Chapter 56 Tick Tock
TICK TOCK
MOLLY
The hours blur together.
Somewhere in the back of the house, Scout yowls. Carlin locked her in the bathroom when she wouldn't stop hissing at him. At least she's safe there.
I have asked him every question I can think of to keep him talking.
Pretended I was hungry so he'd feed me. He cleaned the kitchen, and I asked him to do a few things around the house, like feed Scout.
Tidy up. Brought me the books, showed them to me, so happy to connect with me that for a while, he didn't even check his phone.
Through it all, he relayed his entire version of what happened, every little moment he "knew", every little signal I gave him that I never made, interpreting every interaction as proof.
And I have nodded. Listened. Never contradicted, but never agreeing either
But as time has worn on, with every check on Grey's location, he's grown more and more agitated. And I don't know what else to do.
My voice is hoarse and dry, hands sticky with blood from my restraints.
I'm out of time.
Carlin checks his phone again as he paces across my kitchen, raking a hand through his hair.
"Carlin, my wrists hurt," I croak. "Could you loosen these?" I shift to show him.
He pauses, his eyes flickering with concern when he sees them. But then he begins to pace again. "Not yet." I track him across the kitchen, back again. "I don't understand," he says half to himself. "You should know now. I've explained everything."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be difficult. I'm just scared. Confused."
His face is tight with worry when he meets my gaze, breaks his pacing to stride to me, dropping to his knees.
"Molly, tell me you love me so we can go. That's all I need to know--that you love me. Say the words, and this can all be over."
The temptation is so strong, I almost do it in the hopes I can escape him somehow between giving him what he wants and whatever method of transport he has planned. But I have to try and keep him here. Grey has to be close. He has to be.
I can't even think about what will happen when he gets here. I just hope he makes it in time.
I've waited too long to answer Carlin.
Instantly he's furious. "I have done everything right.
Why don't you see it? We're out of time.
" He shows me his phone, and my heart skips when I see Grey's truck so close, only a couple miles outside of Roseville.
But Carlin is going to take me before then, I know it.
Or worse. "See?" he says again, his eyes wild.
"I always know where you are. I've done all this to keep you safe, but you haven't even thanked me.
I come here and take care of things, make your life easier.
I've been here dozens of times, while you were sleeping, while you at work.
Not once have you noticed. Not once have you even cared. "
While I sleep. My skin crawls, every hair standing on end. I think of all the nights I felt watched, the doors I swore I locked, the things moved and tidied. It was him. The words leave me feeling violated, terrified.
"I have to take care of you." He reaches for my face, and I pray to god he's not going to kiss me.
"Carlin, I can take care of myself," I say gently.
"But you can't!" he spits, standing to loom over me.
"What about coach? He almost killed Wade, and he'd do worse.
But so can I. I'd do anything for you. Why don't you understand?
" He studies my face, and something in him shifts.
"You're never going to see it, are you?" The words are quiet, sad. "I thought…I really thought…"
"Carlin--"
The rise of his anger leaves me whiplashed. "Fine. Fine! Plan B it is."
He pulls a knife from his pocket.
"Please, think about this--"
"I have. I've thought about it a long time. It's time to go."
"Go where? You have a life here--"
A bitter laugh. "A life? Living with my fucking mom? No job, no prospects--you were supposed to be my life."
Through the back door window, I catch movement. My heart leaps.
Grey?
Carlin is busy raving, his pupils pinpricks, eyes ringed with white. He's not paying attention as the door opens so slowly.
Grey oh my god it's Grey--
But it's not Grey's face I find, but…Danny? The man from the baseball game, the one with the dog, my neighbor. Here? Why is he here?
It doesn't matter. He's here. Someone's here. I keep my eyes on Carlin, watching Danny in my periphery.
"I'll cut you free," Carlin's saying. "We'll take your car. Drive through the night. By morning, we'll be gone."
"You're not going anywhere with her." Danny's voice is strong, quiet, certain.
Carlin goes dead still, then turns, knife in his fist. "And who the fuck are you?"
"Get away from her," Danny says, calm but firm.
In his hand is Grey's hatchet. His face is weathered, voice husky like a smoker.
