The Detour (11 page)

I dropped the book back in the bin and quickly perused some of the other titles. Most were YA. I'd read many of them, since I liked to keep up with the competition. At least I would have something to pass the time if I wanted. I set the lid back on top. Books, art supplies. Other than the starvation, pain, torment, and torture, this incarceration was turning out to be almost like summer camp.

I rolled my eyes. I could read a book, paint a picture, maybe even make some fancy paper if I felt so inclined—

I gasped as something suddenly dawned on me.

I ripped off the top of the container with the paper in it. I quickly dug through the stack, searching. Nothing. Nothing but paper.

“Where is it?” I shoved that tub aside and went to the only other one I hadn't rummaged through. “Please. Be there.” Wax paper. A wax paper box had a slicing edge on it that was sharp as hell.

I pulled off the top.

“Yes!”

If there had been clouds in that basement, they would have parted and a heavenly choir would have kicked in, singing “Hallelujah!” at the top of their lungs
.
Because there, resting on top, was a blue box of Cut-Rite Wax Paper. For the first time in the past couple of days, something had actually gone my way.

I reached into the plastic tub and lifted out the box, quickly flipping up the top to view the cutting edge. I raised my eyebrows at the warning.
Caution: Cutting Edge Is Sharp. Avoid Contact.

A smile spread across my face.

Another phrase declared:
The Perfect Kitchen Assistant
. “Oh, buddy, if all goes well, you're going to be assisting me in something far more nefarious.”

Carefully, I tore the cardboard, pulling off the front of the box with the whole cutting edge. The thing rolled up, wilting in my hand. Too long to be of any use. So I bent the metal back and forth, attempting to break off a length that could be easily concealed.

Finally, the metal strip snapped in two.

I smiled and stuffed the rest of the strip into the wax paper box, then closed it, and placed it back into the container, shoving it under a ball of red yarn. I replaced the top of the tub and straightened it and the others so that they appeared untouched.

The tub of books tempted me. A lot. But if they found me reading, they'd know I'd been snooping. They might look to see if I'd taken anything else.

That couldn't happen.

Back at the bed, I reached down and slipped the slim strip of metal and cardboard between the mattress and the box spring, pushing only far enough to hide it. I slid my fingers in the gap to check. The strip was right there, easily within reach of my good hand.

Okay. Okay.

Without looking, I reached down and took it out, then put it back. Then I did it all over again. And again and again, until I knew exactly where to reach.

Leaving the cardboard attached had been a smart move because it gave me something to hold on to. Otherwise the strip would have been unwieldy and sharp. I found my best grip was holding it between my thumb and forefinger. Then I practiced slashing at the air.

It wasn't much of a weapon, but it could buy me a moment. A moment was all it took to slip out the door. And if I could get out that door, I knew I could make it out and find help. I knew I could.

I put my weapon away and leaned back against the head-board. My stomach growled.

I slid down and curled up, pulling the covers over me.

I didn't even care anymore that I was hungry. My hunger fed me, fueled my rage. Because I was past being a victim. One way or the other, I was getting the hell out of here.

*   *   *

I must have drifted off. There was a tap on the window.

Had they come back without my hearing the car? Was Flute Girl messing with me?

My heart pounded as my gaze drifted upward.

I gasped. The boy was back, the boy from last night. He had short brown hair, dark eyes, and a huge, leering grin. My whole body buzzed. I scrambled off the bed and ran into the bathroom, shutting the door. I pressed my back against it, my heart jumping like crazy.

Oh my God.

For the first time ever, I wanted Peg to come back. Even Flute Girl would have been fine. I didn't want to be alone there with
him
, whoever he was.

A minute later, a door upstairs banged shut, and then the ceiling creaked. I pressed my ear to the bathroom door.

Footsteps on the stairs, heavier than either Peg's or Flute Girl's.

He is coming downstairs.

BANG!

I jumped and gasped.

He'd hit the door. Or kicked it. Then the doorknob sounded like it was being jiggled. He mumbled something, sounded like a swear word I didn't quite catch.

He kept jiggling.

My heart threatened to pound out of my chest.

What if he got in? There was no way to lock the bathroom door.

I
could
make a move for the weapon in my bed. But how much of a weapon would it be against this guy? I'd only seen his face, but he was obviously capable of running whatever machinery was needed to cut up a car. And given how weak I was, my own grandmother could have taken me at that point.

He spoke again. “Where is it?”

What was he looking for?

The door banged again, like he'd kicked it. “I'll find the key, and then I'm coming in there,” he shouted.

I swallowed. He was looking for the lanyard with the key. I whispered, “Please, please, let Peg have it with her.”

Then all his sounds stopped.

Until he called out, “So what are you doing, Oh-liv-ee-aah?”

He knew my name.

I hated the way he said it. I held my breath, hoping he'd give up and go away when I didn't answer.

He asked again, in a singsongy way. “Oh-liv-ee-aah, what are you do-ing?”

My skin crawled.

He rapped on the door.

Shave and a haircut. Two bits
.

I shivered.

“I'm gonna get in there. Just a matter of time, Oh-liv-ee-aah.”

I slid down to a crouch, hugging myself with my good arm.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”

Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin, you douche bag.

“Let me in.” He did the singsongy thing again. “We'll have some fuh-un.…”

My chin began to wobble.

A tear slipped down my cheek. I swiped it away. “Stop it,” I whispered. “He can't get in.” Peg was a planner, I'd give her that. She had made my prison secure.

He growled and smacked the door. “Stupid Peg. She told me I could have some fun.”

Under my breath, I said, “Go away.”

He kept talking. “I'm actually a nice guy. Really.”

I doubted that.

“We could play a game of chess.”

Sure we could.

The weird thing was, his voice sounded almost like someone I knew. Maybe an actor on television, or the movies.

