Snared (8 page)

The next morning.

“Are you okay?” Lindsay asked through the open window. She hadn't even waited for Mark's invitation to open it. She had to speak to him.

“What are you doing here?” Mark whispered, his voice breaking with anxiety. “Doug and Jack are in the next room.”

“You have to let me call someone for you. This isn't right.”

“Lindsay, you can't get involved in this. I told you. Go home. We'll talk if they leave again.”

“If?”

“Something happened last night. I'm not even sure what, but they're on red alert out there.”

“I know,” Lindsay said. “I saw it. Look, take this.” She handed Mark her cell phone. “Hide it under the bed or something. I programmed my number into the first speed dial. I'll have my Treo. I can use that. You can call me anytime or call for help if you need to.”

“I can't take this,” Mark said, lifting the device toward the window.

But Lindsay wouldn't take it. “You have to,” she told him. “I want to know you're okay.”

 

Lindsay sat in the kitchen, staring at her coffee. Her PDA rested on the table in front of her. When her dad came in and said “You're up early,” Lindsay muttered “Couldn't sleep.” Her dad bent over and kissed her forehead, stroked her hair, then went to the coffeepot.

“Your mom will be down in a minute.”

“Okay.”

She watched her dad pouring milk into his coffee mug. Last night at dinner his face had been red from a day in the sun, but now it was brown, and he looked more like a bear than ever.

“What are your plans for today?” he asked. “Your new friends dragging you off again?”

“I don't think so.” She hoped she never saw those creeps again.

“You're welcome to join us on the beach if you want. That is, if you won't be too embarrassed being seen with your parents?”

“Of course I'll be embarrassed,” Lindsay said, trying to make a joke. Her heart wasn't in it, and it came off dry and nasty. So she added “How could I NOT be?” This time she put in enough flare to her voice to get the playfulness across.

Her dad chuckled, but it was a courtesy laugh at best. “You okay, honey?”

No
, she thought. “Fine,” she said. “Just a little tired.”

“Well, some sun will do you good.”

Such simple answers to everything,
Lindsay thought. According to her dad, a little sun, some sea air, and a piece of pie were all anyone needed to cope with anything. The world could be crumbling down, and he'd be there handing out beach towels and slices of Dutch apple to everyone, telling them not to panic.

What was she going to do? What could she do?

Nothing
, a small voice said to her.
You can't do a damn thing
.

She rarely listened to this annoying voice. It was a downer, a shot of pessimism she just didn't need. For most of her life, she'd been able to fix things. Fixed them for herself. Fixed them for her friends. Even helped her parents every now and then. Why couldn't she fix this? Why wasn't there a simple answer? A plan to follow? Something?

 

After an hour on the beach, Lindsay decided to get something to drink and get out of the sun for a while. So she sat in the shade of her uncle's porch, sipping an iced tea. She could still see her parents, who were closer to the water. Her dad's belly rose and fell steadily as he napped with a baseball cap over his face. Her mom lay on her stomach, reading a paperback. The light trill of her Treo brought Lindsay out of her revery. She fumbled with the PDA and finally answered.

“Hey,” Mark said, his voice quiet and sounding very far away.

“Hey.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Sure,” Lindsay replied.

“I have to be quiet. Doug went out for a while, but Jack's napping in the next room. I can hear
him snoring. Sounds like a hog with asthma.”

Lindsay laughed and threw a look at the porch of the neighboring house.

“So what are you doing?” Mark asked.

“Sitting on the porch, having some tea.”

“Not out with Barbie?”

“After last night…I don't think so.”

There was a brief silence on the line. “What happened last night?”

“You don't know?”

“Lindsay, I haven't been out of the house in a week. I'm a little out of the loop.”

So she told him about seeing Ev between their houses, how she was sneaking up to his window. How she totally freaked at what she saw.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Mark said. “I was in the living room, watching TV, when Doug and Jack went charging through like a couple of startled water buffalo. I didn't know what was going on, but the cops showed up in the middle of the night and really made a stink.”

“The police were there?”

“Yeah. I thought Jack and Doug called them. I figured they caught someone trying to break in. I didn't know.”

Lindsay felt awkward saying what she was about to say, but she had to. “I thought Ev might have seen them…you know…hurting you or something. She really looked scared.”

