Won't Let Go Page 16

  The urge to scream fills my lungs with a breath of air. I let it out, all of my frustration, my anger, my torment. I bellow as loudly as I can, “Help! Somebody help me!” I continue, gulping in deep breaths and expelling words, in any form I can. Sometimes it’s just unrestrained shrieks of terror until my throat feels horse and my mouth dries, desperate for water.

  When silence is my only option, when it becomes apparent no one is left in the house, I sob.

  Suddenly, thumps and bangs echo around me. Dust and debris fall from the open beams of the ceiling. The door to the basement flings open with a loud bang as feet pound on the wooden stairs. The fluorescent light overhead flickers, and the pull string sways as Allison’s dad storms into the basement, a fury of rage present over every inch of his body. His lips are turned up into a sneer, wrinkles on his forehead pinched tight. Even his hands are pulled into tightly balled fists.

  “Screaming’s going to get you nowhere.”

  “Why am I here?” I manage. Instinctively I yank on my restraints, wishing I could place a hand on my aching throat.

  He takes a step closer, lowers his head and places his hands behind my shoulders, bracing the chair in his grips. The distinct smell of booze wafts off his clothes, and when he opens his mouth to speak, one hundred proof blasts me in the face. “You haven’t figured it out yet? And here I thought you looked like a smart one.”

  Figured what out? I shake my head. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Between being hit in the face, the shock and panic of being taped to a chair, I can honestly say I doubt my mind is working right.

  Mr. Blake clucks his tongue, giving me enough of a glance to see his yellow, decaying teeth. His eyes weigh heavy on me, so much so, that I look away. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  As if he’s still too far away, he inches in further. His nose is millimetres away from mine. “I doubt that’s true. Like I said, you seem smart, and when someone new comes sniffing around—” he takes a hand from the back of the chair and picks up a strand of my hair. He lifts it to his nose and inhales a deeply “—it’s because they know something they shouldn’t.”

  Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, I urge myself, as Allison’s dad drops my hair and places his hand back onto the chair, still close, so close to me. “I don’t know anything. I swear. I just met Allison. Please. Please just let me go.”

  Fury crosses his eyes, taking them to a deep, almost black-brown. “No, I can’t do that. You know I can’t. So just tell me what you know.”

  My brows furrow. I push against the chair again, as if I could get away, but know it’s futile. “I don’t—I don’t know anything. I swear,” I say. Slowly my eyes fall shut, nearly consumed with exhaustion.

  I think back, replay everything I can from memory. The start of my day, I remember stopping at Allison’s work. Then sneaking into her home and looking at the photos on the mantle. And that picture, the one that caught my eye, the one that changed everything. It fell to the ground when Allison surprised me with the cold tone in her voice, the vehemence in her face and her stance. She begged me to leave, gave me a chance to walk out the door and away from her family forever.

  I was stupid.

  I didn’t leave.

  And before that, in the donut shop, she recognized those names, and their pictures. But she lied. She hurried away. She didn’t go to work, I know because I followed her. Instead she went to Evergreen Lane.

  My eyes open. I take a deep breath and beyond the smell of booze is something else. What is that? And then it hits me. The sawmill. The smell that’s permeated the clothes he’s wearing is wood. He smells like a forest, damp, fresh, and woodsy. Like one of those Christmas tree air-fresheners soaked in whiskey.

  That’s who Allison went to see. Her dad.

  Recognition must have been obvious because Allison’s dad grins, flashing those disgusting teeth at me. He even swipes his tongue across them with pleasure. “Do we remember anything? You’d be wise to just admit what you know.”

  I swallow, then take a deep breath and say, “I don’t know what you are talking about. Just let me go. They’ll find me. My car’s outside. My parent’s will come looking for me when I don’t come home or answer their calls.” Confidence builds inside, because I know my parents will search, and so will Embry. They won’t stop until I’ve been found.

  My captor reaches into his pocket and produces my cell-phone. The small light blinks red at the top—messages. And then like I’m a cat in need of some shiny toy to grab my further attention, he pulls out my keys and jingles them in front of me.

