See Jane Run (21 page)

She heard running footsteps then and the lock tumble on her door. She quickly shoved the pole back in the closet and jumped back into bed, pushing her sneakered feet under the covers and clamping her eyes shut.

Riley heard her door open. Her whole body went stiff when she heard Tim's shuffling feet come closer. She could feel his hot breath, heady with the scent of strong coffee, brushing over her cheek as he leaned down toward her. He put his hand on her head, and it took everything Riley had not to shirk away, not to cringe as he stroked her hair.

“I'm so happy that you're home, Janie. We're going to have so much fun together, just like we used to. I saved you from them, Janie. They are very, very bad people.”

Riley mashed her face into her pillow and bit down hard on her bottom lip. She felt her teeth slip through the skin and tasted her own blood, but it was the only way she could keep her mouth shut. Inside, everything was trembling. Inside, everything was fighting him, was reaching back to her parents, begging their forgiveness.

Please
don't leave me, Mom and Dad. Please don't leave me here with him.

Tim sat at her bedside for a few minutes more before Riley felt his hand go to her shoulder, gently shaking it.

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

She opened one eye carefully, worried that if she tried to pretend to sleep anymore, Tim might do something awful to her. She blinked and he smiled.

“Are you hungry? I got us breakfast.”

Riley tried out her voice, unsure if she could still speak. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She thought of Tim taking her clothes off and sliding on the stiff new pajamas, and her skin started to itch. “Can I take a shower?”

Tim cocked his head. “You're not going to try to run away again, are you?”

“No.” She swung her head. “No, I won't, I promise.”

Tim scrutinized her then slowly stood and went to the closet. “What happened here?”

He looked over his shoulder and Riley shrugged. “Old house, I guess.”

Tim picked up the clothing, mercifully not looking for her shoes. He set the jeans and the short-sleeved shirt on Riley's bed. He pointed to the bag. “There are underthings in there. I'll go get you a towel.”

A tiny flicker of something like hope rose in Riley's chest as Tim left the room, leaving the door open. She rushed to it, wracking her brain, trying to remember what Tim said last night. Her bedroom was the second door from the bathroom, and the bathroom was right off the hall. She could make it to the living room. She could make it out the front door.

Riley crept to the doorway and swept the hall, relief crashing over her when she didn't see Tim. She took the first step, her sneaker brushing over the threshold, her eyes focused on the open bedroom door at the end of the hall. She turned, silent as a mouse, and ran directly into Tim.

He held a big yellow towel out to her. “The bathroom is right there. I'll wait here for you to finish.” He pointed to a spot right outside the door.

“Can I close the door at least? I would feel uncomfortable…”

Tim pumped his head. “That's OK. I'll still wait here.”

Riley slipped into the bathroom, closing the door on Tim. She was grateful to find an old-style slide lock, and she slipped it into place. She didn't know if it would hold, but just seeing a locked door—locked on her side, not his—made her feel safer. Riley surveyed the decent-sized bathroom. It was surprisingly cleaner than the rest of the house. The tile floor was cracked and dated, but it was free of the garbage and broken wood that littered everywhere else. The toilet was hideous with a cracked seat and bits of rust, but it seemed to actually flush. There was no shower curtain on the bar above the tub, but there was a fresh bar of soap by the sink.

Riley checked the door a second time then checked every inch of the bathroom, looking for a weapon, a cell phone, a key—anything that would help her, anything that would fan the flame of hope struggling inside her.

But there was nothing.

The small window to the left of the toilet was a good six inches above Riley's head, and even when she stood on the toilet, she could see that the heavy, swirled glass was rusted into place. Even if she could open it, there was no way her body would fit through.

She didn't want to shower. If she was going to die here with her psychopath of a brother, there really wasn't any point. But her skin was beginning to itch from the dirt and dried sweat, and she forced herself to turn on the tap, to strip off the foreign clothes.

She stood under the chintzy flow of lukewarm water and rubbed her hands over the soap. Tears started to fall as the clean, spicy smell of the suds filled the bathroom. It was the same way her father smelled—the same soap he used.