“No. Nothing like that. They did send me back to my room though, like I was the one that did something wrong.”

“What do you think she saw?” Lindsay asked.

“Don't know. Jack and Doug have done some really weird stuff. They perform these rituals sometimes. I don't know what they're trying to accomplish, but it can be pretty creepy to watch.”

“Rituals?”

“Yeah. They're both totally into the occult. I've never seen them sacrifice a goat or anything, but they take it seriously. Like I said, some of that junk is just full-on creepy.”

Suddenly Lindsay thought about the burner with the dreadlocks. He'd been on that side of the house, moving close to Mark's window. What if he'd seen the same thing as Ev?

They're real! God protect us. They're real.

“But why were they doing it in your room?”

“I don't know,” Mark said. “But I'm kind of freaked out now. I mean, especially if your friend
was all psych ward over it.”

Lindsay didn't know what to say. The occult? She remembered the tattoos on Jack's back. Were they magic symbols? Some cult pattern?

“You know, Lindsay, it might be better if you took this phone back. If they find it on me, you could get into some real trouble, and I don't want that. Things have always been weird around here, but it feels like something is going to happen soon, something bad, and I don't want you to be hung up in it.”

“No,” Lindsay said. “You keep it. You might need it.” “I don't think it will help, but I do like chatting with you.”

“Me, too.”

For two days, Mark's guardians didn't leave the property, but he managed to find time—when they were outside or napping or watching TV in the next room—to call and quietly chat with Lindsay.

She was thrilled every time the Treo rang. Whether she was on the beach with her parents or in her room, IMing with Kate or Trey, she stopped everything to take his calls. Her parents commented several times on her good mood, and she did all that she could to assure them it was the vacation and nothing more. No way could she tell them about Mark.

And he was so great. He was funny and romantic, and one day, when Jack and Doug were out
tinkering with their car, Mark played another song for her on his piano. It was a simple tune, but really pretty. “It makes me think of you,” he told her.

What wasn't so great were the calls she got from Tee and Mel. At first she didn't recognize the caller ID, so she let the calls go to her mailbox. When she retrieved the first one—from a Christie Molson—it took her a few seconds to realize it was Tee's voice. “Hey, Lindsay. Can you call me and Mel? It's like about Ev. We don't have cells, so just call my mom's. The number is…”

Lindsay didn't return the call. Or the next one, or the one after that. In fact, she erased the later messages without even listening to them. She so didn't care what Mel or Tee had to say about Ev. More than likely, they were just speaking
for
Ev, who wanted to feed Lindsay some story about what happened that night at Mark's. Whatever the case, she didn't trust Ev or her friends. Besides, she was enjoying her conversations with Mark and didn't want any annoying memories of the bonfire club interfering with it.

It was hard enough not being with him. So after he called late the second afternoon, she was
happy. Mark sounded tired and upset, but his guardians were out, and he wanted to see her.

 

“What are these things?” Lindsay asked, running a finger over one of the metal corner pieces in the window frame.

Mark looked up from the piano, which he had been playing, and said “Ugh. Doug and Jack have them all over the house. They picked them up at a magic shop years ago. They're supposed to keep out evil or something stupid. I think they just like the way they look. What do you think?”

“They're okay,” Lindsay said. “I mean, they're small, so it's not like they're a total eyesore. I thought they might be part of an alarm or something.”

“Nah, go ahead and wiggle one around. You'll see. No sirens.”

Lindsay gave it a try. She grasped the metal. It was incredibly cold to the touch. Once she had the corner piece pinched between her thumb and forefinger, she gave it a tug.

It didn't budge.

“They're in really tight.”

Mark stood from the piano bench and walked over to Lindsay. He put his arms around her waist, sending electric tingles up her spine. “Old-world craftsmanship,” he said. He leaned down and nuzzled her hair. Then he kissed her neck.

She turned slowly and met his lips with her own. The kiss was hesitant and tender. But it was nice. He pulled away too soon.

“So, I wanted you to come over to tell you something,” Mark said. He crossed the room and sat on the bed.

Lindsay joined him, sitting down with her hip touching his. “What is it?”

“I'm going to leave.”

The news brought a thick nausea to her stomach. Her throat clenched tightly and her hands began to shake.

“W-when? Why?”