  I do a double take.

  “I’ve taken care of both those problems, so you have nothing to worry about. Now please. I’m growing tired of this game. Tell me what you know, and maybe, just maybe you’ll walk away from this.”

  The iron-barred window catches my eye. I stare at it with such longing. Dusk has started to set over Willard Grove, which means I’ve been here all day. I swallow the lump in my throat and force my thoughts from the dissipating sunlight to the information swirling around inside my head.

  With what I’ve learned and the position I’m in, I think I’m able to figure it out.

  “You—you were the one who tried to kill Embry?”

  The photo of Allison and Danielle, the anger that their dad has shown towards me—the outsider, the snooper—the words Elliot Winston spoke to me, recounting those last night’s events. It all comes together. If it wasn’t Danielle herself, or Mike, then the last and obvious culprit would be the dad.

  What parents will do to protect their children, their babies, can far outreach what’s right and wrong. There’s a gray area, and Allison and Danielle’s dad has crossed it trying to kill the thing, the person who tried to, from his perspective anyway, tear his family apart.

  “Wrong answer,” Allison’s dad says.

  Apparently I know too much. Mr. Blake storms up the stairs before I have a chance to worry what my having the wrong answer means. My head hangs to the side. I’m so tired I don’t fight it when my eyes fall shut.

  “Alex? Alexia can you hear me?” A silky voice touches my ears. “Alexia? Alexia, please, please open your eyes.” The voice becomes urgent. “Open your eyes. Tell me where you are.”

  I struggle, I tell my brain to let my eyes open, but the message doesn’t find its way. They stay closed even though I don’t want them too. I want them to respond to the voice and do as it commands.

  The voice sounds so familiar. I’m sure if I think hard enough, I’ll remember why.

  “Please, Alexia, tell me where you are. I can’t help you if you don’t open your eyes,” the voice urges again, even more persistent than before. I can hear the edge of worry in the tone, and it grabs more of my attention.

  “That’s it Alexia, just take it slow.” A wave of cool air sweeps over my face. It’s the sudden drop in temperature that reminds me why the voice speaking to me is so familiar.

  I cry out, “Embry?”

  “Yes, Alexia, I’m here.”

  Slowly one eye opens, then the other, only to clamp back shut as a blinding white light causes explosions of color and stars. I try again. One eye, and then the other. The whiteness is so intense, vivid, I have to squint, focus on the one thing I can make out—Embry’s silhouette.

  Embry’s face is pain stricken. Deep ridges of frown lines crease his forehead. His normally rich blue eyes are dark, consumed with worry and fear. He is knelt beside me, his body stiff. I reach out a shaky hand, desperate to feel the icy air that’s come to comfort me, to bring me what I’ve been longing for—hope.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  Embry raises his hand, silencing me. His head shakes back and forth, as if to say it’s not my fault.

  But then, the next words out of my mouth voice my greatest fear. “Am I—Am I dead?”

  Taking my hand into his, Embry brings it closer, pressing his pale, cold lips to my skin. He rubs my hand gently a
gainst his cheek. “No. You’re not dead,” his voice cracks slightly. “You need to tell me where you are.”

  “I—I don’t know. You’re here with me, aren’t you?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead Embry releases my hand to push a few loose strands of hair off my face and tuck them behind my ear. His touch, delicate and icy, sends chills coursing up and down my spine. As the chill subsides, pain replaces his cool, electrifying touch. I look up, and into his eyes. I’m shaking suddenly, and it’s not because of Embry’s presence. It’s because when I focus on myself and not the swarm of feelings filling my heart at the sight of him, my head throbs. What happened?

  “Please, Alexia, you have to focus, this is imperative. Where are you? I need you to think, to concentrate. To remember.”

  His last word—remember—strikes a chord so deep in me. It forces me to take hold of my mind and the situation, but most importantly, it replaces everything building, bubbling up inside with fear.

  “He’s going to kill me! Oh God. He’s going to kill me. I know too much.”

