Deadly Little Secret (25 page)

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’re in a safe place.”

There’s a stash of food and a bunch of bottled waters sitting on the TV tray, as if maybe he plans on my being here for a while.

“I think this will make you more at ease.” He reaches into a paper bag, pulling out my stuffed polar bear—the one I couldn’t find last night. “I want you to feel comfortable here,” he says, dropping it onto my lap.

I tug my hands away from the wall, surprised when they move—that the cuffs aren’t attached to the wall itself.

“I’ve given you a little slack,” he says, reaching behind my back. He pulls forth a piece of jump rope—I can tell from the plastic handles. “I meant to bring real rope, but even with all my planning and lists I somehow forgot to buy it. Isn’t that always the way?” he smirks.

I peer over my shoulder, able to see a metal loop sticking out of the wall, by the floor. He’s attached the cuff chain to the loop with the jump rope. “I’ve given you a little wiggle room, but you won’t be able to stand. I thought it was only fair, seeing as you’ll be sleeping here.”

“What?” I ask, feeling my insides tighten up.

Matt smiles in response, thoroughly enjoying this. Meanwhile, my skin ices over, and my forehead starts to sweat.

“And before you even think about attempting to untie the knot,” he continues, “save yourself some aggravation, because I’m somewhat of an expert.”

I look back at the webbing of knots. There have to be at least forty of them, each tangled over, through, and under the next.

“Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” he asks.

I ignore him and continue to look around the room, noticing a narrow door behind him and a window to the right. The window has its shade down and there are curtains hanging at the sides. “What do you want?” I ask, meeting his eyes.

“You,” he whispers. “I just want to be with you.”

Keeping my shoulders steady, I try to wriggle free of the cuffs, but they’re way too tight. “We’re friends,” I remind him. “You can be with me whenever you want.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It is,” I say, trying to sound convincing, running my fingers over the knots. I try to pull at one of them, but it doesn’t budge one bit.

Matt sweeps back the strand of hair that hangs in front of my eyes and then moves in closer.

“If you let me go, we can start over,” I say. “We can even start dating again.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he snaps. “Don’t lie to me!”

My heart beats hard. My head starts to ache.

“You’ll be happy here,” he assures me. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

“I want to be let free.”

“Not now.”

“Then when?”

“When you can say you love me and mean it.” He moves the lantern to the side so he can scoot in closer. He smells like the inside of his car—that thick, poisonous scent.

Hot, bubbly tears work their way into my eyes, until I can’t see. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” I whisper.

“Deep down, you wanted this,” he says; this is followed by a kiss on my lower lip. “You asked for it. And I aim to please.”

“No,” I insist, drawing my face away.

“Yes,” he says, moving in even closer. “You asked for it with the way you flirt, and how you always want to be the center of attention, and your recent attraction to danger. I know that’s why you’re attracted to Ben. You want some adventure in your life. You like the idea of dating someone with a dark side. And so that’s what I’ve given you.”

I shake my head, trying not to lose it completely.

“I should think you’d be grateful,” he says, continuing to kiss me. He makes an invisible line of kisses that travels from my mouth down to my neck and then back up again.

I try my best to play along, to hold back my tears by focusing on something—anything—else. I look over his shoulder in search of something sharp. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a knife sticking out from the pile of food.

“I have something to show you,” he whispers into my ear, sending icy-cold chills straight down my back. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a folder full of photos.

They’re pictures of me—at the beach, in front of my house, by the shopping mall, and at the bakery downtown.

“I just can’t get enough,” he whispers. “I’d look at these when you weren’t around, reminding myself it was only a matter of time before I’d have the real thing.”

“Please,” I say, hearing my voice shake.

“Shhh,” he hushes, kissing me. “Everything’s going to be just fine. You’ll see.” He kisses me a couple more times and then sits back on his heels. “I hate to leave, but I have to go. People are going to be wondering about you.”

“They probably already are,” I say, hoping it makes him nervous.

“All the more reason to get back. We don’t want anyone putting two and two together when they notice I’m not around, either. If you’re the only one missing, everyone will assume Ben’s the one who’s responsible. Even if they can’t prove it or find a link, he’ll get so ridiculed he won’t have a choice but to leave.”

“And then what?” I ask. “When they can’t prove it’s him, they’ll still keep looking.”

