Jerkbait (19 page)

I took a picture of the pile of collected hats and sent it to Robbie with the text:
Seems like Betterby just got us in the playoffs.

No answer.

He could be busy, but as my screen stayed continually blank, I realized the twist in my gut was still there. Filling in for Robbie hadn’t made it go away. My body was like ice beneath my flushed skin.

Where are you?
I texted.

I tried to wait. But didn’t. I texted again:
Answer so I know you’re okay.

Nothing.

I called. Straight to voicemail. “I swear to God, if you kill yourself, you fucking coward—” I hung up before finishing my sentence. I didn’t sound angry. My voice shook, like I was on the verge of tears.

“Robbie okay?”

I glanced up to see Raiden in front of me, towel around his waist, brow furrowed. I shook my head. “He’s not answering my texts. Phone’s off.”

“Could be blowing off steam if it was as bad as you said it was.”

“
I guess,” I said, though my hand gripped my phone tighter. Raiden didn’t leave, shifting uncomfortably, waiting for me to speak. I pulled on a turtleneck. “You know he likes you.”

“I don’t—”

“You
know
he does.”

I waited for Raiden to deny it, to go into some sort of tangent about how it wasn’t possible. But he didn’t even bother. “I’m straight. I mean, like, really.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you’re immune to feelings.”

Raiden was quiet for a few moments.
“You know, Robbie was right. You really are chill as hell. I see why he respects you so much.” He took a breath. “Do me a favor and tell him to call me later?”

“I will, once I find him.”

“Find who?”

We turned as Beau walked out of the showers. Immediately, Raiden’s face paled. If Beau had heard anything, his face didn’t betray a single hint.

“Robbie’s phone’s off,” I said. “I know he said he wasn’t going to the game, but I just want to know where he is.”

“I saw him earlier.” Beau said. “He came in with his stuff. Was all set, then he got a text. Promised he’d be right back. I think he was trying to get someone into the game to watch.”

I froze. “. . . wait, he what? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t coming back until you showed up and said all that shit about the suicides and stuff.”

I scrolled up through the texts I sent to the last exchange. Before I could stop him, Raiden plucked the phone from my hand. He became rigid.

“That’s not Robbie.”

“What?” I asked.

“Robbie wouldn’t give a two-word answer. He never shuts up, in person
or
in text.”

My chest became tight.
“Oh my God . . .” I shoved the rest of Robbie’s things into his hockey bag. “I have to find him. Shit.”

“You think he’s missing?” Raiden asked, voice pinched.

“He’s been chatting with this guy online. He wanted to run off with him before. Or maybe he . . . I just—I can feel it, okay? I can feel that something’s not right.”

“What’s going on?” Durrell approached.

“I gotta go.” I grabbed Robbie’s bag and slung it over my shoulder.

“We’ll look for him,” Raiden blurted. He glanced at Durrell, then Beau. “
Right? Tristan thinks Robbie’s missing. Like maybe he’s in trouble, or . . . he’s hurt himself.”

Durrell frowned. “We’ll look,” he said. “We’ll all look, block off areas. Whatever else has happened, he’s still our teammate.”

Robbie would be pissed as hell once he found out I told them about the suicides, but I didn’t care. If he was pissed, that meant he was alive. “Text me if you find anything. Thanks.” I didn’t wait for a reply as I ran out, Robbie’s bag over my back.

My parents were waiting near the locker room doors as the crowds filed out. At first glance, Dad grinned when he saw me, but soon that faded.

“Tristan?” he asked as he walked close. “What are you doing with Robbie’s stuff?”

I slowed.
“He’s missing.”

“What do you mean?”

Now or never. “He’s missing. I took his place on the ice. Only realized when I got back that he was gone for real.”

I waited for the inevitable. The freak out, the excuses, the everything. But instead, Dad said the words I needed to hear: “We have to go to the police.”

33

I
wasn’t sure what I was looking for as I rummaged through Robbie’s room. Downstairs, Dad was yelling at the police on the phone. Robbie was eighteen and he sent a text that said he wasn’t coming. The cops wouldn’t do anything for at least seventy-two hours. I tried to tune out the noise as I looked through Robbie’s things. There was nothing in the pile of clothes, the mattress. Nothing usual. Even the piece of paper he kept under his pillow with the phone calls from NHL teams was there, untouched.

