The Detour (13 page)

I bit my lower lip and tried to keep my hands from trembling.

Should I do it?

Worst-case scenario if I screwed up again? She hurts me, maybe a lot, takes away my weapon, and … what else? What more could she do?

Restrain me somehow. Tie me up.

I fought back a shudder as I remembered the gag in my mouth.

Being trapped in the basement was bad enough, but at least I was free to move around. If I had to be down there and be tied up, maybe even gagged again? I would lose it.

I couldn't take that chance.

Slowly I slid my hand beside my thigh and over the edge to stow my weapon.

“This is your entire fault!”

That stunned me. “What?” As I turned to look up at her, I lost hold of the strip. My salvation fell to the floor, landing silently beside my foot. My heart stopped.

Don't look at it, don't look at it.

I quickly stood up and stepped on the metal and cardboard, covering it with my foot. I held out my palm in submission. “I'm sorry for whatever I did, okay?” All I needed to do was stay there until she left. That's all. Keep it covered, and she would never know.

Peg stepped back and set a hand on the post at the end of the bed. “Not good enough.” She shook her head. “Not nearly good enough.”

She grabbed my wrist and yanked. I stumbled forward, stepping off the one thing that I was trying to keep hidden.

I didn't dare look back. The blade was behind me, completely out in the open. I had to get her away from that side of the bed. So I did the first thing that came to mind. Stupid, maybe, but I was desperate, and it had to be done.

With my good arm, I shoved her as hard as I could.

Peg stumbled back a step. Her hair fell over her eyes, which narrowed at me.

What was I thinking? A little metal strip against this walking, talking, raging grudge bitch?

Peg raised her arm, and I covered my face with my good one. “Don't!” I yelled.

She grabbed my arm, pinching hard with her fingers. I yelped. She pushed down, forcing me to my knees. I dropped, and then fell over on my right side. If she looked past me, she'd see the metal strip lying on the floor. She'd see it and grab it and probably use it on me.

Quickly, I righted myself and scooted a few feet away, toward the other side of the bed.
Please follow me, please follow me.

She did. With two long strides, she was at my side, away from where she could see my weapon.

I sat up. All I needed was to placate her enough so that she'd leave. Then everything would be okay. I'd try again another time.

Peg kicked me in the stomach.

I doubled over and clutched my midsection, gasping. My mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. But I was unable to take a breath. I fell on my side and waited for my paralyzed solar plexus to relax, let me have oxygen.

Peg leaned down over me. Her face was red, eyes wide and wild. She held up one fist.

My eyes teared up, blurring her face. But not her words.

“Don't mess with me, sweetheart. You got it?”

I lay there, unable to breathe or move or think.

She grabbed a handful of my hair. With it, she pulled me up off the floor about half a foot. I cried out, except that I had no breath at the moment, so there was only a squeak.

“Got it?” she asked.

I nodded as best I could with her clenching my hair. Apparently the movement was a close enough approximation to a nod because she let me go.

I fell back to the floor, still holding my stomach as the first tiny gasp of air began to come through.

“Enjoy your pizza.” She left and slammed the door.

Click!

If I had a breath, I would have sighed with relief. But all I could do for the moment was stare up at the ceiling and let the tears leak out of my eyes.

 

{16}

AS SOON AS
my breath came back, I got up and tightened my sling. Then I knelt beside the bed. With a trembling hand, I picked up the strip of cardboard and metal and slid it back into the gap between mattress and box spring. I lay my palm out flat over the spot and pressed my forehead to it. “Thank you.”

Wiping away stray tears, I got up on the bed and grabbed a slice of pizza. I stuffed the end of the triangle into my mouth and bit off a huge piece. I chewed loudly, my mouth open. The crust was thin and brittle; cheese, nearly tasteless; the pepperoni, greasy. Obviously some cheap frozen brand.

Also definitely the best thing I'd ever tasted in my life.