He's in a plaid shirt and Wranglers, no hat this time, but his hair's mussed like he just took it off.
I can see his eyes, and that familiarity hits me like the crack of a baseball bat.
Not just from around town. From somewhere deeper.
Somewhere I can't reach.
I know him. But I don't know how.
"I've seen you around," Danny says, "thought you were harmless. Listen to me, kid--you don't want to do this."
"You have no fucking clue what I want."
"Don't make a mistake that'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Let her go and get out of here and trust me. I know."
The weight in his words settles over me.
"Trust you? I don't know who you are."
The man glances at me, then back to Carlin. "I'm her father."
"What?" I blurt, confused. "My father's in Louisville--"
"Her real father," he says, his eyes still on Carlin. "And I'm not letting you take her."
Carlin roars, lunging with his knife, wild and desperate but untrained. Danny dodges him easily, swinging the hatchet as he backs up. He looks comfortable enough--he knows how to fight. But he's older, slower. He steps toward the knife block and pulls a carving knife, tossing the axe away.
"There, that's better."
Carlin charges him, but he shifts, grabbing Carlin's wrist, slamming it against the counter the knife clatters to the ground. Carlin's strength outmatches Danny’s skill, and Carlin breaks free, tackling the man, knocking his knife to the ground alongside his.
With Carlin distracted, I work frantically on the chair rungs. If I could just loosen one, I could pull the chair apart, all the spindles connected to--
The seat. If I break the seat, the whole thing comes apart.
With all my strength, I push off the floor, throwing both me and the chair to the ground.
The impact slams my shoulder into the hardwood, sending a shock of pain down my arm, but the rungs crack loose in the back, the legs busting apart.
I gash, winded, but I'm free. Free enough.
They're grappling, trying to get to a knife.
The man knees Carlin in the gut and elbows his face, doubling Carlin over.
He's bleeding from his nose and mouth, desperate.
The man is for a knife, and Carlin runs for him, tackling him to the ground as I hurry to slide my wrists painfully under my ass and unthread my legs so my hands are in front.
They knocked over the knife block, scattering them across the kitchen floor--I scramble for one as they wrestle.
I can't see what's happening until the man rolls over onto Carlin and grips him by the neck with both hands.
He's so intent on Carlin's face, he doesn't see Carlin blindly find a knife, not until it's sliding quietly into his side.
I scream.
He gasps when Carlin removes the knife, then he lists, sliding off Carlin, thumping against the cabinets.
Looks down at the blood, presses a hand to the wound.
Carlin scrambles to his feet, staring at the man, chest heaving.
He looks down at the bloody knife, back to the man.
But the man is watching me, eyes full of regret and apologies.
Carlin follows his gaze, shocked to see me standing, knife pointed at him in my bound hands.
He shifts, tightens. "Molly--"
"Don't come near me," I spit, trembling. The tip of the knife wobbles. I don't even know if I can effectively use it. But I'm going to try.
"Molly, we have to go." He's calm, slowly stepping toward me.
I back up, keeping space between us. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"
A flash of movement at the window again. The door opens.
Carlin turns.
It's my only chance to stop him. I have to stop him.
So I lunge.
The knife sinks into his lower back, easier than I expect.
So much worse than I imagined. It's like running into a wall, but the wall gives where the knife sinks into his flesh.
The knife handle is wet, the vibration of the impact shuddering through the bones of my hands and wrist and arm.
I can't let go. He pulls me forward with him when he staggers, and I pull away on instinct, the knife still locked in my fist, covered in his blood.
Carlin whips around, enraged. There's a flash of betrayal, pain. And then there's only rage.
He comes at me, rage on his face, hands outstretched, reaching for me.
His anger slackens to surprise. And then he's moving. But not toward me. Backward. Away.
Grey.
Grey is behind him, fury incarnate. He flings Carlin against the counter like a rag doll. Carlin barely registers what's happening before Grey has him again, slamming him to the ground. One punch--hard, precise, right where his jaw meets his skull.
Carlin goes limp.
My hands are shaking so hard, covered in blood, but I can't let go of the knife. I can't let it go. Blood drips from my hand and to the floor.
Grey's face snaps in my direction, and then he's on his feet, and then I'm in his arms.
Then I'm safe.