Chapter 20 #2
He looks at me and recognition flickers in his gaze. I half expect him to point at me, to say something to whoever just threw him into the counter.
But he doesn’t.
Carl, this boy I’ve never met before, mouths one word to me.
Run.
He slides to the floor, leaving a trail of blood on the glass that’s lit from underneath by the display lights.
At my side, Pearl growls low in her chest, and I jump with my heart pounding.
Why would Fox or Deacon do this?
The way they’ve acted, they like the people of Wolf Lake. Hell, the gas station was full of photos of them with Ms. Hewitt and others, looking like they’re a part of the community.
So why kill a boy in the movie theater?
I barely try to stay quiet. Especially when I hear the thud of heavy footsteps heading for the hiding place I just vacated.
Pearl growls again, the sound chilling, and I don’t stop for more than a second to think about why she’d growl at them when she seems to tolerate Deacon and Fox, even like both men most of the time.
But I’m too afraid to give that much thought. I’m too scared to think about where I’m going, and I stumble up stairs illuminated by the dim, yellow theater lighting. I yelp and go down, my hands hitting the rough, worn carpet under me before I’m up and running again.
It’s too dark for me to see where I’m going.
Hell, it’s so dark that I mostly just trip and grab onto anything in front of me.
Every once in a while Pearl brushes against my legs, as if she’s urging me onward toward the door on the other end of the small theater.
The glass pane is lit from behind, and while I have no idea what’s in that room, I can only hope it’s not a dead end.
Pearl yelps suddenly, causing me to trip, and I echo her cry as I hit the floor again while a man curses behind me.
“Stop it!” I shriek, hearing her pained yelp again. I want to turn to figure out how to help her and why either brother would hurt her, but I can’t.
I can’t fucking see, and I don’t have a weapon.
When a hand grabs my ankle, I instantly kick outward. My foot makes contact with a solid body and earns a sharp exhale of breath in reply. The hand tightens and Pearl growls, then I feel a paw on my thigh before she’s growling and tearing at something, causing the man to scream.
His hand finally releases me, and I shove myself upright, my eyes fixed on the door.
Please, God, don’t be a dead end, I pray as my burning legs take me toward it.
My hands smash it open, causing the heavy door to swing inward, and I look around to see it’s just a stupid alcove with a janitor’s cart parked against the far wall.
“Fuck!” I gasp, glancing back into the theater.
I can’t go back there. Not when I can see the outline of the man getting closer now that he’s shaken off my dog.
But I also see a dark staircase to my right, though I hesitate to go up that way. There’s no way I’ll find an easy way out from there, but…
It’s my only choice, isn’t it?
I scramble up the stairs, glad for the dim floor lights that are lit even without the overhead light being on. The warm light is enough to see by, and enough to make out ‘90s era patterns on the carpet, though why my brain picks out that particular detail, I have no idea.
Once I’m at the top, I look around, my heart racing. Below me, the door to the theater slams open, and when it’s kicked shut, I again hear Pearl’s yelp of shock and pain.
“Stop hurting my dog!” I scream down the stairs, not expecting an answer.
But I get a snarling laugh in reply. “Fine. Then stop running so I can hurt you in her place.”
The voice doesn’t belong to Fox.
Or Deacon.
A shiver runs up my spine, forcing me to freeze in place as I realize just how bad this is. If it isn’t either of them, then there’s only one option to explain why someone would want to find and hurt me.
I take off at a dead run again, heading for one of two doors upstairs. The one I yank open shows me the film room, but it’s really just a box with nothing useful in it, and no means of escape.
The second is a bathroom.
But more importantly, a bathroom with a window on the far wall.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.” I close the door and lock it, even knowing the flimsy little latch won’t last very long. But hopefully it’ll give me enough time, and I bolt to the window to yank it open.
At first, it won’t budge. The wood groans, protesting this foreign motion, and my arms burn as I shove and push on my tiptoes.
I will not die in a bathroom of a movie theater, goddamn it.
With a sudden creak of protest that could peel paint, the window finally jerks open, pulling a gasp of relieved surprise from my throat that’s cut off by the shaking and twisting of the bathroom doorknob.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” the man snarls, resorting to banging on the door. “I should’ve killed you in the fucking desert. You goddamn—”
I tune him out as best as I can. With shaking hands, I shove the screen out of the window, sending it clattering to the ground below. This is such an awful idea, and I’ve never in my life wanted to dive from a second-story window before.
With my luck, I’m going to break a few crucial bones.
Like my neck.
I’ve just hoisted myself up onto the sill, with my shoulders and head in the cool night air, when the door suddenly bursts open and off its hinges.
I barely have time to panic, let alone brace, before I’m dragged back inside by a hand in my hair that rips hard enough to pull a ragged scream from my throat.
But the scream doesn’t last long either once I’m thrown into the heavy porcelain sink.
The man cracks my head against it, causing me to stumble, and as my hands hit the carpet on the other side of the splintered door, I can feel a hot trickle run down my skin that has to be blood, though I’m too dazed to think about what that means.
Instead, I can only stare at the once neon, now faded patterns on the carpet and blink my watering eyes.
A hand clamps onto my ankle again, and he throws me onto my back so hard my head bounces off the carpet, only adding to my headache. It also gives me my first look at this man, whose face I barely recognize from that night back when all this started.
“Now,” he pants, grinning. “You’re not safe in some farmhouse anymore, little bitch.
” He spits on me. Literally spits on me, his saliva hitting my face.
“And it’s time you pay for what you did to my brother.
” Slowly, like he’s savoring the moment, the man unsnaps the holster on his hip and pulls out a wickedly sharp, serrated knife.
For the life of me, all I can think is one stupid thought as he steps closer to loom over me.
This is really going to hurt.