“I'm going to get out of here,” Riley muttered under the clattering sound of running water. “I'm going to get out of here no matter what it takes.”

She rinsed her body and her hair as best she could under the weak stream then wrapped the thin towel around herself. She shoved her bare feet into the sneakers and opened the door. True to his word, Tim was there in the hall, sitting on the floor. He was eating a donut, the pink box propped in front of him. “You want one?”

Riley was starving. Her stomach let out an embarrassing growl and she nodded. Tim handed the box to her and she picked a donut out, eating the whole thing in two bites right there in the hallway. He shook the box again and she snatched another one, vaguely wondering if they were drugged but not caring as the thick, doughy thing hit her stomach. Her mouth was coated in sugar but she took a third donut anyway, eating this one more slowly as her stomach caught up to her brain.

“You were hungry. Maybe we should go somewhere for lunch.”

Riley stiffened. “Go out?”

“Yeah.”

Riley's heart started to pound, and suddenly she felt light and airy, even with a quarter pound of donuts weighing her down. If she could get out of this house and into civilization, she could get away.

She nodded. “I need to get dressed first.”

“We'll go in a little bit.”

She took a tentative step. Then, “Where are my clothes?”

“They're in your closet.”

“No.” She shook her head. “My clothes from before.”

“You don't need them anymore. You don't need anything from before anymore. You have new clothes. And a new house, and a new life!” Tim smiled. “A new old life.” He shooed her away. “Go inside and change.”

Riley went into her makeshift bedroom and pulled the packages of underclothes from the bag. She slid the bra and panties on and shimmied into the jeans—they were stiff and a little baggy, but they would do. She pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head and put her feet properly in the sneakers.

Then she pressed her ear against the door.

She could hear Tim whistling to himself in the other room. Then she heard him flick on a radio, settling on a news station. She turned then was sucked back to the door when she heard the radio lady start, “Still no word on the Crescent City girl who went missing yesterday morning. Police are still holding a school friend of the girl's, but he hasn't been charged yet.”

Riley's throat tightened. She felt a nagging pain for JD then remembered the broken charm, the way he chased after her, screaming her name.

He
could
rot
in
there,
Riley thought, peeling away from the door.
But
I'm not going to rot in here.

She picked up the clothing pole from the closet and wrapped her towel around one end. She used the toweled end to push the rest of the glass out of the window, then pressed hard against one of the wood slats, praying that it was as old and rickety as the rest of the house.

“Janie, are you ready? Come out here!”

Tim was knocking on her door.

“One second!”

She dropped the pole down on her bed and balanced herself on the metal headboard. She could feel the cool wind from outside sweeping over her face, reddening her cheeks. But the pole hadn't budged the board tacked over the window. So Riley did the only thing she could think of. She pulled the sleeve of her new shirt over her hand and picked up a shard of the broken glass. Even through the cotton shirt, she could feel the sharp, mangled edge. She slid it in her pocket and jumped off the bed, going for the door at the same time Tim opened it.

“What took you so long?”

Riley kept her shoulder against the door so he couldn't push it open any wider.

“Nothing,” she said, winding a hand through her wet mess of hair. “I was just looking for a hair tie.”

“You used to always wear it in pigtails.”

Riley wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to tell him that he had no right to those memories, no right to images of her and the things she did. Instead, she shoved her hands in her back pocket, running her index finger lightly over the glass in her pocket.

She followed Tim out the front door and stopped cold when she saw his car in the driveway. The front left bumper was scratched and smattered with dings, and a small crack spider-webbed across the bottom of the windshield.

“You—you—”

She couldn't say the word. She couldn't say “You hit Shelby” without tearing the glass shard from her pocket and going for his neck. But if she did that, even on a surprise attack, he could easily overpower her, and even if she did get away, where would she go? The few houses that looked lived in were set well back from the road, well back from this house. There were vines and overgrown shrubs everywhere, but he knew what was out here; she didn't.

Tim opened the car door for her and she slid in, sitting gently to protect the glass. Once he shut her door, she slid it from her back pocket and into the front. Riley's stomach roiled when the car engine rumbled. Her saliva was sour, and she fought back angry tears, not caring when Tim hit the door lock button and she was trapped inside.