I looked at his computer. He’d kill me. He’d absolutely
kill
me.

But someone went to see Robbie play.

And Robbie didn’t play.

I booted up the computer and looked around his hard drive but I didn’t find anything. Then I logged in to his Facebook using the password:
margarine16.
Nothing on his timeline.

I clicked on the messages, and my blood went cold.

There were thousands of messages with Jimmy—including details of the game, Robbie promising he’d win for Jimmy. He wouldn’t have time to hang out before, but would get him the seat, and afterward he’d get an excuse so they could hang out, alone.

There was a link to something on Google Drive. I clicked on it. It was password protected. It was a long shot that someone would have the same password for both, but I typed in
margarine16
anyway.

Immediately, I wished I hadn’t.

There were pictures. So many pictures, mostly taken in our bathroom. Robbie with the fake piercing, sticking his tongue out. Robbie without his shirt, flexing his muscles. Dick pics. A video I was smart enough not to play.

Downstairs, my parents had started arguing with each other instead. I pulled out my cell and sent a text to Durrell.
On my way.

An immediate response,
Find anything?

I hesitated as I looked at the computer, then typed back.
Yeah. Tell you when I get there.

I jogged downstairs. Dad sat on the couch with his head in his hands. Mom looked up at me, eyes glassy and dazed.

“I’m looking for him,” I said, answering her unasked question. “All of the guys on the team are. He said something about Philly before, so I thought maybe I’d look around there.” I’d watched enough crime shows to know that the first forty-eight hours were the most crucial in finding a missing person or solving a crime. Seventy-two hours might be too late.

Dad didn’t ask me how I knew. “Lynn, you stay here in case Robbie comes home. Call if anything happens.” He stood and nodded. “I’ll follow behind you. We’ll cover more ground if we drive separate.”

If it were any other time, it would have been almost warm. In the midst of tragedy, we were becoming a family.

34

O
f course, it had to snow.

The windshield wipers on my old car flapped against the slush as I drove on at a crawling pace. The entire team, Dad, even Keisha and Craig, were out looking for Robbie. Going through Robbie and Jimmy’s messages, there were definitely references to Philadelphia, but Philly was huge. It was a long shot that we’d find him, but we had nothing else to go on.

Durrell divided everyone up in different zones. The underclassmen on the hockey team, who didn’t have their licenses, stayed local and asked around in case anyone who would recognize Robbie had seen him. The rest of us had cars, and we figured we’d cover more ground driving separately.

I was on the outskirts of the city, about a half-hour into Pennsylvania. I hadn’t actually seen a house in over a mile. Nothing there really, just a few bare trees straining in the oncoming storm. I was pushed forward by nothing more than gut feeling. My phone was nearly dead thanks to the constant stream of relayed calls, and I was getting low on gas too, but I couldn’t turn around yet. I had to find Robbie. I felt, maybe irrationally, that I was the only one who
could
find him.

The wind gusted hard and my hands jerked on the wheel, causing the tires to briefly catch and slide along the fresh snow. I squeezed the wheel as the car came to a stop, took a deep breath, then squinted into the glare of my headlights. There, almost completely hidden by trees, was a path. And suddenly, in my head, a vision.

I was moving. Floating. Outside of my body, I walked ahead, seeing through someone’s eyes. I tried to look to the side but couldn’t. My path was straight.

“. . . are you Jimmy?”

I recognized my brother’s voice, but it came from my lips.

I was barely conscious of turning my car off and stepping out, ignoring the snow that collected around my boots.
Robbie.

He was alive.

Using my iPhone as a light, I walked down the path, tripping through the snow, not sure where I was going, but sure I was going the right way.

“Robbie! I’m so thrilled to meet you.”

I stepped back. Robbie’s hand—my hand?—drew back and tucked into his side. “You don’t look anything like your picture.”

“And you look a hell of a lot older than fifteen.”

“I told you, I’m eighteen.”

I kept my head low as I forced myself forward. In the distance, there was a broken-down house. I picked up my pace, ignoring my chattering teeth. The light on my phone used the last of its battery and I had to stumble the rest of the way in the dark. I walked up to the house, wondering if I should knock when that pull came again, tugging me around to the side. I peered in through a window—everything was dark. I pressed against it and it slid open. With a grunt and hop, I had the sill under my arms and forced my way through. The second my feet touched ground, there was warmth.