I swallowed and took another bite, chewing with my eyes closed, savoring every minute. That piece was gone quickly. I reached for another. On the third slice, I slowed down a bit and paused halfway through.

“This is your last piece. You need to save the rest.”

I didn't want to. Not really. But I needed to listen to myself.

Who knew when she'd feed me again?

Doughnuts and pizza in the same day was encouraging, but maybe they only fed their captives on Sundays. If so, then I was pretty freaking lucky I rolled my car on a Friday.

A door slammed overhead.

I took a bite and listened as I chewed.

A car door shut. Only one. Engine started, tires crunching on gravel.

Peg left. Alone.

I swallowed.

Flute Girl was upstairs. She better stay up there and not bother me. I took the last bite of that piece of pizza. Then I went into the bathroom and took a long drink. When I came out, tires crunched the gravel.

I sat back down on the bed.

Upstairs, a door banged and Flute Girl screeched, but in a happy way. Footsteps ran across the floor. Why was she so happy to see her mom?

I bit my lip. Unless it wasn't her mom.

And then I heard a male voice. Footsteps on the stairs. One set light, quick. Flute Girl.

But the other was heavy, slower. Who was it? And what did he want?

My heartbeat sped up, and my hands began to tremble. Should I stay where I was? In reach of my weapon?

No. It would be useless with two people there.

Should I go into the bathroom and try to barricade the door?

Their voices were outside the basement door. Maybe they didn't even have the key to the padlock. Maybe Peg took it with her. They couldn't get in without the key.

Click!

I slid off the bed and ran toward the bathroom, thankful for the sling containing my bad arm close to my side so it didn't get jarred too much. I slipped inside the bathroom and shut the door the second the other squeaked open.

“So where is she?”

I sucked in a breath.

That voice. I knew it. Peg's cousin
.

“I don't know. Somewhere.” Flute Girl.

“That door? Is that a bathroom?” he asked.

Had he never been down there before? How was that possible? If he did stuff for her, stuff he was
good
for, wouldn't he have been in the basement?

What would be the reason for him
not
being in the basement?

Maybe he only helped her do outdoor stuff.

Or else maybe she really did use the room to hold people hostage. Well, other people besides me.

The lock was on the outside. Maybe she just wanted to keep Flute Girl out.

Or maybe she didn't trust him in her house. That's why he hadn't been down there.

Bam!

I jumped as something hit the door.

“We know you're in there,” he said.

Bam!

“Might as well come out.”

I held my breath.

Then the knob turned, and the door started to open. I shoved back against it, but my feet slid across the floor. I lost my balance and slipped, landing on my butt.

The boy walked in and stood over me. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with some red Chinese symbols on it. His dark eyes slipped down my body, lingering.

My face burned.

His eyes slid back up to mine. He raised his eyebrows and held out a hand.

I didn't take it.

“Suit yourself.” He crossed his arms, shut the door, and leaned back against it.

I slid backward as far as possible, until my back bumped against the wall and my escape reluctantly came to a halt. My voice was breathy as I asked, “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” He laughed. “That's a fine way to treat a guy. What, no introductions? Because that's how this is supposed to work.” He set a hand on his chest. With that stupid smirk on his face and a falsetto voice he said, “Why, hello there. My name is Wesley. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Olivia.”

My name on his lips—in that weird voice—sent a shiver down my neck.

Wesley slid to a squat against the door, his faded jeans tightening around his solid thighs. His biceps grew more defined as he bent his arms and rested them on his legs. He looked wiry and strong. My only hope was that he was also stupid.

“You should be nicer to me.” He shrugged. “I mean, after all, we're already intimately acquainted.” His gaze slid to my crotch.

I shivered and blurted out, “Peg will be back soon. She won't like that you're down here with me.” I hoped that might make him think.

He tilted his head. “Hmmm…” Wesley raised a finger. “I need to correct you there. No, she actually won't be back for a while. Because this is Sunday, and that's the night she has her little rendezvous”—he pronounced it wrong,
ron-dezz-vooz
—“with Deputy Dawg.”

