.
A stoplight takes shape through the blustery haze, glowing red. “We have to stop. Red light.”
His head lolls to the side.
“Chase, red light!” My bloodied hand slaps against his cheek, jarring him back awake.
“Shit,” he grunts, slamming on the brake.
My pulse jackhammers in my ears as residential homes loom ahead. I recognize the area. Silverleaf is just past this next intersection. “We’re almost there, okay? I love your dog’s name. What breed?”
“Stella…” he says, hardly audible.
“Is that your girlfriend?” The light turns green, and I tap his cheek, once, twice. “Green light.”
He blinks several times, forcing himself to stay coherent. The car rolls forward, losing traction in the snow as I even out the wheel.
“Sheltie,” he exhales, breaths stuttered, his limbs trembling as sweat dots his hairline.
“I love Shelties,” I say. “Tell me about your tattoo. My brother has one that’s similar.” I purposely pivot the conversation again, attempting to keep his mind sharp.
“Mm,” is all he mutters.
We’re going slow enough that I could easily escape the car and run to the nearest gas station, restaurant, convenience store, anything.
But I don’t.
Empathy pokes through my self-preservation, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. All I know is that I couldn’t live with myself when the news broke that my brother’s car was located on the side of the road, the driver DOA.
“We’re almost there.” I return my hand to his leg, the denim sticky and wet. “The street is on the right. I’ll turn the wheel, you press on the gas.”
He finds the strength to ease us onto the next side street, and I take control of the wheel, guiding us through two more turns until we’re rolling down the familiar tree-lined road.
Chase’s eyes roll up, his head slumping against the headrest. “Don’t go…Stella…” His voice is barely a breath now, the fight slipping from his body.
A second later, his chin drops to his chest.
“Chase?” I shake his shoulder, but there’s no response. “Shit…Chase!”
The car inches to the right, tires crunching through fresh snow. Panic spikes as I scramble into action, reaching for the gearshift with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.
Alex’s face flashes through my mind, his instructions, the way he screamed at me before everything—
Neutral.
I grasp the shifter and yank it into N, the engine whining as momentum carries us forward. My heart is a bass drum in my throat.
“Come on, come on.” I lift off the seat and brace my knee against the center console. The car is still moving too fast, moments from coasting onto the curb. I throw myself sideways, half straddling his lap, my dress bunching around my thighs as I stretch for the brake.
My heel skids against the floor mat. “Dammit—” I yank it off, my toes barely grazing the pedal.
Old brick and vinyl houses materialize on both sides, address numbers bleeding into the whiteout.
206…202?
Some numbers are on mailboxes, others plastered to pillars and siding, too obscured for me to make out.
My attention shifts between maneuvering the car and locating the right house. There’s no way I can drag this giant man through five inches of snow in my stilettos and too-tight dress.
I scan the homes, my vision muddled from snowfall and streetlamps casting hazy light over the porches. The numbers flicker past, my pulse skidding along with the car.
There.
A small dark-blue house appears, the porch light glowing faintly. On the mailbox 112 is in big block letters.
The car bumps over a patch of uneven pavement, jolting Chase’s body against mine. His head flops to the side, and a weak moan escapes his lips.
My palm slams against his chest for balance as I shift lower, pressing down on the brake with every ounce of strength I have. The tires groan, the car jerking as we finally lurch to a stop.
I don’t breathe for a second.
Slamming the lever into Park, I lean over him and shove the door open.
“Somebody help us!”