Creed (21 page)

I dropped my head to my hands, frustrated and scared by the very real possibility that we would never find Luke.

“I could hear him, though,” Mike added quickly. “Every once in a while I’d hear his voice, so I know he was close. We were probably only a room apart.”

“You could hear Luke?” I asked. “Like, you heard him talking to Elijah?”

Mike shifted his gaze to the ground so I couldn’t read his expression. “No, not all the time, and he never seemed to hear me. But there was … ” He trailed off, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

“Was what?” I asked.

“Screaming.”

The word was choked, Mike’s voice cracking as if uttering that one word was excruciatingly painful.

I inhaled sharply, wishing more than anything I could erase everything I’d just heard. Luke was tucked away in some torture chamber and I was sitting here, wasting time as Mike and I fought over Joseph.

I fisted Joseph’s shirt in my hands and shook him hard. “Where is he? Where would your father hide him?”

Joseph shrugged, his focus scattered as if he was searching his mind for a hidden clue as to where Luke was.

I let go of his shirt and did my best to soften my tone. “Where is Luke? Think, Joseph. Where?”

Joseph took a step toward Mike and spoke. “The place you were in … do you remember anything about it?”

Mike shook his head. “Not much. Like I said, thanks to that asshole father of yours, I was blindfolded the whole time and tied down.”

“Chair or floor?” Joseph asked.

“Neither,” Mike answered quickly. “It was a bed.”

Without a moment’s pause, Joseph rattled off his next question: “Twin or full?”

“Small. Twin, I guess,” Mike replied. “Why?”

Joseph ignored his question and followed up with one of his own. It was as if he already knew where his father had stashed Luke, and every question, every answer, confirmed his suspicion. “Do you remember what it smelled like?”

“I don’t know, earthy? Maybe a little sweet. Like a combination of burnt paper and pot.”

I swung my head toward Joseph, doubtful that anyone in this town knew what pot was, never mind had smoked it. Joseph caught my look of confusion and brushed it off, heading for the door. “I know exactly where he is. Let’s go.”

THIRTY-ONE

I found myself staring at the house we’d crashed in twenty-four hours ago. Elijah had brought Luke home. That crazy son-of-a-bitch was holding my boyfriend in his own house.

“You sure?” Mike asked, his gaze flickering anxiously over the darkened front window.

“Positive. There’s a room in our basement. My father used to lock me in it all the time,” Joseph said, a shiver working its way through his body. “He’d say that the only way to rid my mind of childhood fantasies was to surround myself in complete stillness.”

I could only guess what childhood fantasies would warrant such a punishment. Perhaps pretending a block of wood was a truck or dreaming about being a pirate. Or better yet, making Eden a doll.

“It’s small, dark, and completely soundproof,” Joseph continued. “You wouldn’t have heard him unless my father opened the door.”

Mike opened the front door to the house and the smell hit me, hard and strong. When we let ourselves in last night, all I’d registered was burnt pasta and garlic. Mike had pinned it right; it now reeked of burnt paper and weed.

“What’s that smell?” I asked.

“Sage,” Joseph responded. “My father burns it to rid the house of evil. He’s the only one who can do it, the only person
pure
enough to perform such a ritual. When my uncles come home for a visit, he does the same there, cleanses them and their houses so whatever they may have brought with them from the outside doesn’t infect the rest of us.”

Mike crossed the threshold, his bloody knuckles tensing into fists. It was silent, and we turned to each other, our ears straining to pick up the slightest noise. We got nothing, forcing Mike to ask, “Where is he?”

“There’s an old bookshelf in the basement. Next to it is a door,” Joseph said. “It’s locked. It’s always locked, but my guess is Luke’s in there.”

Mike held out his hand. “Key.”

“Top shelf, underneath the Bible,” Joseph said, and I prayed that the key was still there, that Elijah hadn’t slipped it into his pocket when he’d left to bring me Luke’s finger.

The basement staircase was at the far end of the kitchen. It doubled as a utility closet, several mops and a dustpan hanging from hooks on the wall. I remembered the high-pitched squeak of the door when we opened it last night, when Luke and Mike made their way down to see if the family who lived here was camped out in some sort of storm shelter. I’d found the sound eerie then. Now it was worse.

I hit the switch and light flooded the room. Yesterday, storage boxes had lined the cement walls of the basement. Now the one being stored down there was Luke.

“There,” Joseph said, extending a hand to his left.

I went for the bookcase. It was too high, and I had to stand up on the bottom ledge in order to reach the top shelf. Even then I couldn’t see the key. I blindly swiped the Bible away, searching for the key. My fingers barely grazed a cold piece of metal and I circled back, grabbing onto the tiny thing like it was my lifeline. In a way, it was.

The door was right where Joseph said it would be. “You remember seeing that door last night?” I asked Mike, hoping to God I wasn’t losing my mind.

“Yup. Luke tried it, but it was locked. We figured it was a cedar closet or something filled with valuables.”

I had the key in the lock, my hand shaking and frozen in place. Luke was the strongest person I knew, the one person who I could always count on to make things better. If he was hurt, if the survival of all of us landed solely on
my
shoulders, then I was dead. We all were.

“I got it,” Mike said, his hand covering mine.

I looked up, and he nodded but didn’t try for words. He couldn’t. He was probably wrestling with the same fears as me.

Backing up, I gave Mike full access to the door, to the lock, to his brother on the other side. He turned the key and the lock clicked open, the sound echoing off the walls.

I expected Mike to slam the door open and run headlong into that room. He didn’t. He froze like me.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Mike said. “I don’t care who that James kid is, or whether or not Elijah actually plans to kill him. I’m not going back into that town, and neither is Dee. Whatever it takes,
whoever
it takes to get us out of here is what I’m going to do. You get in my way, Joseph, and I’ll kill you myself.”

