Uncertainty rose within me, as well as suspicion. “Where are you taking me?” I asked. More like demanded.
“Police station.” He flicked his chin in the general direction, one that was all uphill. I seriously didn’t believe I would make it up that stupid hill. “It’s closer to downtown.”
“How close are we to downtown?”
“Not too far.” He dipped his head, his hair falling in front of his face, as if he used it like a shield.
He was lying. I could tell. “Don’t you have a cellphone?” I didn’t. Sarah did. I wished I had one. I bet Mom and Dad now wished I had one, too.
“No.” He shook his head, the slightest sneer curling his lips. “Can’t afford it.”
Without another word he started walking again and I had no choice but to go after him. We huffed and puffed up the hill—me doing more of the huffing and puffing since he was in perfectly fine shape. He hadn’t been shackled to a wall for the last few days, beaten and brutalized and fed nothing but a donut here and a bunch of cookies there, the occasional bag of Doritos accompanied by a Dr Pepper.
I hated Dr Pepper. That I was able to focus on my hatred for a certain brand of soda after everything I’d been through was probably some indication that I was in a state of shock. I didn’t know. I’d watched CSI with my parents and picked up a few criminal/police terms, but most of the time, I wasn’t paying attention.
There were a lot of things I hadn’t paid attention to that I wished I had.
“You all right?” Will called over his shoulder and I muttered a yeah in response. I winced with every step, the muscles in my calves ached, and I shivered when a cool breeze off the ocean washed over me.
Somehow, he noticed. He noticed everything, and I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid of that or not. Out came a light gray sweatshirt from his magical backpack and he handed it over. I took it from him and pulled it on, inhaling deep the scent that clung to the fabric. It smelled of laundry detergent and something else. Something unidentifiable, and I pressed my nose against the neckline, breathing it in. The sweatshirt was soft and warm, the smell comforting, and it swallowed me up, much like his shirt I wore.
“Put the hood over your head,” he told me, and I did.
“Why?” I cinched the ties so that the hood fit me tight, molded around my face.
“Your hair. It’s bright. He might . . . he might recognize you if he happens to drive by.” His voice was hesitant and I saw the wild look in his eyes. “He went in to work. He should be off soon. If he doesn’t stop off at the bar first.”
Everything within me fell. My stomach tumbled and my mouth went dry. God, I felt like I could throw up. I was foolish to believe I could be free of him. He could find me. He could find us both. For all I knew, this boy was leading me to him and I was idiot enough to follow him wherever he went. “Who is he to you?”
He shook his head, his nostrils flaring. “It doesn’t matter.”
We trudged on in silence for a few minutes and his answer weighed heavily on my mind. It wasn’t good enough. He knew more than he was letting on and I was scared. Scared I was making a mistake. Scared I was walking into a trap.
“The thing is, it does matter,” I finally said as I caught up to him, so I walked by his side, my breath short, my feet aching, especially my toes. They curled tight into the cheap flip-flops, trying to keep them on my feet.
“What matters?” He sent me a wary, sidelong glance.
“Who he is to you. I need to know before I go any farther.” Where the strength came from I wasn’t sure, but I lifted my chin, hoping I looked like I meant business.
We both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at each other, our harsh breaths louder than the otherwise familiar night sounds. A dog barked in the near distance. Cars drove by, their lights passing over where we stood, illuminating us for one brief second before they were gone. A lone seagull flew overhead, its short, harsh cry sad, and I felt like that mournful sound could swallow me up whole.
“It shouldn’t matter,” Will said grimly. “He’s nothing. I’m nothing like him.”
I studied him, lights from a passing car highlighting his face, and I realized he vaguely resembled him. My kidnapper. It was the set of his mouth, the angry blaze in his eyes. Though for some reason, calm washed over me, reassuring that I’d made the right choice. I wasn’t frightened. He’d saved me. Walked me out of that hellish storage shed like it was no big deal, when it had been my prison for days.
“He’s your father.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed but otherwise, he never moved. Neither did I. We continued to watch each other until a horn honked, startling us both. “We need to go,” he muttered.
“You’re not . . .” I reached for him and grabbed his hand, clutching it tight. Too tight maybe, but I didn’t care. Looking down, I studied our linked fingers, thankful for the connection, praying that he wasn’t trying to trick me. Why this boy calmed me, I didn’t know and couldn’t begin to understand. Maybe it was the matter-of-fact way he rescued me. Without thought, without worry over what might happen to him. He was putting himself at risk by doing this. Helping me. I couldn’t forget that. “You’re not—you’re not taking me to him, are you?”
He squeezed my fingers and I didn’t flinch. I needed his reassurance. I needed to believe he wanted to save me. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you.”