Games of Fire (62 page)

“I never wanted to hurt you, Joe,” she murmured honestly. “You know I would never do that. I just never saw you—”

“But you see me now, don’t you? And soon, you’ll see just how much you love me. I’ll be patient. I waited all these years, a little more time won’t hurt.”

He left then, taking the candle with him, but leaving her fastened to the bed.

The shelf bracket wobbled, not fully ejected from the wall, but the cement around it had begun to give way, falling in gray dust to the floor, which she quickly spread around whenever Joe visited her. But during the mornings when he was off to school—keeping up appearances—she pushed and pulled against the bar, putting all her weight into it, disjoining it from its concrete confines. Sweat coated her skin, gelling into place along her spine and brow. Her breathing puffed with every effort. It was so close.

With a final shove, the bar snapped off the wall. The screws cluttered to the floor, rolling beneath the bed. Sophie stared at the weapon in her bleeding hands and gave a small laugh. She got it!

Quickly, she balanced the shelf and bears on the remaining two brackets and took hers to the bed where she tucked it beneath her pillow. She hurried back to the shelf and used her foot to spread the small pile of concrete dust, nudging most of it beneath the bed and bookshelf. She wiped her hands on the underside of the blanket.

Then, she sat and waited
and thought about home. She thought about her mother curled up on the sofa with her novels. She thought about her father and his horrible jokes. She thought of Lauren with her sharp wit and Jessie with her beautiful heart. She thought of Mark and Janice and Jackie. She thought of Suzy and Jamie and Aimee. She thought of Brian and Roy. She thought of everyone but Spencer. She couldn’t let herself think of him. She couldn’t let herself picture him when it killed her not to know what she was escaping back to. What if he was dead? What if he was gone? What if he was alive and had moved on? What if he’d forgotten about her?

Hysteria pulsed at her temples. She closed her eyes and focused again on her mother’s face, her father’s. She went back
through the motions, willing herself to believe she could do it, tattooing the determination to her chest, a badge of insistence. She would be free. She would return to her family. She would see her parents again and she would apologize, because everything they’d gone through, every second of pain and terror, it was her fault. She brought this nightmare down on their heads. She’d been nothing but selfish and shallow every minute of her life and it took this moment for her to realize it. It took her getting locked up and tortured to see that her life had been perfect. She had a mother who understood her, a father who would do anything to protect her and friends who were there at the press of a button. But she had never seen it. It had all been cast aside, taken for granted.

Never again!
She vowed. She would escape. She would go home and she would make everything better.

“You’re quiet.”

Sophie moved her pile of scrambled eggs from one side of the plate to the other with her fork.

“Are the eggs too salty?”

She gave a slight shake of her head.

Joe’s hand came up and lightly pressed into her brow. “Are you coming down with something?”

You!

“I’m fine.”

“Hey.” He rubbed her thigh lightly, making her draw her leg away. “Are you still upset with me about the shower incident? I think we can agree we both made mistakes.”

She fought hard not to shove the red welts around her wrist into his face from being tied to the bed all night. “You’re going to be late for school,” she muttered instead.

He sighed. “Well, eat up and I’ll clean up your dishes.”

She pushed the plate towards him. “I’m not hungry.”

“Sophie
…” He stopped himself from whatever he was about to say, shook his head. “I’ll bring down a snack for when you get hungry later and some lunch, okay?”

She said nothing as he gathered up the dishes and rose with the tray in hand. He left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

This was it. This was her chance. She needed to act now or she may never get another. Her heart went wild in her chest as she fished beneath the pillow for her weapon. Sweat slicked her fingers as she gripped it tightly with the flat, dangerous end up and moved to stand up against the wall behind the door. Her stomach shuddered, threatening to liquefy as every second passed with agonizingly slow speed. Hot and cold shivers shot down her spine. She held her breath, counting the seconds, debating her decision, wondering if she had the strength to hit, possibly kill someone. Could she take a life even to save her own? Could she kill Joe?

Everything in her, the rage and anger, screamed yes! That she was strong and she wouldn’t go down with
out a fight, but her hands shook. Tears burned behind her eyes, blinding her. She blinked them back, scolding herself for not focusing. It was either her or him and she wasn’t going to put up with being weak.

When the keys jingled on the other side, Sophie nearly froze. Her heart nearly crashed free of her ribs and she was certain she may have soiled herself a little. But she held her ground, held her breath, held her stance, biding every second until the door groaned open.

You can do this, Sophie! Think of your parents. Think of Lauren and Jessie. Think of Spencer!

Yes. She could do this. She could. She was going home!

Swinging the bracket over her shoulder and pushing pointers of her days in little league to the front of her mind, she waited, counting each breath. When Joe stepped into view, she didn’t hesitate.

She swung.

Blood sprayed, hot and sticky from where the sharp edge of the bracket cracked into Joe’s forehead. His howl of pain barely registered. The food he carried tumbled forgotten on the floor at their feet. Sophie swung again and again, bringing her weapon down on his head, his back and shoulders, anywhere she could reach with every ounce of strength in her. She struck him until he was flat on his face, surrounded in a pool of his own blood and strewn sandwich pieces.

Bar still wet in hand, wet with her sweat and his blood, Sophie snatched up the keys that had fallen from his grasp and ran. Her heart pounded the soundtrack of her escape as she plowed down the corridor to the end. Her feet never hesitated, plunging into the dark towards the stairway across the room. They slipped on the wood and she was half running, half crawling to the open door at the top. Below, she heard a groan and she sobbed, throwing herself through the door. Not pausing, not even to glance back, she slammed it closed behind her and flipped the little switch, locking it behind her. Trembling from head to toe, she shoved a bookcase in front of the door, then an armchair and turned to the room.