THIRTY-TWO

Mike eased the door open as if he was scared of what he’d find on the other side. I was with him on that. With my luck, Elijah would be sitting there waiting for us, bone-saw in hand. I shook off that thought and pushed past Mike. By this point, I didn’t care what or who lurked behind that door. I wanted Luke.

The smell hit me first, stale and rancid. It was dead silent—the sound of my own footsteps on the cement floor was the only noise—and pitch dark. I stumbled around blindly, searching for the light switch.

“Luke?”

I waited for a response, for anything that would indicate we’d come to the right place. No sound, not even a whimper to tell me which direction to turn.

I purposefully shut my mind down and refused to process the smells, the silence, everything my brain was trying to force onto me. Luke was fine. He’d been stuck down here with no windows. No ventilation. No bathroom. Of course it was going to stink, but he—was—fine.

“I need a light,” I yelled.

“There isn’t one,” Joseph said as he stepped inside and adjusted the tiny flame of a lantern. “This place was intended to be quiet and completely dark so you’d have nothing but your conscience to distract you.”

The lantern flared to life, coating the walls in an orange glow. I followed the light as he swung it from one wall to the next, hoping that it would land on Luke.

The light flashed over something solid in the middle of the room. I grabbed the lantern from Joseph and ran toward it. My feet slid out from underneath me, and I fell to my knees on the wet ground. Both my palms hit the floor and I lost control of the lantern. The light flickered twice before it steadied. Warmth seeped through my skirt, and a dark stain seeped through the stark white fabric as a rusty metallic smell filled my nose.

My body stiffened in recognition. I knew what it was—that dense, dark liquid that was now coating most of my lower body. I put my hands down anyway, flattening them against the floor and into the moisture. They came up red. Bright red and dripping. It was wet, not sticky or dried. I grabbed onto that knowledge and forced myself to lift my head. Then I screamed.

“Mike!”

He was there in an instant, pushing me out of the way as he tore at the restraints that bound Luke’s feet to the chair.

“I need more light,” he yelled, and I held out the lantern, my arm brushing Luke’s leg. It was cold and stiff. I squeezed his calf and waited for his muscle to twitch. Nothing. I dug my nails into his thigh, thinking a bit of pain would bring him around, awaken him from whatever sleep he was in.

“He’s not moving,” I choked out. “Mike, do something. He’s not moving.”

“I know. Help me get him untied.”

Mike had Luke’s feet free and was frantically working on his arms. They were stretched back and bound so tight that I wondered if his shoulders were dislocated or his muscles torn.

I squatted down next to Mike to help, but my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t maneuver the rope. Tears streamed down my cheeks and my entire body convulsed with terror, anger, and remorse.

“Dee, let me,” Joseph said as he took my hand in his. He wrapped my fingers around the handle of a second lantern and gently pushed me aside before taking my spot and manipulating the knots himself.

“Luke?” I whispered. Through the shadows, I could see that his eyes were open. His head was slung forward, his jaw slack.

“Luke?” I said again.

The panic slowly welled in my soul, and I reached out to touch his face. My hand molded to his cheek, a day’s worth of stubble rubbing against my palm. Even that couldn’t drive away the coldness of his skin.

They say that the dead look peaceful and relaxed, as if they’ve passed onto a better place. But that’s not what I saw when I looked at Luke. What I saw was agony. Pure, unadulterated agony.

The ropes finally gave way and Luke slumped forward, his entire body falling into my lap. I struggled under his weight and ended up in the stale pool of blood, Luke cradled in my arms.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and for a brief second I let myself believe that’s why he was so cold. The cellar was damp and unheated. If I warmed him up, if I could get his body to accept my heat, then he’d be fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” I cried as I held him to me, rocking him and willing my strength, my very essence, into him. “I’m going to take you home. It’s all going to be fine.”

I wrapped my arm around his waist, anchoring him to me, while my free hand searched for a pulse. I silently pleaded, would’ve gladly bartered away my own life for one small movement of his chest, one tiny tick of a pulse. Even a gasp of pain would’ve been welcomed.

There was blood, so much blood. I could barely find the spot beneath his jaw I was looking for. I settled my finger there and held my breath as I waited for the faint beat of life.

“Oh God.” I tried again, my fingers slipping to the other side of his neck as I hoped beyond reason for something I knew wasn’t there.

I gave up trying to find a pulse on his neck and reached for his wrist. I’d watched Luke take his own pulse a thousand times. Always on the wrist, always the same spot.

A hand on my shoulder stopped me, and I twitched, jerking off whoever it was. I could do this. I could prove Luke wasn’t gone. The hand came back and latched on so hard that I had no choice but to turn and look.

“Dee,” Mike said. “Let me see him.”

“No,” I cried out. I wasn’t letting anybody have him.
Anybody.

“Dee, let go. Please, God, let me see him.”

Mike’s voice cracked, and I looked up, saw the sheen of tears threatening to overwhelm him. I shook my head and held on tighter. Luke wasn’t dead. There was no reason for Mike to lose it. No reason for the tears slipping down his face. Luke wasn’t gone. He wasn’t. I wouldn’t let him be.

“Let go!” Mike screamed, prying Luke from my arms. I went at him, intent on getting Luke back. I needed Luke! I needed to feel him against me. Luke was mine. He belonged to me.

Joseph caught me around the waist and pulled me into his chest. I turned my anger on him, hurling every foul word I could think of at him, but he simply held me tighter, whispering for me to calm down.

Mike sat down and leaned Luke against his own chest, then put his ear to Luke’s mouth in search of a breath. He hovered over him for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, his hand slid to Luke’s chest, vainly seeking the muted thump of his heart, the expansion of his lungs … something, anything, that would indicate that we had time.