Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
THAT NIGHT
It would have been so easy to just give up—to just let him have me.
Bury it, Shiloh. Shayla’s voice filled my head.
I closed my flooded eyes. Tears spilled from them. Two chest-shaking, silent sobs escaped before I was able to take a deep breath. “Okay,” I whispered. I took another deep breath, and with that breath, I found the strength I needed to push back the pain and heartbreak.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself again and opened my eyes.
I shifted, scooted, and pushed with my heels to help me sit up against the headboard. The rope around my ankles went taut when I was about halfway to sitting all the way up. At least I wasn’t flat on my back, and I could see the door.
I tried tugging on the rope on my right wrist to test its strength. It was pretty strong. Mr. X was determined I wouldn’t escape. But I could twist my wrist within the rope tied around it. I tried to twist and pull to see if I could squeeze my hand out. It didn’t work. If only I could stretch out or wear down the rope somehow, I might be able to get free.
With that plan, I started twisting and pulling at all of my bindings, never removing my eyes from the door.
Twist. Twist. Pull.
That was the only thing that mattered. If I wanted to survive—to get free—it was all that could. The only thing that kept me company for what felt like hours was my fear.
At some point, blood slowly started to roll up my arms toward my elbows. My pillows were stained with dark red dots and down by the foot of the bed, beneath my ankles, were large copper blotches that had seeped into my gray comforter. The tan ropes tied around each of my wrists and ankles looked as if they had been dipped in red wine.
Twist. Twist. Pull.
I’d repeated that process over and over again—rubbing away my skin against the splintering rope as I did.
How long had it been since Mr. X had tied me to my bed and left me? He had brought me in here when it had still been dark outside. The sun was up now. It had been up for a while.
My eyes were glued to my open bedroom door, feeling as though Mr. X would appear at any moment. I tried not to let my eyes drift to the tips of Shayla’s white sneakers. He had slit her throat just outside my bedroom. Her body was still where she’d fallen. She was dead. There was no denying it now. I had tried to get help—tried to escape. But Mr. X had nailed the windows and doors. The only door I hadn’t tried was the front door. Mr. X had caught me before I could.
I had a feeling that was the only way out.
Twist. Twist. Pull.
Strangely, the pain of my nerves rubbing against the rope had numbed. Was it my need to escape—my adrenaline blocking out the one thing that could slow me down?
It didn’t matter. I didn’t need to know. I had no idea when Mr. X would come back. I wouldn’t let myself think about what he would do to me when he did. I just had to get out of here.
Twist. Twist. Pull.
The rope around my right wrist slid up around my hand. I held my breath as I pulled on it again and the rope squeezed over the rest of my hand, passed over my fingers, and I was free. A new surge of hope and relief rushed through me.
“Oh, Shiii…loooh!” Mr. X sang, his voice echoing from down the hall. I was so tired of him calling for me that way. There was no doubt that sound would haunt me for the rest of my life if I survived this.
He began humming as he made his way down the hall toward my room. I worked quickly to untie my other wrist as I listened to him getting closer. Once my other hand was free, I glanced down at my tied ankles. I wouldn’t be able to untie them in time. Panicked, I searched around. There was a pen on my nightstand. I reached for it. My fingers were barely able to roll it close enough to scoop it into my hand.
Moving as fast as I could, I wrapped the rope back around each wrist, praying that he wouldn’t notice that they weren’t tied. I hid the pen in my clenched fist behind the taut rope. My gaze went back to the doorway just in time to see Shayla’s feet slide away.
My hand that wasn’t holding the pen squeezed around the rope so tightly it was painful. I needed that pain. I needed it to be worse than the fear that was threatening to paralyze me.
Mr. X stepped into view. Only he wasn’t alone. He was holding Shayla’s limp body against him with an arm around her waist and his hand held one of hers. Then he waltzed into my room, quite literally. Still humming, he spun around—dancing with her lifeless body. As he dipped her, he said, “Your sister always was the attention whore.” He stood straight and stared down at Shayla, whose head flopped around like a newborn baby’s. “Even though you two are identical, you couldn’t be more different.” He spun around again, swinging Shayla with him. “She flaunted herself about, gobbling up every ounce of attention she got like a greedy, spoiled princess. She may have been beautiful on the outside, but her soul was ugly.” He tossed Shayla’s body to the ground and his eyes flicked to me. “You, however, are perfection. Inside and out. You don’t have to flaunt anything. Your soul radiates a genuine and pure light. It calls to me.” He walked over to my bed. Eyes never leaving mine, he brought his knee up onto the mattress. “Your innocence draws me in like a moth to a flame,” he said as he crawled over me until he was straddling my hips. His hands cupped my face. “I covet that innocence.” His hands moved down and around my neck. “I want it so bad…” He squeezed. “I almost want to destroy it.”