  Embry places his strong hands on my shoulders, levels his face with mine, and says, “No. No. I will never allow that to happen. Now, where are you?” His voice rises a few octaves as he finishes the sentence.

  “Allison and Danielle Blake’s house,” I say, as the full brunt of memories come flooding back to me. “He’s going to kill me. He—he tried to kill you.”

  Embry cups my chin. His thumb gently rubs soothing circles atop my skin. “I’m coming for you. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever. I swear, Alexia, I’ll come for you.” He leans forward, closing the last bit of distance between us, placing his lips lightly against mine. It’s slow, gentle, but quickly he pulls me into him, crushing me against his chest. I press back just as desperately until our bodies are melded together, almost one.

  Embry breaks away first, his eyes glistening. He places one more quick kiss against my lips, and then says, “I will come for you.”

  And I believe him.

  With every fibre of my being, with every string that tugs at my heart, I believe he will come.

  I believe it more than life itself.

  Embry will rescue me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Alex? Alex wake up!” My eyelids flutter at the sound of a voice. “Wake up, come on. Dammit! Alex, wake up!” The voice grows louder. It rings in my ears like a siren. There’s a splash of wetness. Beads of water roll down my face and drip onto my hands. It’s cold, refreshing, and it rouses me enough to open my eyes.

  Through the moisture I see Allison kneeling before me, water bottle in hand. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings.

  “Embry, where’s Embry?” I croak.

  He was just with me.

  Wasn’t he?

  Of course he was. I heard his voice. He touched my skin, enveloping me with his arctic presence as well as caressing my cheek with his soft, gentle hand.

  He’s coming for me.

  “Embry?” Allison says, eyebrows quirked up.

  Reaching out a hand, Allison touches my forehead. I flinch, pulling back, forcing myself away from her. “Shit. He must have hit you hard. There’s no one here. No one but me.”

  My heart gallops in my chest, raging. “No, he was here. What have you done to him?”

  “There’s no one here. Seriously. I think you’re hurt, maybe a concussion. Because the only Embry I know of, well, he’s lying in a hospital bed. You know that.”

  “He’s not coming for me?” I whisper.

  “No. You’re not well. And if I just leave you here, well, I think you’re going to get a whole lot worse. Like, six feet under worse.”

  “So what are you waiting for? Get me out of here.”

  From behind her back, Allison produces a serrated, black handled steak knife. She holds it like a weapon, gripping it tightly in her palm. The silver blade glistens as light from the overhead bulb reflects off the tip, making it sparkle. It’s eerie how comfortable she seems holding it. However, I don’t say anything, I just wait for her to step forward and slice at the tape, releasing me.

  Seconds tick by, almost a minute, and then I speak up. “Well? What the hell are you waiting for?”

  “I’ve got one condition.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, at all. “What?”

  “This ends here. I’ve stood by and watched my father do a lot of things, but it doesn’t mean he deserves to go to jail.” She takes a step forward, “He’s—he’s all we have left.”

  I’m sure her emotion is genuine, but is she crazy? I mean seriously crazy? I shake my head. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

  Her own head shakes fast, the knife in her hand moving in time. “Yes. You. Can.”

  “No. You’re crazy. Just as crazy as him. I can’t let what I know go. I can’t. He needs to be stopped. He needs to pay for what he did to Embry and to Elliot.”

  “Then I can’t let you go. He’s my father. And if I leave you here...Please. Just forget everything. I’ll let you go. I swear. Just don’t tell anyone, anything.”

  Fresh tears fill my eyes. “I—I can’t. An innocent man is in jail—”

  A buzzer screeches loudly, reverberating off the concrete walls, the open ceiling. Allison and I both look at the source of the offending sound. The dryer.

  A voice just as loud and insistent fills the air, “Allison?”

  My eyes grow wide.

  Someone else is in the house.

  I suck in a deep breath, open my mouth ready to scream.

  “Don’t make a sound,” she says.