Ritchie. Peg was hooking up with Ritchie.
I bit my lip.

Wesley raised his eyebrows. “So, no. Sorry to disappoint you. She usually doesn't get home until after ten.” He smiled. “That gives us a few hours, at least.”

Sweat broke out on my upper lip. I didn't want him to see my hands tremble, so I held my bad arm, giving at least one of my hands something to do.

Where the hell was Flute Girl? She was so nosy. Why wasn't she in here, being a pain in the ass? Maybe I should keep him talking. He seemed like someone who liked to listen to himself.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Sixteen last month.”

Sixteen?
Sixteen?
How the hell did that much slime ooze out of a sixteen-year-old?

Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Let me in!”

Flute Girl. Thank God.

Wesley sighed and stood up, then opened the door a bit. Flute Girl stuck her head in. She was chewing something. She reached up and took a bite of the pizza in her hand.
My
pizza that I was saving for later.

“That's mine.” I couldn't help it, the words just shot out.

Flute Girl shoved her way in and leaned against Wesley. She batted her eyes at him, and then turned to me. “Why are you in here?”

“I think she was trying to hide from us.” Wesley gazed at me. “Isn't that right, Oh-liv-ee-aah?” He drew my name out long and slow, sending a fresh batch of shivers up my spine. “Are you trying to hide from us?”

“Maybe she thinks we'll beat her up.” Flute Girl laughed, her mouth full of my pizza.

Disgusted, I looked down at the discolored tile at the base of the toilet. How could I get them to go away? Ask, maybe? “Please leave me alone.”

“Alone?” Wesley mimicked me. “Alone? Why do you want to be alone? You've been alone down here this whole time.”

Flute Girl piped up. “We came in a couple times.”

“Oh well. Then Oh-liv-ee-uh must be good and lonely, huh? Are you lonely?” He walked over to me and nudged my foot with his bare toes. The feel of his skin on mine made goose bumps rise on my flesh. I bent my knees, getting my feet out of his reach. “Go away.”

He stepped closer and set his foot on top of one of mine. “I'm just being friendly. You should be friendly back.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.

I was helpless. I wanted him to leave. I wanted them both to leave.

“Don't.” I slapped at his foot with my right hand, and he jumped back.

Then he laughed. “Touchy little thing, aren't ya?”

Flute Girl laughed. “Yeah. She's touchy.”

God, she was a freak. And obviously in some weird kind of cousin love with Wesley.

She shoved the last of the pizza in her mouth and wiped her hands together. With her mouth full, she said, “My show is almost on.”

She started to go, then grabbed Wesley's hand and started to pull him. “Come on. You have to watch it with me.”

He shrugged at me. “You heard the little lady. She needs me to watch her show. Your loss.” He followed Flute Girl out the bathroom door, and then popped his head back in. “So you'll have to wait. But I promise, as soon as she goes to bed, I'll be back.” He disappeared.

The basement door shut.

Click!

I got up on my knees. I almost didn't reach the toilet in time to puke up all the pizza I'd eaten.

 

{17}

I CLEANED MYSELF
up and took a long drink of water. Huddling up in the bathroom and waiting like a frightened little rabbit for Wesley to come back didn't appeal to me, so I went and sat on the bed. My fingers itched to reach down and grab the weapon, have it at the ready.

I resisted the urge.

What if he came in with Flute Girl? He could easily overpower me while she made sure I didn't escape. No, part of the power of my weapon—a huge percentage, in fact—relied on the element of surprise. The shock of the slash, rather than the blow itself, would hopefully buy me a moment to get out the door. And it didn't work if Flute Girl was in the picture.

But I was torn. As long as Flute Girl was in the basement, nothing would happen. Wesley wouldn't hurt me with her there.

Would he?

Who was I kidding?

I was weak, he was strong. I was injured, he was whole.

Wesley could do anything he wanted to me. And because of that, I hoped Flute Girl would stick close, not let me be alone with him.