I closed my eyes. Come on, Robbie. Where are you?

“Your profile seemed like a kid’s. I thought you were just lying to use a site like that.”

“The hell? That’
s sick.”

I went up the stairs, not sure whether to creep or speed up. At the top, there was only one room. Its door was closed. I pulled it open and staggered back.

My brother was on the floor, tied up. A gag was forced into his mouth. His face was bruised, a little cut up. Through his lip where he normally wore his fake piercing was a piece of jerk bait, blood dried around the hole where the hook was forced in.

I dove on the floor and tore at the knots on his legs first. My brother made some sort of muted cry and I lifted my head. His eyes widened, fixed on something over my shoulder. Before I could turn, it crashed down hard on my head, sending me face down on the floor.

“I think you should leave.” My vision shook as Robbie turned. He didn’t get far before his body lit up. A searing pain by his side. My side. A brief paralysis.

A taser.

The man leaned down. In our ear, he whispered, “Get in the fucking car.”

And everything went black.

35

T
ristan.

I floated over rooftops. I saw the houses below, the streets, the snow on the ground. Ice. It was so cold. Goosebumps broke out over my body. Sweat was thick, slick on my back, slipping down my spine.

Tristan!

Something was tugging me down to Earth. It clung to my wrists, my ankles. Slithered around like snakes. Living shackles. I was too tired to fight the pull of gravity. Submitted to some sort of unknown.

Tristan! Tristan! Oh God, Tristan, please wake up.

A distant light ship. Lightning on the bay. Sinking into the sea where the dolphin people were. Deeper, deeper, a dolphin person above me attached to a piece of jerkbait. Deeper, deeper, as I was sucked into the open mouth of an oyster. But that wasn’t right. That couldn’t have been right.

Tristan! Tristan!

The ocean disappeared around me. Fat raindrops landed on my face. An earthquake. No, a tsunami.

Tristan! Tristan! Wake the hell up or I swear to God I’ll beat your face in!

I blinked opened my eyes. They stung from salt. My mouth was sore by the corners. I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t.

Tristan! Please wake up! PLEASE!

I turned my head, blurry eyes slowly adjusting. The room pulsed:
dark, light, dark, light, light, dark, dark, dark
. The first thing that came into focus was my brother, sitting next to me, gagged and tied with rope, hand barely able to grip mine, but soon that blurred too, like I was watching him through a heat wave in the desert.

I lowered my head and tried to move. I was tied up, just like him. Gagged as well. My heavy winter coat was gone.

What happened?
I thought, shivering.

He knocked you out
, I heard Robbie in my head.
I should have listened to you about not meeting Jimmy. I’m so fucking stupid.

How did he get you?

Tears slid down Robbie’s cheeks, mixing with dried blood on his chin.
Taser.

My heart rate sped up.
Before the game?

My twin looked surprised.
How did you—?

I saw it. I’m not sure how. But I saw it.

My body and mind still felt separated, brain wanting to float away, like a helium balloon trapped in my skull. I saw the black beasts whacking the heads off of the dolphin people with machetes.

I strained to turn so I could see Robbie better. My limbs were too heavy, the rope painfully cutting into my flesh. My twin became limp against the restraints.
We’re going to die, aren’t we?

I pressed my side against his. Robbie felt small, too small for an athlete, too small to truly defend either of us. There was nothing to say. We had to fight our way out, but as I twisted so my back was to his, my fingers couldn’t get a good hold on his restraints. I was too weak.

Squinting as if it would clear my vision, I looked around the room. There was one window, but who knew what was below the drop. Concrete, snow? No curtains—just venetian blinds blocking gray daylight. There were two closed doors—which was the way out?—and a bed that had just a thin, worn sheet on it. Next to it was a wood chest.

Gritting my teeth around the gag, I forced myself over, wriggling to get across the floor. My body was exhausted, the pace excruciatingly slow.

What are you doing?
Robbie asked, watching as I twisted so my back was to the wood chest’s front. With a few grunts and heaves, I worked the top open and peered in. Immediately, I wished I hadn’t. Restraints, sex toys, a video camera. Nothing that could be used to get out.