“Something is wrong here,” he said. “Jack and Doug are losing it. The other day they took all of my clothes except what I'm wearing. I think they burned them. They're getting totally paranoid, and it's all coming down on me.”

“But where will you go?” Lindsay asked.

“Doesn't matter. Anywhere but here. I'm only
telling you because I like you a lot, and if things weren't so screwed up, we might have…” He let the sentence trail away. He fell silent for a moment, then said “The thing is, once I go, that's it. I can't come back. I can't see you anymore, and I can't call or anything. So, I guess this is kind of good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” Lindsay felt incredibly ill. Never see each other again? “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I can. I thought about taking off the minute Jack and Doug left, but I wanted to talk to you first, you know? I'm never sure when they'll leave or when they'll come back. It might be days before I get another chance, but I've got to get away from here. They're really scaring me now.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Lindsay asked.

Mark pulled the cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. It felt like a hot lump of coal in her hand. “You've already done enough.”

She tried kissing him again, but he pulled away, shaking his head. “It'll only make things worse.”

He stood and walked back to the piano. Solemnly, he sat down and began to play.

As far as Lindsay was concerned, it couldn't get any worse than this.

The first time Lindsay got into real trouble she was nine years old. One day after school, Kate talked her into smoking a cigarette. They were in Lindsay's room watching television, and the babysitter, Mrs. Kharn, was napping on the sofa downstairs. Kate produced the Marlboro and a book of matches, and though Lindsay's first response was “No way,” a minute later she was drawing the nasty smoke into her throat. She only managed to take two puffs before feeling totally high—her head was spinning and light as air. They flushed the evidence down the toilet and swore to each other that they'd never touch another cigarette. Kate went home, and Lindsay brushed her teeth twice
to get rid of the gross taste in her mouth.

To her mind, she had gotten away with it. It was an exciting feeling, like having the dual thrills of completing a dare and holding a secret all rolled up in one.

But she didn't get away with anything. Her mom only needed two seconds in her room, the scene of the crime, before her face went red with anger. She'd never heard her mom really yell before, but she yelled that day. Her dad was worse. He looked so sad and disappointed with Lindsay that he couldn't even talk to her. They grounded her for two weeks and took her television and her computer away. Her dad read her all kinds of really horrible stories about what smoking did to the body that he'd printed from the internet.

Long before she ever watched a single episode of
CSI
, Lindsay learned all about evidence. Just because she was not caught in the act didn't mean she had gotten away with anything. Not only had her room stunk of the smoke, but Kate had left the used match on the window frame.

What happened to her that night was similar.

After dinner, around sunset, Lindsay walked out onto the porch, and looked out at the ocean. She
felt miserable about Mark. It was like he was already gone. Like she already missed him. A sound on the side of the house, Mark's side, drew her attention, and she crossed to the railing and looked down the alley.

Jack stood in the sand just outside Mark's window. His hands were on his hips as he looked down at the ground. Fear shot through Lindsay in fast, cold bolts.

She spun away, her mind racing as she replayed the afternoon in her head. What had she dropped? What evidence had she left behind? The realization came on soon after she exhausted her memories of the day.

The sand. She had left footprints in the sand.

Damn
.

Soon she heard voices. Doug must have joined his partner outside Mark's window. They spoke rapidly, quietly. The voices were like a breeze ruffling papers, and though she struggled to hear the conversation, she could not make out the words.

With her heart slamming her ribs, sending a deafening pulse to her ears, she began to fear for Mark. If things were so bad before, what horrible punishment would they come up with now?

Finally words drifted out of the yard between the houses, words she could hear and understand. The cold bolts of fear shot even faster.

“We have to talk to her parents,” one of the guardians said. “If that doesn't work, we'll have to get serious.”

“I just want to kill the bastard.”

“If only we could” was the reply.

 

They're capable of things you can't even imagine.

Lindsay walked south on the beach. To her right were houses, all lit up for evening; to her left the ocean, deep and black, spread out and joined the sky. Mostly, Lindsay looked at the sand. All of the ridges and dents from a day's use lay accusingly at her feet.

How could I have been so stupid?

She shook her head, gave the sand a good kick, and kept walking. She wanted distance between herself and her uncle's house. Even now, one or both of Mark's guardians might be talking to her parents, lying to them about Mark so they could keep him prisoner and keep her away. Or they might be punishing him. She didn't know; she just knew she needed to be somewhere else for a while.