He cut off my air completely. Panic flared through me, taking over. I thrashed and bucked beneath him, almost forgetting that my hands were free. I quickly worked to shed the rope.
“You are mine, Shiloh. No one can take you from me now,” he growled as he continued to choke me.
I got the rope off my hand holding the pen.
Do it! Do it now! I screamed internally. Fisting the pen in my hand, I swung it. I stabbed the pen through his cheek.
“AH!” he screamed, rolling off of me and off the bed. He hit the ground with a loud thump that shook my room.
I didn’t waste any time and started untying the rope around my ankles. I got one untied pretty quickly, then jumped to the next one. He groaned loudly and crawled toward the bathroom connected to my room.
As soon as I had my last ankle untied, I quickly clambered off my bed. I jumped over Shayla’s body and ran for the door. I was caught by my foot and fell forward. The moment I hit the ground, I was dragged back.
I started kicking my legs and because my ankles were bloody, his grip on me slipped. He let out a loud roar as I started to crawl away. I pushed to my feet and ran for the door again. By his ragged breathing, I knew he was right behind me. Not wanting a repeat of what had happened on the stairs, I made a last-second decision to turn right, the opposite direction from the stairs, as I ran out of my room. I had a plan in my head, and I prayed it would work.
Pushing my beaten body to the max, I returned to my parents’ bedroom door. I squeezed through the door quickly. Just as I got inside, Mr. X tried to grab me. I let out a yelp as I leapt away and dashed for my parents’ en suite.
Just like the bedroom door, the doorknob was missing from the bathroom door. I’d anticipated that. My parents’ bathroom had a linen hutch for their towels, extra bedding, and other stuff they’d chosen to store in there. I put my back to the side of it, set my feet on the wall, and pushed. Grunting loudly, I used the strength in my legs to knock over the heavy hutch in front of the door just as Mr. X tried to shove it open. The sound of the hutch crashing to the floor echoed loudly in the bathroom, followed by Mr. X yelling my name on the other side of the door.
The hutch wouldn’t keep him out for long, which I’d known before coming in here. I rushed across the bathroom over to what looked like a cabinet door in the wall near the shower. It wasn’t a cabinet. My parents’ bathroom was located over the laundry room. And the door in the wall was a laundry chute.
When we had been kids, Shayla and I used to climb down the chute. I was older and bigger now, but I was certain I could still fit. Ripping open the door, I peered down the narrow tunnel made of wood. It was going to be a tight fit. As soon as I started to slide my body into the chute feet-first, Mr. X started ramming against the door with what I assumed was his whole body. If he kept doing that, he’d get inside in no time.
Moving as fast as I could, I continued lowering myself into the tight tunnel. I put my feet tightly against the walls of the chute to help lower me down and to keep me from falling. As soon as I was fully inside, I closed the door to the chute. Nothing could be seen but darkness. I did my best not to focus on it and started working my way down, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“Shiloh!” Mr. X roared and I froze. His stomps as he moved around the bathroom made the walls in the chute vibrate.
When they started to sound far away, I moved down some more. I was almost to the bottom when the door to the chute was ripped open.
“Shiloh!” he yelled down at me.
I only glanced up at him for a second, to see him staring down at me, before dropping down the chute the rest of the way. I fell into a basket that was sitting on top of the dryer to catch the clothes. Because the basket was too small for my body, it tipped over and I fell to the floor. I tried to catch myself with my hands. They slowed down my fall a little, but the rest of me still smacked to the ground.
Breathing heavily and starting to feel pain, I got to my feet. The first few steps I took, I limped. As I made my way out of the laundry room and into the mudroom, I tried my best to quiet my breathing.
I had two ways to get to the front door. I could go through the guest bathroom to my mom’s office or take the hall by the stairs. Stepping out of the mudroom, I turned left and cut through the Jack-and-Jill guest bathroom that led to my mom’s office. Taking the hall by the stairs would leave me too exposed.