“Hopefully by that time you’ll realize what’s good for you. We can say you ran away from home—that your parents weren’t paying any attention to you and you wanted to get away.”

“So, you don’t intend to hurt me?”

“Not unless you do something stupid.” He turns his back to me, starts sifting through the stash of food. “It was fun shopping for all your favorites. I’ve got yogurt-covered pretzels, corn chips, and granola bars.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? I can feed you something before I go.”

I shake my head, keeping an eye on the knife. It sits underneath the bag of corn chips.

“You really should eat something,” he says, “or have some water. I don’t want you to get dehydrated.” He twists the cap off a bottle, holds the spout to my lips, and watches my neck as I swallow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, wiping the dribble from my mouth. He brings the TV tray to my side and dumps a bunch of yogurt pretzels onto it. Then he fills a plastic bowl with water and sets that on the tray as well. “You should be able to eat and drink without too much of a problem. The lantern has fresh batteries, in case you were worried, so I don’t expect it to go out. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

I nod and glance at the knife again. Matt notices and pulls it from beneath the bag of chips, runs it down the side of my face. “Dangerous enough for you?” he asks.

“I don’t like danger.”

“Sure you do. Deep down, it’s what you crave.” He holds the knife right below my jaw and presses it against my neck. “Sleep tight,” he whispers.

My lower lip trembles. My eyes fill with fresh tears. Matt nibbles my lip to still the shaking and then gets up, stabbing the knife into the wood right above the door.

Finally, he leaves. I hear him lock the door from the outside. Meanwhile, I try my best to hold it together and to focus on the knife, but I can barely see through the blur of tears running down my face.

49

Alone in the room, I listen for a car engine, wondering if Matt parked right outside, but it’s eerily quiet. The scent of a burning campfire lingers in the air from the moment when Matt opened the door, giving me hope.

Maybe someone’s nearby.

When I suspect he’s gotten far enough away, I go to work at the knots. I run my fingers over them, searching for one with a bit of give. Adrenaline courses through me as I twist the rope, trying to pull at any bump or gather.

After just a few minutes, my wrists start to ache. The metal of the cuffs cuts into my skin and makes my fingers tingle and go numb. Still, I continue to work, trying to figure out where the knotting begins and where it might end. But it all feels the same. And my wrists are stinging now.

I try to slip the cuffs off until my bones ache and I can feel cartilage move beneath my skin, but it isn’t working, even when I scrunch my hands to make them as narrow as possible.

I scoot forward on my butt to see how much slack I actually have—it’s about two full feet. I take a deep breath and pull with my wrists—so hard I think the bones might crack—seeing if I can yank the metal loop out of the wall completely.

But it won’t budge, either.

Breathing hard, I tug some more, until I hear myself cry out in frustration—a loud, high-pitched scream that tears out of my throat.

My legs flail. My forearms burn. Sobbing now, I let out several more screams, until drool drips out of my mouth and my throat is raw.

But still, nothing happens, and no one comes.

After a couple more minutes, I notice the room begin to darken and swirl. I glance toward the lantern, but it’s still well lit. Meanwhile, my head continues to ache. Bile creeps up into my throat, filling my mouth. I lower my head, and the room spins even more, making it hard to distinguish the floor from the ceiling.

I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. My stomach lurches. A whirl of colors bleeds over my eyes, turning everything black.

The room closes in around me, and I feel my body soften and fold. I’m pretty sure my head hits the floor. I’m pretty sure the piercing shrill inside my ears is a side effect of what I’m feeling. The room blackens and boxes me up. And I feel myself fade.

50

Still slumped over, I open my eyes and sit up. My arms are asleep. My head throbs. I try to whisper the word
hello
, but my throat is burning. And so are my wrists—a stinging, searing pain snakes down my fingers and crawls up my arms.

There’s a spill of some sort beside me. At first I think it’s a drink or some food, that I toppled something when I passed out. But then the smell hits me—an odor like sour milk—and I realize I’ve thrown up.

The bowl of water still sits beside me on the TV tray. Half of it has spilled out onto the rug and my jeans. Did I do that in my sleep? Is it from all my thrashing around? I lean toward it, thirsty for a drink, but suspicious that it’s the water that got me sick in the first place.

What did he put in there? How long have I been passed out? What time is it now? I look up at the window, but the shade and curtains block out all light. I wonder if anyone’s noticed I’m missing yet, and if they’re on their way to save me.