“So you've been watching me a long time then?”

“Not that long. Only a few weeks, maybe a month now. You weren't easy to find.”

“So you stayed around Crescent City?”

He nodded, turning away from the old-fashioned looking sign that said,
Granite
Cay
Downtown
Historical
District—Food! Shopping! Fun!

“Why aren't we going that way? It said ‘food.'”

Tim shrugged her question off. “There're too many people downtown.” He poked Riley in the ribs. “I don't want someone stealing you away again.”

Bile itched at the back of her throat.
No
one
is
going
to
find
me
here. No one is going to rescue me.
She thought of her parents, of never being able to see them again.

“I thought you said they were going to leave me.”

Tim's jaw stiffened. “I don't trust anything about those people.”

Would
they
even
come
for
her?
She gritted her teeth. Deputy Hempstead had found her here once; he would find her again.
Right?

“Did someone help you?” She thought of JD, her stomach starting to quiver. “Did someone help you find me?”

“No.” Tim swung his head as he guided the car toward a bank of strip malls—and passed them. “What do you mean?”

“There is a boy,” Riley started, shocked at what she was sharing. “His name—his name isn't important. He lives—was living—across the street from me. He watched me.”

Tim frowned. “I know that boy. He wasn't helping me. He wanted to hurt you.”

“What?”

“I was at your house one time. I was looking into your windows—just to make sure it was really you, Janie, and he was there too. He yelled at me. He told me to go away because he didn't want me to help you.”

Riley blinked, confused. “JD chased you away?”

“He didn't want me to help you.”

She looked out the window, silent, until Tim pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant, set aside by itself on the outskirts of town.

“Ready?”

He kept a hand clamped around Riley's upper arm, guiding her into the restaurant. “Remember, if you act up, they're going to take you away again,” Tim murmured into her ear as the waitress led them through the nearly empty restaurant. “They'll make you disappear.”

He squeezed her arm a little harder, and Riley nodded, the pain making her even more determined to never get back in the car with Tim, to never go back to that awful house.

Riley scanned the menu without reading anything on it. Instead, she checked everything in her peripheral vision, anything to use as a weapon, any way to slip out of the restaurant and out of Tim's grip. There was nothing. She could just start screaming, telling everyone her story, but she was terrified that Tim would clamp down on her, overpower her, and rush her out of the restaurant.

When the waitress came, Riley mumbled an order, studying the wall behind the waitress's black bouffant.

That's when she saw it.

Tucked away on the other side of the restaurant: a fire alarm.

No
one
responded
to
calls
of
“
h
elp
”
or
“
r
ape
”
; your best bet is to
yell
“
f
ire.
”

While the waitress was taking Tim's order, Riley broke in. “I need to use the restroom, please.”

Tim cut his eyes to her, his expression fierce, but he couldn't forbid Riley from going without the waitress finding it strange.

She pointed her pencil. “Right down there, hon.”

Relief washed over Riley. The walk to the bathroom took her directly past the fire alarm. Riley made a beeline for it and, feeling a spark of adrenaline in her arm, reached out and yanked the thing.

Her heart dropped when nothing happened.

It must have taken a second, maybe more, but it seemed like ages before the fire bell clanged. It was deafening and people were looking around, confused.

That's when Riley dashed into the ladies room, closing the door behind her. She moved a garbage can up against it—it wasn't much, but it would slow someone down—and looked frantically around the restroom. Her heart almost bounded out of her mouth when she saw the window above the sink. For the first time in what seemed like decades, she smiled, and the tears that poured out of her eyes were happy. Riley hopped up on the sink and cranked the old-style window as wide open as it would go then popped off the screen.

Her fingers ached as the metal window frame dug into her skin, but with the cool wind hitting her face, she didn't care. The toes of her sneakers scraped against the cheap stucco, and within seconds she was half out the window, halfway to freedom, on her way back to Crescent City. She didn't care about the way the metal dug into her ribs as she shimmied her way out, clawing at anything she could reach. There was cement below her, and with the way her body was angled, she would have to move out headfirst.