She'd thought about sticking around and confronting the men. Ultimately, she couldn't. What if she said something that revealed the extent of her knowledge? In her eagerness to defend Mark, she could make matters worse. No. She needed to think this out, come up with a plan. Her heart ached over what those two might do to Mark, but if she was going to help him—really help him—she had to play it cool.

When she looked up from the sand, Lindsay saw that she was on the outskirts of the trailer village. People stood around their mobile homes, chatting and barbecuing. Closer to the water, two boys played catch with a football, the many lights from the trailers providing just enough glow to see the ball.

Beyond the trailers were more homes like her uncle's. Then the beaches gave way to rocky ground before a mile of cliffside rose up. In the next cove a handful of glassy mansions had been built, but the hills above them were undeveloped. Scrub grasses and shrubs decorated that landscape. A forest ran to the south and inland just above the road that traced the edge of the cliffs high above the ocean. Her dad had taken her up
there when she was a little girl. Like many things, it was beautiful from a distance, but kind of ugly up close.

One of the boys playing catch on the beach laughed loudly at something and Lindsay looked toward him. The boy farthest from her was facedown in the sand, kicking his legs like a baby having a tantrum. Then he sprang to his feet and did a silly little dance before spiking the ball in the sand.

She thought Mark deserved moments like this, moments of fun and freedom and silliness. Everyone deserved that.

Lindsay turned away from the playing boys. What she saw next made her skin go cold with fear.

She'd been followed. Jack stood just inside the light cast from the backside of the nearest trailer. His black shirt clung to a burly, muscled frame. Dark pools of shadow hid his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her.

Oh no
, she thought.
Oh no. Oh no!

She backed up and nearly fell on her butt when the sand gave under her step. Somehow she regained her balance and spun away, her throat
and chest tight with fear. Lindsay took two steps forward, then stopped. The beach ahead was dark, except for the dull glow coming from the houses, leaving big gaps of blackness ahead. Would anyone be outside, witnesses that might keep the muscled Jack at a distance?

He could catch her anytime he wanted to, and home seemed very far away.

Lindsay twisted around to the mobile home park, her gaze landing first at the back of the trailer and the man standing there. Without the slightest hesitation, Jack stepped out of the shadows and crossed the sand to stand between Lindsay and the well-lit park.

Should she scream? If nothing else, it would bring people to her, exposing the man so he wouldn't dare do anything to her tonight. Panic clouded her thoughts and charged her system with frantic energy. She couldn't just stand there.

So Lindsay turned and ran. Several times she nearly lost her footing, almost crashing to the sand, but she righted herself and kept moving forward. She heard the guardian behind her, his feet shushing through the sand. But he wasn't running. Not yet anyway.

Was he just keeping an eye on her? Trying to scare her?

A sharp pain came up in her side. Running through sand was like running in glue, every step a burden. Her chest ached from drawing in harsh breaths. She hated being afraid. Hated Jack. He had no right to follow her. No right!

When she couldn't run anymore, Lindsay slowed down. Terrified and furious, she turned to confront the man chasing her.

But he wasn't there. Lindsay looked from the lighted homes to the black ocean, but the guardian was gone. At some point he gave up his pursuit, possibly realizing that he could do nothing to her.

Lindsay bent forward to rest her hands on her knees. She breathed hard, trying to rid her side of the stitch. Sweat dripped into her eyes, and she wiped it away with a trembling palm. Eventually, she caught her breath and the pain ceased. She straightened up, brushed her hair off of her face, and turned toward her uncle's house.

The man in the black T-shirt stood only three feet away from her!

 

“We must talk,” Jack said in a low, controlled voice. “You're in no danger from me.”

The tone was meant to be soothing, but Lindsay was in no way put at ease. The man was frightening. After chasing her half a mile through the sand, he wasn't even winded. That wasn't normal. Nothing about this guy and his partner was normal.

“So you chased me down the beach?” she asked, angrily. “Yeah, that makes me feel warm and comfy.”

“Sarcasm is a child's weapon,” Jack said. “It won't help you here.”

“What do you want?”