  I want to scream. I do. But instead I clamp my mouth shut and close my eyes.

  “Allison?” The voice grows louder. Footsteps sound on the above floor. They make their way closer and closer to the entrance of the basement.

  Stepping away from me, Allison walks to the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she shouts. The sound of steps however, grows louder, until the door to the basement swings open with a whine. “I’m coming. Stay right there, I’m—just finishing up something,” Allison says. From here, I can barely make out the shape of an elongated shadow stretching down the wooden steps. My heart speeds up. As if it could go any faster.

  “I thought we were going to the movies.”

  With a big smile, Allison says to the long shadow, “Be right there,” in a tone that drips sickly sweet. Apparently satisfied whoever she’s talking to is leaving, she turns towards me. Her big smile fades, turning her face into one of total seriousness. No games.

  “So do you want out or not? I just need your word. It’s that simple.”

  I know I’m not going to give in, that Elliot doesn’t deserve to stay in jail for something he didn’t do, and Embry deserves his attempted murderer to be brought to justice. Embry can’t get better until Allison and Danielle’s dad is behind bars for what he did. So I say the only thing I can think of—I like to play with fire it seems. “I can’t do it. I won’t. So you might as well kill me now.”

  “Is that what you want, to die, right now?” She takes a few more steps wielding the knife in her hand. “To lose everything, over something you don’t understand, for someone you’ve never even met?”

  Hearing it out loud, it does ring crazy. But I know Embry, I’ve felt his touch, I’ve heard his voice, he’s kissed me with those perfect lips. I know him.

  But do I?

  Is he worth the end of my life? What if he never wakes up? Or worse, what if he does and he’s not my Embry anymore? What if he’s how he was—the womanizer. Those are questions I just can’t answer, ones I might never be able to. However, I know what’s right and I know what’s wrong, and I trust in Embry. I swear it was him, the real him telling me he’d come for me.

  Elliot doesn’t deserve to stay in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, either. Just like Embry, he should be allowed that second chance at life.

  And my parents, I know they’d be sad, but they know I love them. I
know they would want me to be strong. To make things right. If I have to sacrifice myself, it will be worth it, no matter what. I know it will.

  I swallow, lift my head and look Allison in the eyes. Show no fear. “N—” I’m cut off. Both her attention and mine switch to the heavy footfalls pounding down the steps. It’s a blur of motion until—

  “Oh my God!” Danielle Blake screams. She skids to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Her hand still clings onto the railing for support as her eyes move between Allison and me. “What the hell is going on?”

  Allison swiftly steps in front of me. She slides her hand and the knife behind her back out of view. But it’s too late. It’s obvious Danielle has seen me, duct taped to a chair, battered and bruised, bleeding and wet.

  And you just can’t walk away from that.

  Or can you?

  “Danielle, go back upstairs. Please. I’ll be there in a minute,” Allison says to her sister.

  Danielle, whose expression is nothing short of shocked, shakes her head. “What the hell is going on?” Quickly she takes a few steps forward, nudges Allison aside with her shoulder and drops down to her knees in front of me. “Oh my God. Allison!” She pulls at the tape around one of my wrists, her own hands shaking as she works at the restraints.

  But Allison’s not having that. She kneels down, discarding the steak knife under the chair. “Danielle? Danielle, stop. Please just stop.”

  Ignoring her sister, Danielle continues pulling on the tape. I grit my teeth as the adhesive pulls at the hairs on my arms. Methodically she shakes her head. “What have you done? My God, what have you done?” she says.

  “Danielle, listen to me. I—I didn’t do this.”

  For some reason this catches Danielle’s attention. Her hands still. “But you’re not stopping it,” she says. Her brown hair falls over her face as she turns her head to Allison.

  “Well—I—it...it isn’t my fault. Please. Can’t you just leave? Let me deal with this?”

  I’m honestly amazed at how calm they are—they both are. It’s as if they’ve seen this before. God I hope there haven’t been others. I mean I’m trapped in their basement. Isn’t that cause for alarm? A call to 911 perhaps?