I sank down, letting the top slam down with a frustrated bang.

“What was that?” The ferocious voice came from below the floor, matching the one I heard in Robbie’s memory.
Jimmy.
Tense, I tried to wriggle back across the floor. Robbie made a muffled cry around his gag as footsteps thudded up the stairs. The lock turned, door swinging in with me halfway to my brother.

My body lost its ability to move. Paralyzed with fear, I watched as a lanky man walked across the floor and loomed directly above me. He pressed his boot between my shoulders and I flattened out on the ground.

“You’re more behaved than him, aren’t you?” Jimmy asked.

I didn’t make a sound. Not even a whimper. My body didn’t budge. A few feet away from us, my brother trembled with a fear that was slowly turning to anger.

Good. An angry Robbie was a force to be reckoned with. There had to be a way to use that sort of rage to our advantage—I just wasn’t sure how.

Jimmy dropped to a squat, his boot still between my shoulder blades. “Robbie never told me he had a twin. So now, I need to figure out what I’m going to do with both of you.”

I remained still. Allowed Jimmy’s words to slide over me. He dug his toe in my back, looking for a response. Fear, or a fight. I refused to give in.

The pressure on my back alleviated as Jimmy stood. He pulled his leg back and his boot connected with my ribs. I gasped, body coiling involuntarily. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jimmy’s lips curled up in a smile as he strode to the door. He stepped out and closed it behind him. We heard the twist of the lock, then the thuds of Jimmy going down the steps.

Robbie twisted his body, scooting across the ground until he was behind me. Back to mine, his fingers felt for the ends of my restraints. I had been too weak, but Robbie—fueled by the same furious determination I’d seen the day he defended me in the lunchroom—was not. Despite the pain, I tried to do the same, our hands sometimes brushing as we grabbed what we could. Finally, the rope around Robbie’s arms gave free. Before undoing his legs, he faced my back and worked on my arms, yanking the knots until there was just enough slack for me to get out. We noiselessly worked on our legs and, finally, the gags.

Freed from restraint, we rested our heads together, breathing heavily, aching and stiff. I looked around the room once more, taking inventory of everything from the bed to the trunk, to the loose rope on the floor, and the window. There was a way out. It was in the corner of my brain, fuzzy and unfocused.

I staggered to my feet and walked to the window before pulling up the blinds and peering down. Second story window into snow. Last night’s storm had left a morning of deep snow. Not deep enough to prevent a fall, but . . .

This was our way out.

Help me move the trunk
,
I thought to my brother. We lifted it together, carrying it to the window as quietly as we could. We wrapped and knotted the rope around it, pressing it to the wall below the window. Robbie’s shaking fingers curled around the edge of the glass pane. With a careful nudge, the window creaked and slid open.

We threw the ropes over the side before looking down. My face fell. There was no way the trunk and rope would hold both of our weights. But, before I could think of another idea, Robbie pushed me to the window.
Hold the rope, then my hands
.

I bit the inside of my cheek before carefully crawling through the window, hanging onto the rope with both hands. Robbie leaned out the window, gripping my forearms for support as he folded his torso over. Even with our stretched out heights, the drop was still at least six feet. I took a deep breath and let go, trying to keep my knees bent to absorb the shock. Pain seared up my legs, but adrenaline had me on my feet again, arms stretched up for my brother. He gazed down at me, lips in a firm line as he studied the distance. In my head, I could hear him calculating the drop, how far he’d have before I’d catch him.

Hurry up!

His frown deepened—and finally I understood his hesitation. If I didn’t break Robbie’s fall, he could break a leg, his femur. His career could be over.

It’s not worth your life!
I desperately thought.

Robbie shook his head.
Get help.

I’m not leaving you.

I’ll find another way. Get help.

I trembled, calf-deep in the snow, not wanting to leave, but knowing my brother wouldn’t budge. I could rush inside again, possibly getting myself and Robbie killed, or I could run through the woods, back to my car, and try to find a gas station or anywhere with a phone. But, by then, Jimmy would certainly discover I was missing. He wouldn’t be forgiving, and Robbie would bear the brunt of his sadism alone.

My brother’s head snapped away from the window, hearing something I couldn’t. Jimmy on the stairs? Jimmy in the room?

I had to make a decision, and fast.