26. Chloe
26
CHLOE
I didn’t think waiting, and hearing nothing, would destroy me as much as it has for the last week. I’m on edge, ready to snap and yell at anyone who gets in my way or looks at me.
Audrey pokes her head out of her office before the last patient of the day is set to arrive.
“You know,” she says hesitantly. “I’ve got this one. Why don’t you head home.”
Already exhausted from not sleeping for the last week, I’m not about to argue with her. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her answering and dismissive wave is all I need to book it out of the office before she changes her mind.
I plan on going home and slipping into my pajamas, ready to shut out the rest of the world. As much as I love being around the other women and their kids, I need silence. I need that quiet to process what’s going on and how I feel. I even make it as far as my car and pull out my phone just in time for it to start ringing with an unknown number.
“Hello?” I answer immediately, hoping Ian found a way to call me from overseas.
“Hello, is this Chloe Young?” a young female voice speaks through the other end of the line.
“Yes.” My answer comes out rushed. “Yes, it is.”
Please, please have good news about Ian.
“Hi, Miss Young. I’m calling about your vehicle’s extended warranty. Do you have time to talk?”
I hang up without saying anything back to her. I’ve spent the last week answering every single call that comes in, no matter how late at night or early in the morning they come in. I haven’t had my phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ or silent at all. I’m at the point that hearing the ringtone is making my teeth clench. There have been more calls about my vehicle or about how I can have better cable television or about my outdated health insurance than I can handle. Yet every single time my phone rings, I still answer it because there is a possibility that it may be Ian. Or someone with news about Ian and Kevin.
As soon as I walk into my house, Poppy speaks up from the couch, not even surprising me with her presence. “What’s for dinner?”
“You know you have your own house,” I point out while rolling my eyes and sighing.
So much for being alone in the silence.
After dropping my purse on the coffee table, I plop down next to her on the couch.
“You love me and you know it.” Poppy leans over, resting her head on my shoulder. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to wait here and check on you before I go to work tonight.”
“Thanks, Poppy.”
Over the last week, more than anyone else, Poppy and I have bonded over a love of all things pizza. That and a good horror movie, which inevitably leads to the two of us camping out in the living room like we are teenagers and not closer to thirty than twenty. Adult sleepovers are a thing, and anyone who doesn’t agree can suck on a rotten potato.
“I don’t want to work tonight,” Poppy groans a few minutes later when she finally pushes off my couch. “I’m tired of all the pitiful looks from the rest of the deputies. And Emma had to threaten to quit to get them to get off her back. I literally don’t want to do this right now.”
Her reluctance is understandable. I haven’t gone into a grocery store all week. It is too hard. Too many people stop me, interrupting my already distracted train of thought to offer their apologies. One person even demanded that I get down on my knees with them and pray for Ian and Kevin’s safe return. Life is awkward enough, but having our city lose its mind while I’m trying to hold it together honestly isn’t doing me any favors.
“I shouldn’t have given them all my junk food,” I tell her when she follows me into the kitchen. “And I don’t want to go out to get more.” With a sigh, I close the almost-empty fridge. “Guess I’m going to McDonald’s or something.”
“Don’t sound so put out.” Poppy rolls her eyes. “Drive down to Alta’s Takeout. She’s gotta be missing her son. She’ll feed you.”
Poppy is a genius. Except I don’t want tacos. I want a cheeseburger and fries. And maybe some chicken nuggets I can dip in ranch or something.
When the other woman leaves, I climb into Kevin’s car and drive through Birch, practically salivating over my cheeseburger thoughts.
Life feels like it has practically come to a screeching halt in the last week, and getting something greasy yet delicious sounds like just the thing I need to break out of my funk. That, and I really don’t want to step foot in the grocery store. Not yet.
I honestly think I’ll be able to sneak into town and eat my food in the parking lot without being seen. But I’m wrong. At least three people I know stop and tap on my window, trying to get me to talk. Instead, I wave my sandwich at them and turn away, trying not to burst into frustrated tears.
This.
Their constant need to butt into my business and my feelings is the reason I’m not leaving my house unless absolutely necessary. And if I wasn’t so hungry, I wouldn’t have parked and started eating.
As fast as I can without making myself sick, I finish the first part of my meal and pull out of the parking lot, heading back toward the other side of town. At least I still have three more sandwiches and a bunch of nuggets to get me through the night. I can put in a grocery pickup order and get that taken care of after I get some rest.
The traffic light turns green, and I’m almost home where I can curl up on the couch and watch the latest movie that Poppy and I picked out.
My phone rings, and I glance at the mount to see that it’s a foreign number.
“Ian.” I smile and reach for the button to answer the call.
Someone slams into the passenger side of the car, shoving me across the road and up against a massive tree that sits on the edge of the sidewalk. My head hits the glass, bouncing, and I manage to drag my hands over my face before I hit the steering wheel. Metal screams and bends around me.