“A simple understanding,” he said. “You've intruded on a very troubling situation. It will stop. You will forget about the things you've seen. You will forget about
him
. He is our burden, and in a few days' time, we will take him from here. Until then, you will keep well away from our charge. To do otherwise will result in unimaginable harm.”

The threat creeped into her skin and bones, resting there like a layer of frost. This powerful man with the emotionless face and soothing voice was not simply trying to scare her away; he was
dead serious. She didn't know what to say and was so frightened she couldn't have formed words if she wanted to. Instead, she searched the nighttime beach over his shoulders for any sign of rescue.

“He isn't what he appears,” the man said. “Do you understand that?”

Though she did not understand it, Lindsay's paralysis broke enough for her to nod her head. She just wanted him to go away. She'd agree to anything if it would send him back to the dilapidated house.

“Have a meaningful life,” Jack said.

Then he turned away. He walked several steps up the beach, then paused. After a moment, perhaps considering an additional threat, he continued into the darkness.

 

Lindsay walked into her uncle's house through the back door and found her parents waiting for her in the living room. They sat together on the couch; her mom looked furious, and her dad looked sad, like someone just died.

Oh no
, she thought.
The other one came here while his buddy followed me down the beach
.

She tried to ignore them, coolly walking to the
stairs as if nothing was wrong. But her mom stopped her.

“We need to have a word with you, young lady,” she said.

Crap
, Lindsay thought.
“Young lady” is not a good sign
.

She walked into the living room and met her mom's gaze, maintaining a cool expression. The last thing she wanted was a screaming match with her parents. It wouldn't do any good.

“What's up?” she asked.

“Mr. Richter from next door stopped by,” her mom said. She paused, probably hoping her statement would send Lindsay into a fit of denial or argument. But Lindsay knew better than to react. Seeing that her daughter was not fazed, she continued. “He told us that you have been visiting with the boy who lives there.”

“Um…and?” Lindsay said, surprised by how cool she sounded.

“He told us some really disturbing things,” her dad said.

I'll bet
, Lindsay thought, wondering what kinds of lies Doug Richter had told her parents. He'd probably made Mark out to be some kind of monster.

“Okay, but what does this have to do with me?” she asked.

“He's troubled,” her mom said. “Mr. Richter told us that Mark has been in and out of institutions his whole life. The last time he was incarcerated was because he injured a little girl. She almost died, Lindsay.”

That's exactly the kind of lie she would have expected, but it was crap, and she knew it. If Mark was that dangerous, they'd have bars on his windows, or they'd have him locked up. He wouldn't be separated from the world by a thin pane of glass. And she'd been in his room. Twice! They were totally alone, and he hadn't done a thing to harm her. Besides, there were laws. His guardians would have to tell neighbors if he was a threat, wouldn't they?

“Lindsay?” her dad asked.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear what your mom said?”

“I heard,” she said. “But I don't see the issue.”

“We're telling you to stay away from that boy.”

“I know,” she said. “I'm not arguing. I mean, I talked to him, but he was sort of creepy. He talked about some weird occult crap and wanted me to
hang with him. Then he tried to hit on me and I was all, ‘No chance in hell, Gomer.' I bailed. What's the crisis?”

The lie came so easily Lindsay wanted to keep telling it. A dozen little embellishments came to mind, but she stopped. If it was no big deal, as she'd said, she couldn't make it a big deal by talking about it too much.

“Oh,” her mom said, suddenly deflated of her outrage. “We were given the impression that it was a bit more serious than that.”

Lindsay laughed. “Whatever. I can understand them being cautious, but it's so not an issue.”

“So we don't have to worry about you spending time over there?” her dad wanted to know.

“I wouldn't say that,” Lindsay said. “I mean, have you seen the muscles on that other guy? He's full-on Hugh Jackman ripped. If
he
asked me out…well.”

“Oh, stop it,” her mom said. “Those men are old enough to be your father.”

“Hot is hot,” Lindsay said, putting on a mischievous grin.

“Go upstairs before you give me a stroke,” her dad said.

 

Lindsay was checking email when her dad opened the door. “Okay if I come in?”

“Sure,” she said, closing the laptop. She wasn't really concerned with him seeing anything. It was just a reflex.

Her dad walked across the room and sat on the bed next to her. “Is everyone back home surviving without you?”