Everything from the soft, green paint on the walls to the worn furniture punched her in the gut as memories of sitting in that room with Joe and doing her homework flooded her mind. She swung her gaze wildly around, horrified to realize that all that time, all those hours and months in captivity and she was in his basement. The basement of his house! The house she’d been in a hundred times.

Repelling the urge to vomit, she hurried into the kitchen just off the living room and nearly screamed when she saw the figure standing by the sink, looking out the window. The woman Sophie recognized as Heather Blake never glanced up, never moved. She stared at some world only she could see. She didn’t try to stop Sophie when she ran for the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” a female operator asked.

“My name is Sophia Valdez,” Sophie said hurriedly, fighting back sobs. “I was kidnapped by Joe
… Joseph Blake three, maybe four months ago. I’m at 5264 Brooklyn Road. Please … help me!”

“Okay, where is he now?” No sooner had the question been posed when a loud bang split the air.

Sophie screamed out of reflex. “Hurry! He’s coming! He’s—”

Another thud and she realized he was slamming his body into the door.

“Miss, stay on the line! Stay with me! Officers are—”

“Sophie!” Joe’s voice sounded hollow from the other side of the door. “Sophie, please. I’m hurt. Help me!”

“He’s coming!” she panted into the phone, head rushing with fear and adrenaline.

“Who are you talking to?” he sounded angry now. “Who did you call? Answer me, Sophie!”

“Miss? Talk to me! What’s happening?”

The phone had already stuck the linoleum as Sophie replaced the receiver
with the knife from the block on the counter. Her hand shook as she backed out of the kitchen towards the front door. No way was she going to wait for him to break through that door. The police would never make it in time. Her back struck the corner of the table and something shattered behind her, slicing her heel. Sophie swore, spinning around to glower at the empty fruit bowl now in jagged shards all over the filthy floor.

From the other room, wood splintered as Joe broke through her barricade. She didn’t stop to consider her next course of action. She leapt over the debris and ran out the front door.

Joe’s neighborhood was a patchwork of rundown homes with a wasteland of broken car parts making up the lawns. Hungry eyes peered from behind grimy windows, watching, but never making an effort to help anyone without a price. They were the vultures of the human world. They had never bothered Sophie before, but their ignorance now to her desperate screams, enraged her. It didn’t seem to matter to them that she was a young girl, clearly wounded, covered in blood and begging for help. They sat and watched, making no attempts to even conceal their interest.

She stopped screaming. She ran. She ran towards the miles of brush making up the park that led to the playground Spencer had taken her to many nights ago. Her bare feet pounded on raw concrete, sending slivers of pain slicing up her legs. Her breathing blew out in a way she knew was going to slow her down, but she couldn’t seem to control it above the need to escape. Even before the first stab of pain shot into her side, she knew she was slowing down. The cramp nearly doubled her over on the path. Her gaze swept franticly for some signs of life, of someone that could help her, a place she could rest or hide. But the park lay vast and empty.

“Sophie!” The voice carved into her very soul like a hot knife through butter. Even as she whipped around, she knew he had somehow caught up to her.

Bloody, looking more monster than human, Joe staggered after her. A larg
e portion of his face was peeled away, like a melted candle, exposing a slash of bone. His hair was matted and his jeans and white t-shirt were painted a ghastly red. He looked horrifying.

Sophie turned and bolted, ignoring his shouts for her to stop, to hear him out. She tried to ignore the stitch in her side, twisting as if the knife were sinking into her again and again. Every breath clawed down her chest in jagged shards, slicing her lungs open, but she pushed, half sprinting, half stumbling.

It was because of her inability to run anymore that he caught her. His arms swung around her shoulders, trapping her arms to her sides. They both nearly hit the ground as his weight came crashing down on her back.

“Let me explain!” he begged. “I love you!”

Sophie screamed, thrashing and kicking, trying to stomp on his feet.

“Sophie! Listen!” he growled, his anger lacing the words.

“Help! Help me!” she wailed at the top of her lungs.

His hand, filthy and sticky with sweat and blood clamped down over her mouth. “Shut up! Shut up, Sophie! You’re being stupid!”

“Hey!” The third voice could have been sent from heaven. It shattered the moment like the descent of an angel. “Get your fucking hands off her!”

Joe’s arms slipped from around her. Without his support keeping her up, Sophie tumbled to the ground. The knife cluttered from her hand as she twisted around just in time to hear the revolting
cling
of metal striking flesh and see Joe’s head whip back as the baseball bat cracked into his face. His body soared back a second later as gravity pulled it in the direction of his crushed skull. He landed with a sickening thud several feet away in a crumpled heap, not moving.

Sophie stared, unable to do anything else.
Even her tears had deserted her.

Then a figure moved in front of her, blocking her view of her best friend’s broken body.
Strong, familiar arms surrounded her. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Sophie had no idea how she got to the hospital. She had no idea who brought her there. She had no idea how to move or think or talk. She sat, paralyzed as the world spun around her. Faces, lights and sounds blurred like she was on some carnival ride she hadn’t asked to be on. People spoke to her, voices urgent, questions pressing, but all she could think was
…
free
. She was finally free.

Something was beeping, a slow, steady rhythm that was almost soothing when Sophie began to surface from the murky world of her dreams. The air smelled of antiseptic, pine cleaner, medication and … French fries? There were hushed voices from somewhere nearby, the scuffle of moving bodies. Someone was crying. Their soft sniffles were what had her peeling her eyelids open.