The nuggets go flying.
There aren’t any airbags to deploy.
Nothing to save me.
The metal siding of the car slams into my body with enough force to rock me back and to the other side, forcing the air from my body in a painful whoosh .
Somewhere in the distance, a horn is honking, and dust is starting to settle on my face, but I can’t open my eyes.
I can’t move.
I can’t call for help.
I groan with agony when I try to shift so that I can unbuckle myself. I can’t even lift my right arm at all, and my left is pinned next to something hot.
Is the tree on fire?
No. It can’t be.
My hairline stings, and a thin wet line drips down next to my still-closed eyes.
“Chloe.” Someone calls out for me, but I can’t answer. Can’t tell them I’m still alive. “Shit.” The curse doesn’t come from me, but whoever calls out my name. “You gotta move. Come on.” There is a grunt, and then I’m shifting over the passenger seat of the car and out onto the street, where the road scrapes against my already-raw body.
Shards of pain pierce my side and arm as I’m pulled up and onto unsteady feet. Unable to fight it, I fall forward and start to throw up. Every piece of the sandwich comes back up with a ferocity that scares me and makes everything hurt ten times worse.
“I got it,” they huff. The next thing I know, they are dragging me up and away, pulling my hair roughly. “Don’t do that shit again.”
I can’t answer. Can’t do anything but stumble along, trying not to throw up again from the pain, hoping that I don’t pass out before help comes. There are shadows spinning around me, dancing with the lights behind my eyes, making it impossible to focus on what is happening.
“Get in.” They press against my back, and another stab of pain courses through me as I realize they are using a gun to get me moving.
Not that I can fight back anyway. I can’t even keep my eyes open for more than a second at a time. Still, I can feel my body fighting back, trying to preserve my life for as long as possible.
I must have listened though, or they hit me with the gun, because I’m not sitting up anymore, but lying flat on my back in the back seat of a car the next time I open my eyes.
“Holy shit. How much did you give her?” The question goes unanswered, and I don’t understand who was given what.
We are speeding away from the crash. I open my eyes to see the buildings of the city rushing by.
“Why didn’t you just listen?”
My head slumps to the side, and even when I try to open my mouth, nothing comes out. No plea for help like I want.
“I wanted to warn you. I tried to tell you to back off. But you didn’t listen. You just got in the way and then chased him away. I knew you would. I should have fixed you before but I couldn’t get close enough.”
“Wha—?”
Glass shards drag against my vocal cords, bringing excruciating pain when I try to answer.
“Stupid. So stupid. But that’s okay. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Managing to open one eye, I have to blink to clear the blood that is steadily leaking down my face. The driver turns away, and I can’t see their face.
“I’ll take care of it,” they go on. “I’ll make sure it’s fine. Just like before. Everything will be fine.”
As we pass through Birch, going too far to be heading to the hospital, I groan in pain and the realization that I’ve done something very stupid without even knowing it.
They’re crazy .
“Should have stayed away. I said to stay away. But no one listens to me.”
My pulse still throbs in my ears, and the effect of being slammed up against the inside of the car and the glass from the collision don’t make it any easier to tell who it is that has gone all Misery on me.
There is something very wrong with my right arm. I can’t feel my fingers. Can’t get my body to respond to the bone-jarring panic in my veins.
“I’m going to fix it.”
We turn right, heading down onto a dirt road. From out the back window of the vehicle, I can see trees, which don’t help me. We live in Maine. Half the state is trees. And I don’t see any buildings as we go by, which means I’m alone. Heading into the wilderness. With someone who is talking about fixing me.
They want to kill me. Otherwise, they would have gone for help or called 9-1-1 or even dropped me off at the hospital.
I’m alone.
No one knows where I am.
No one knows where I’ve gone.
No one is expecting me home.
They won’t know to look for me until it is too late.
They’ll find the wreck and assume the driver went to the hospital.
Fuck.
I wrecked Kevin’s car. His pride and joy.
My lips lift in a painful smile as I think about the look on his face when he finds out. Maybe he’ll forgive me for breaking his baby. Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll get a new one after I’m gone.
Because even if I can’t see clearly to fight or hear enough to know exactly what is happening, I’m not that stupid.
I am going to die.
Either from the injuries from the car accident, the ones digging into my bones and making it hard to breathe through the pain. The ones I can feel dragging my body into a numb state of shock. I’m going to die from the pain. It is either that or the monster who threw me into the back seat and talks about fixing me.
My head falls down to the leather seat, and blood leaks from the corner of my mouth down my chin until it’s dripping onto my skin. Out the window I swear I see Kevin’s smiling face. Beckoning. Calling out to me.
I try. So hard. Just need to keep my eyes open.
But they drift shut, and I feel my heart slowing down.
I feel the shock settle in, and I know.
I am dying.
Don’t let Ian be the one to find my body.