Panic (20 page)

“You're awesome, Justin, you know that?” Mercedes poked him in the arm affectionately.

He brushed her comment off. “Hope Layla figures that out too,” he said with a shrug.

Just then, Zizi screamed. “OMG! Look at these pictures I just got!”

Justin and Mercedes said at the same time, “Delete them, Zizi! Now!”

She nodded and began pushing keys on her phone.

Jillian finally turned the music off, clearly giving up. “You wanna try?” she asked Mercedes as she sank to the floor.

“Not tonight,” Mercedes said, shaking her head.

Just then, Layla, quiet and subdued, came out of Miss Ginger's office. She picked up her phone from the middle of the floor, grabbed her bag, and headed out to the parking lot without speaking to anyone.

“Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried,

‘Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!' ”

—from
Peter Pan

“I am dirt,” Layla said out loud to the damp night sky. “Filthier than dirt.” She felt dazed, like she'd just been pushed off a cliff, and she was freefalling to destruction. She didn't know what she could hold on to, who she could trust, or what she could possibly say. She couldn't find the breath to explain anything, couldn't grab any idea that would even begin to make things
right. She felt weightless, helpless, broken.

She groaned as she spotted the headlights from her mother's battered Chevy. Why was she here? Layla wiped her face with the back of her hand and pasted on a fake smile as he mother swung into a parking space.

“Layla, what's wrong, hon?” her mother asked as she hopped out of the car. “Have you been crying?”

“I, uh, stubbed my toe in class,” Layla said evasively, sniffling just a little. “Let's go. I am so ready to be out of there.”

Mrs. Ridgewood reached out and gave her a quick hug. “Well, I've got something to make you feel better—I've got somebody I want you to meet.”

Layla groaned for a second time. She was gonna lose it if her mother introduced her to one more random male friend. “Not tonight, Mom. Please.”

The passenger door creaked open then, and a tall, bearded man unfolded from the front seat. He stood in the shadows for a moment, as if hesitant.

Layla instantly began to tremble. “Daddy?” she whispered. “Daddy?”

Raphael Ridgewood strode toward her and engulfed her in his arms. “Oh, my sweet baby girl!”

Layla couldn't help herself—she began to cry. Her dad! Home! And he smelled the same as she remembered—like lemonade and leather. He seemed thinner, and shorter, somehow. But maybe she'd grown. His face was covered with a full, scruffy beard.

Her mom tittered nervously, then said, “I came early,
hoping to get here before Donovan did—I wanted to surprise you.”

Layla froze at the mention of his name. “He won't be picking me up anymore,” she said tersely. “We broke up.” Quickly changing the subject, she said, “Mom said you weren't coming until tomorrow. I've missed you so much, Daddy!”

“Well, let's go home,” her father said. “We have lots of catching up to do.”

Layla crawled into the backseat, her mind awhirl. Donovan. Her dad home. Still no word from Diamond. All of it seemed impossible.

As her mother pulled the car out of the parking lot, her father reached back and said, “I brought you something.” He handed her a small chilled cup—a strawberry smoothie.

Layla lost it again. He remembered! After six years. Her heart gave a little leap; maybe he'd remember the curtains! When she finally got control of herself, she whispered, “Thanks, Daddy. My favorite!” When she took a sip, she was ten again and dancing on her porch for her father.

“Thinking of you and your dancing got me through some tough times. I've been counting the days to when I could get you another strawberry smoothie,” her father replied. “So, when is your next recital?”

“In June. That's when we're doing a dance version of
Peter Pan
.”

“Awesome. I can't wait. What's your part?” her father asked.

Layla's heart gave a second leap. It felt so good to be
telling her dad her good news. “I'm Wendy, the biggest part—next to Peter Pan, I guess.” Then an awful thought struck her. What if Miss Ginger was so disgusted at her that she took the lead away? That tiny spark of happiness flickered away.

“The lead! Aw, Layla, I'm so proud of you,” her father exclaimed.

“You didn't tell me you got the lead, Layla,” her mother said. “That's really cool.”

“Uh, I just found out a couple of days ago, and you've been, uh, busy.” Layla slid down in the backseat.

“Hey, would you two like to stop and get some Skyline Chili?” her mom asked. Layla felt another small surge of happiness. She was in the car
with her dad
! And she could swear even her mom seemed a little nervous, maybe even a bit excited.

“Oh boy, have I missed Skyline!” her father said enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”

As they headed to the chili shop, her father marveled at new buildings that had been built and old buildings that had disappeared since he'd been gone. When they finally got to the apartment, bags of chili and crackers in hand, Layla warned him that it wasn't like their old house.

“It's fine with me, sweetie, as long as you and your mother are there,” her father replied. He'd slung one small brown duffel bag over his back.

“It's going to take some adjusting,” her mother said nervously. “For all of us.”

“I understand, Lillian.” He took the bags of food from
her. “I want to take it slow and ease back into your lives. No pressure, okay?”

“I work double shifts most days,” she told him.

“And I've got a job already lined up, believe it or not. An old buddy of mine has promised to teach me bricklaying. I can always find work laying bricks.” He looked from Layla to her mother. “I'm going to do my part to get back into the swing of things too.”

Layla could see the relief on her mother's face. And as the threesome walked up the stairs to the apartment, Layla couldn't stop grinning. For the moment, she set aside her massive problems with Donovan, her massive worry about Diamond, and unlocked their door, welcoming her father into the modest living room. He beamed as he touched the sofa, the chair, the television, the photo of Layla at age three, sitting on his shoulders. He peeked into the kitchen, and then it was his turn to grin. “The yellow curtains!” he exclaimed. “I really am home.”