Before I stepped out into the foyer, I leaned on the wall in my mom’s office so I could peek out. I looked up the stairs and down the hall and tried to see into the living room straight across the foyer. I didn’t see Mr. X anywhere. Silently, I stepped out of my mom’s office. With the front door in my sight, I crept toward it. I strained to listen for any sound that would give me a hint of where Mr. X was in the house. I heard nothing. Just the hum of the air-conditioning blowing through the vents.
Ten more steps until I reached the front door…nine more steps…eight more…
The wood floor creaked under the weight of my foot. My whole body tightened up as the sound echoed through the silent house. With my heart booming in my ears, I took a quick look around, bracing for him to jump out. When he didn’t, I zeroed in on the front door. It was my only hope—my only way out. I rushed the remaining distance, my pace quick and no longer quiet. I lifted my hand, reaching for my freedom.
My fingers barely brushed the doorknob when a hand grabbed me by my hair and yanked me back. I let out a loud, broken scream as my back collided with the front of Mr. X’s body.
“I can’t let you go.” His cold voice was devoid of emotion.
That made me pause. In the nick of time, I saw his knife coming up toward my throat. I caught his wrist and forearm with my hands before the knife could reach me.
He pulled my head back harder, exposing my throat. I let out a strangled grunt as I fought against his strength. His knife inched closer and closer as my arms weakened.
Think!
I took the risk of looking around, desperate to find anything that would help me. There was nothing close.
Think! What would Logan do?
I thought back to the few self-defense moves he had taught Shayla and me on our last trip to Texas. We had been at the beach. The memory of Shayla’s laughter echoed in my head; she’d pretended to stomp on Logan’s instep and dropped to the sand, squealing as she’d crawled away from him. She hadn’t taken Logan’s lesson seriously but had humored him nonetheless.
I pulled myself back to my horrific reality. With the last bit of strength I had, I pushed Mr. X’s blade back a little, then slammed my foot down on his. The moment his grunt reached my ears, I dropped to the floor, losing a good chunk of hair in the process. I refused to let the burning on my scalp slow me down. I shot back to my feet and hurried for the door.
“No!” he bellowed behind me before a searing pain sliced across my shoulder blade. Crying out, I stumbled and fell against the door. I grabbed the doorknob to keep me from falling completely to the ground. I twisted it, the door swung open, and I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin for only a breath before his arms locked around my waist. Lifted into the air, I thrashed and screamed as loud as I could, hoping anyone might hear me with the door open.
Then I was airborne.
The air was knocked from my lungs as my spine slammed against the wooden stairs. Mr. X braced himself above me by holding himself up with one hand on the step behind my head. “You are mine!” he roared in my face. Spittle hit my cheeks and his rancid breath filled my nose.
My breath hitched. Not from the smell. But from the excruciating pain that exploded in my stomach.
He had stabbed me.
His knife was buried in my stomach. Time slowed as he withdrew. His eyes were dilated, emotionless, pitch-black depths as he stared down at me. Blood clung to his black and gray stubble along his jawline and chin. “No one else can have you,” he said, sounding detached as he plunged the knife back into my stomach.
I didn’t know why I put my hands on his shoulders as he withdrew the knife again. I didn’t know why I met his eyes or why I asked him, “Don’t you love me?” I didn’t know what had possessed me to say that, but it made him pause and I could have sworn I saw regret in his eyes.
I took that as my chance to ram my knee between his legs. He made a choking noise. His hand that was holding him up gave out and he fell on top of me. Shoving him to the side, I rolled off the stairs to the floor. With a hand pressed to my bleeding abdomen, I forced myself to my feet.
I made it out the open front door into the blinding sunlight. “Help me!” I screamed that over and over again as I ran across the lawn and climbed over the wall of bushes that served as a fence between our yard and our neighbor’s. Blood was leaking down the front of me and soaking into my jeans.
I will make it.
I will make it .
I told myself that over and over as I ran to my neighbor’s front door. With bloody hands I rang their doorbell a dozen times. I left bloody handprints on their front door as I pounded on it until it finally opened.
The moment the elderly couple saw that it was me and that I was hurt, they let me inside. I only made it into their home a few steps before everything seemed to shut down. My legs gave out and I fell to their floor. I had fought. I had gotten out. I had nothing left. In every sense, apart from my life. I had that. As I lay there bleeding out on my terrified neighbors’ floor while they called the police, I wondered if it had all been worth it.