I let out a shallow breath.

Then a blast of music, insanely loud, with a male voice screaming words I couldn't even understand. I slapped my hands over my ears, wincing at the pain in my left shoulder. So I could only cover one ear. The singer's voice was raspy and rough, the drumbeat rapid, the bass booming. My heart raced faster.

I stood up and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping it around my head.

The music got louder, beating its way into my body. “Stop it!” I yelled.

Two doors stood between me and the sound, and it still hurt my ears. How could he stand to be so close to it?

There was a faint rapping. How had I even heard it over the deluge? I cracked open the door enough to see him pounding on the window.

As soon as he noticed me, a grin spread across his face. He waved: one quick flat slice of his hand through the air. Then he disappeared.

Gone. He was gone.

I ran to the bed and grabbed a pillow. Back in the bathroom, I slammed the door, dulling the music only slightly. He'd left me with that sound, that sound so violent it vibrated through my body. I closed the toilet lid and dropped the pillow on top of it, then got down on my knees. I bent over, lay my left ear on the pillow, then pressed a towel to my right ear, and cradled that side of my head with my arm.

But the sound still trembled through my skin and kept my heart pounding so that I couldn't even think. Not that I wanted to think.

Because when I did, the only thing that bounced about in my head was this: How many ways would these people come up with to torture me? And what could I have possibly done to deserve it?

 

{13}

I WAS SO
exhausted that I couldn't do anything but lie there, feeling the noise burrow into my body. My back and legs began to cramp up. But I didn't want to move. Uncovering my ears even for a second was out of the question. My lower back began to scream, and my bad shoulder was killing me. I had to sit up. I had to—

Silence.

I was afraid to believe it. Slowly, I lifted up my arm and pushed aside the towel on that ear.

My ears rang. My head ached. But there was no more music.

Was it a trick? Would he turn it back on as soon as I thought it was over? Toy with me until I was more of a wreck than I already was?

I tensed up, ready to flop back down to protect my ears.

Click!

Was the music a distraction? Had he found another way to get the door open?

I sat up and crawled to the bathroom door. My legs were sore from being bent for so long.

He couldn't get in. I wouldn't let him.

I held my breath, braced myself for his shoving his way through the door. I should have gone out and gotten my weapon. Why the hell didn't I?

“You can come out; I turned that crap off.”

Peg.

The breath whooshed out of me.

I was actually glad to hear her voice. Yes, she was my enemy, but I was pretty confident she wasn't capable of …

Well, I'd rather tolerate anything she dished out than whatever that boy had in store for me. I realized that for the first time, I thought of Peg as my protector instead of my captor. I knew it was dangerous thinking. But maybe it would keep me alive.

I turned the knob and opened the door.

Peg stood there in a blue-flowered dress that revealed her figure. Her hair was up in a bun. Swear to God, if she hadn't been the reason I was stuck in that basement, she could have been a normal person, back from church. Someone who baked pies for the potluck and watched the babies in the nursery.

She said, “I didn't mean for that to happen.”

Was she apologizing?

Because she didn't seem all that remorseful. In fact, she seemed kind of smug.

Not really expecting her to answer me, I asked, “Who is he?”

She shook her head, like it was inconsequential. “My cousin. He lives … around here. Helps me out now and then.”

Her cousin?

“He dragged my car in.”

I wasn't asking.

“And cut it up.” She shrugged. “He's good for things like that.”

I didn't want to know what he was bad for. Mustering my confidence, I announced, “I don't want him anywhere near me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don't care what you want.”

“Really? You're fine with him torturing me?” Heat rushed up my face, and I raised my voice. “Because there will be a reckoning for this. There will.”

Peg shrugged. “He's harmless.” She held out a white bag that I hadn't noticed in her hand. “Here.”

I didn't move.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'll take it back if you don't want it.”

I snatched the bag from her hand. It was heavier than it looked, and I nearly dropped it.

Her eyebrows raised, and a smirk crossed her face. “What, no thank-you?”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She turned and left.

Click.

My legs were still stiff as I limped over to the bed and sat down. Placing the bag on the bed, I stared at it a moment as I rubbed my hand along my leg.

The bag looked like it was from a bakery.

Could I trust her?

Could there be food in the bag?

Absolutely, there could be food in that bag.

But there could just as easily be a dead, bloody squirrel or something equally nasty inside.

I sighed. I'd seen that in movies, too.

My mouth watered and my stomach growled.

Because it would be just like them to do something even meaner than they'd already done.

I set a hand on the folded top of the bag.

“You don't know what's in there.”

I licked my lips.

Unable to stop myself, I flipped up the fold on the bag. I opened it, and then shut my eyes. “Okay. On three. One. Two.”

Please oh please oh please
 …

“Three.” My eyes slowly opened to peek at the contents.

Two glazed doughnuts and a small blue carton of milk, 2 percent.

“Oh my God.” I shoved one doughnut in my mouth and bit down, barely chewing the sweet softness before I swallowed, basically inhaling it. Another bite, then another, until it disappeared. “Mmmmmmm.” Sugar lingered on my lips, and I licked them, and then sucked the sweetness off my fingers. I wedged the milk carton tightly between my legs and opened it with one trembling hand. I lifted it to my mouth and took several swigs before I could stop myself.

I set it down.

“Slow down.” I didn't know when I'd get fed again.
If
I'd get fed again. Slowly, I closed the top of the bag, folding it along the crease. I set the bag at the end of the bed.

There. I would save the other doughnut.

My gaze went to the milk carton. Warm milk sucked. I tilted my head back and put the carton to my mouth, shaking it until every drop had landed in my mouth. I swallowed and then burped a moment later. My stomach wasn't even close to being full, my hunger nowhere near being squelched.