“Stars are beautiful, but they must not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was.”

—from
Peter Pan

Diamond had lost track of the time. What day was it? How long had she been in this horrible place? She was beginning to think she wasn't ever, ever getting away.

She hated that she was getting used to the awful routine. A morning shower. New clothes. Fresh sheets. Breakfast with no utensils—just finger food. Often a
gift. An iPad loaded with games—no Internet access, of course. A paperback novel. Fresh fruit.

He was bizarrely kind to her each morning, smiling and joking and even bringing Bella in, letting the dog stay for hours at a time. Diamond buried her face into Bella's soft red fur and cried through the afternoons. Bella pressed close and stayed by her side. It helped.

She also hated,
hated
the fact that a tiny little part of her looked forward to Thane's visits in the morning. It was just that she was just so very lonely. Now was that disgusting or what? And what they did to her at night, every night—she refused to even think about the specifics. She couldn't let herself go there. Just when she thought there couldn't possibly be anything worse added, it was. Thane's phone rang constantly. Sometimes he came in two or three times a night with different men. Only the faces changed.

And because he'd been decreasing the amount of drugs in her water each night, she became increasingly and painfully aware of what they were doing to her. And a new horrifying thought obsessed her. What if she got pregnant? Oh, God!

She clung to hope, however. It was all she had. Even though she could see no chance of escape, no chance of ever being found, she stubbornly refused to give up and completely give in. To do that would be to give Thane the final victory. She was
not
letting him have all of her. It simply wasn't going to happen! So she kept hope and faith tucked deep inside, hidden from him.

She did let herself wonder how her parents were
doing. Had they done one of those tearful abduction statements for the news? She'd never paid much attention to those kind of news stories. She had listened, distracted, while arguing with Shasta over stupid things like who got a bigger brownie for dessert. She'd felt sorry for the families, briefly, but she'd never really thought about how much it had to
hurt
. It was excruciating to think about her strong parents helpless, about her mom probably crying every night, about Shasta, scared.

“How much longer are you keeping me here, Thane?” Diamond asked him, like she'd done every day, when he came in that afternoon after taking Bella for a walk.

“I'm glad you asked. I've found a suitable house in Colorado. I'll be moving out in a couple of days.” He looked her up and down and smiled. “I'm getting tired of you anyway. I like my girls fresh and untouched. So do my customers.”

What did that mean? One part of her mind sped to: Was he letting her go? The other went much darker—was he going to kill her? And yet another part went toward a nameless other girl who was going to have to go through this nightmare.

“Well, I'm sick and tired of you, too! So
let me go home
!” she demanded, her voice fierce.

“Well, aren't we feeling bold today,” he replied mildly, ignoring her outburst. “No, I have a better idea. I have a business partner who has some very . . . ah . . . creative ideas for you. He's seen your films online, and he's anxious to work with you.”

“What do you mean?” Her heart began to pound.

It was something else she'd refused to let herself think about—the nasty, vile videos of her that were circulating through the underbelly of the Internet. She prayed that none of her friends—or, God forbid, her parents—ever saw any of them. But stuff like that
never
went away, never really got fully deleted. Never.

“He says you're ready for more than just Internet flicks. He wants to make you a full-fledged star in the industry.” He glared coldly at her. “You wanted to be a star, remember?”

“The industry?”

“The porn business, stupid. Full-length movies.”

Diamond burst out angrily, “But you can't! I'm not like that! I'm not that kind of girl.”

Thane laughed outright. “You
used to be
a nice girl. From where I sit, you're a whole different kind of
nice
—and completely broken in.”

Diamond felt her face burning.

“He's offered me quite a bit of money for you.”

“You're
selling
me?”

“Just passing you along to someone who wants you more. But he's got to make it worth my while.”

“I won't do it!”

“Oh, you will. Or your little sister will.”

“No! No! No! You can't! You won't!”

“Sure I can. I've told you—it's easy. She gets out of school at 2:35. I walk by with my lovable dog. Bella gets away from me. Shasta helps me catch her. Then I catch Shasta. Piece of cake.”

“You've
watched
her?” Diamond asked, incredulous.

“Of course. Your parents, too.” He gave a short laugh. “They're a mess.”

“Are they . . . are they looking for me?” Diamond couldn't help asking.

“Your father hangs in the mall, hoping to catch a glimpse of me. He sat right next to me in the food court yesterday and didn't even know who I was.”

Diamond grabbed her head and screeched, “How do you
know
all this?”

“I watched
you
for weeks before I grabbed you. Correction. Before you walked out of the mall with me quite willingly.”

Diamond closed her eyes. She couldn't take this. She
wouldn't
take this!

Thane left the dog when he locked the door. Diamond leaned against her softness all afternoon. She felt so numb she couldn't even cry. The words to a song from the musical
Into the Woods
kept looping through her thoughts.

When the one thing you want/Is the only thing out of your reach.

“He has an iron hook instead of a right hand, and he claws with it.”

—from
Peter Pan

It started as soon as she got to school. Layla knew it would. The whispers. The laughter. The propositions. The derision.

She'd had to shut down her Facebook page as it had exploded with nasty comments. As she walked down the hall, it was constant, ceaseless. Some were said just loud enough for her to hear. Others were made directly to her.

From the guys:

“Nice tits.”

“Wanna give me some of that?”

“Oo-wee! You made my day!”

“Lettin' it all hang out, I see.”

“What else you got?”

“I got a camera. You want to party with me?”

“I got what you want, baby.”

“Come on over to my house.”

“Bring it on over here to me.”