Stray
Page 101
When I was finished, and smel ed overwhelmingly of vanil a, I blotted myself dry with the hand towel and got dressed. Abby was staring at me when I opened the door. I could almost taste her anxiety.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing around for the source of her concern. Eric stil lay dead in my open cel , which was good, because I don’t do walking corpses.
There was no one else in the basement.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Please.”
I reached through the bars to hug her. “I wouldn’t leave you here for anything in the world, Abby. I’m just going to find the other key, and a phone, so I can call my dad. I’l be right back.”
She clutched me, clasping her hands at my back. “Promise?”
“I swear.”
“Okay.” She let me go, and I stroked her hair, pushing it back from her face.
“Give me a few minutes, and I’l have you out of there.”
She nodded, and I headed for the stairs. I took them two at a time, with a cat’s easy gait and stealth. I was stil tired and hungry, but adrenaline kept me going. It was even better than caffeine.
On the top step, I flipped the light switch up and glanced at Abby one last time. She gave me a hesitant smile and a thumbs-up. I turned the knob, my heart pounding so hard in my ears that I couldn’t tel whether or not the hinges squealed as I pushed the door open. I paused, waiting for Ryan’s footsteps, but they didn’t come.
My palm damp on the doorknob, I stepped onto faded linoleum and eased the door shut behind me. Beneath my feet, a flowering-vine pattern crept across the floor and under a cluttered pressboard table before disappearing beneath a wal of kitchen cabinets. Above the sink, directly across from the basement door, was a window, its thin lace drapes open to expose an eerily perfect residential street, complete with sidewalks, yard gnomes, and mailboxes in cute shapes like birdhouses and barns.
I crept silently around the table, leaning over a stack of dirty dishes to stare out the window. As I watched, enthral ed by an ordinary scene of suburban serenity, a car drove by, bobbing for a moment as it went over a yel ow speed bump before passing the driveway out front. The empty driveway.
My pulse jumped. The van was gone. Sean and Miguel had already left.
Staring out the window, I looked freedom in the face, but my eyes were drawn back to the basement door. I’d promised Abby I wouldn’t leave her, and I never broke my promises. But even without a promise I could no more have left her than I could have let Eric hurt her.
To my left was an arched doorway, leading into what had once been a formal dining room. It was empty now, and beyond it lay a smal , tiled foyer and the front door. To my right stood an identical arch, leading into the living room. The couch faced away from me and the television was on, tuned to a morning-news talk show.
Ryan was nowhere in sight.
I scanned the table, searching for the key among sticky dishes and abandoned food. It wasn’t there, but I did find a cel phone, fully charged and receiving a strong signal. Mine, now, I thought, slipping it into the front pocket of my shorts as I turned toward the living room.
The phone rang when I was inches from the doorway. A digital, polyphonic version of “Bad Boys.” Someone had a real y cheesy sense of humor. I slapped my hand over the phone in my pocket, then dug for it desperately. I got it on the second ring and jammed my thumb down on the End Cal button. Nothing happened. Shit, wrong phone.
In the living room, less than five feet away, Ryan moaned and sat up on the couch with his back to me. He rubbed his face with one hand while his other searched blindly on an end table for the ringing phone. I slid back from the door frame in case he turned around. And I listened, frozen in place.
The song stopped. “Hel o?” Ryan asked, stil half-asleep. Then, sharper, “Why the hell didn’t you write it down the first time? Or at least wait ’til you got closer to cal for directions. I could have slept for several more hours.”
He paused, and I held my breath. It had to be Sean, because he wouldn’t talk to Miguel like that. Or Mom. And I was fairly certain no one else would cal Ryan.
“Okay, okay. But find a fucking pen this time.” Another pause. “You ready?
Okay, the town is cal ed Oak Hil . It’s eighty-five miles southwest of Saint Louis.
You’l be on I-55 until…”
I quit listening; I’d heard al I needed. They were going after Carissa, but they wouldn’t be there for hours, so there was stil time.
A minute later, Ryan hung up the phone with a curse and a grunt. Classy. He fel back on the arm of the couch and was snoring in seconds.
In a rush of relief, I released the breath I’d been holding for nearly two minutes. It was about time something went my way.
I tiptoed, literal y, back to the basement door and eased it open long enough to slip through, then closed it soundlessly.
“Faythe?” Abby whispered.
“Yeah, it’s me. Just a sec.” From the top step, I checked the reception on the cel phone. Two bars. Stil watching the screen, I took the steps one at a time. On the fourth step, I lost one bar, and by the sixth, I had no reception at al . I ran the rest of the way to the basement floor and straight to Abby’s cage.
“Did you find the key?” she asked, her face eager, eyes bright.
“Not yet, but I found this.” I held up the phone. “I think it’s Eric’s.”
She smiled. “Great. Call the council.”
“I can’t. It doesn’t get any reception down here, and Ryan’s stil upstairs.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing around for the source of her concern. Eric stil lay dead in my open cel , which was good, because I don’t do walking corpses.
There was no one else in the basement.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Please.”
I reached through the bars to hug her. “I wouldn’t leave you here for anything in the world, Abby. I’m just going to find the other key, and a phone, so I can call my dad. I’l be right back.”
She clutched me, clasping her hands at my back. “Promise?”
“I swear.”
“Okay.” She let me go, and I stroked her hair, pushing it back from her face.
“Give me a few minutes, and I’l have you out of there.”
She nodded, and I headed for the stairs. I took them two at a time, with a cat’s easy gait and stealth. I was stil tired and hungry, but adrenaline kept me going. It was even better than caffeine.
On the top step, I flipped the light switch up and glanced at Abby one last time. She gave me a hesitant smile and a thumbs-up. I turned the knob, my heart pounding so hard in my ears that I couldn’t tel whether or not the hinges squealed as I pushed the door open. I paused, waiting for Ryan’s footsteps, but they didn’t come.
My palm damp on the doorknob, I stepped onto faded linoleum and eased the door shut behind me. Beneath my feet, a flowering-vine pattern crept across the floor and under a cluttered pressboard table before disappearing beneath a wal of kitchen cabinets. Above the sink, directly across from the basement door, was a window, its thin lace drapes open to expose an eerily perfect residential street, complete with sidewalks, yard gnomes, and mailboxes in cute shapes like birdhouses and barns.
I crept silently around the table, leaning over a stack of dirty dishes to stare out the window. As I watched, enthral ed by an ordinary scene of suburban serenity, a car drove by, bobbing for a moment as it went over a yel ow speed bump before passing the driveway out front. The empty driveway.
My pulse jumped. The van was gone. Sean and Miguel had already left.
Staring out the window, I looked freedom in the face, but my eyes were drawn back to the basement door. I’d promised Abby I wouldn’t leave her, and I never broke my promises. But even without a promise I could no more have left her than I could have let Eric hurt her.
To my left was an arched doorway, leading into what had once been a formal dining room. It was empty now, and beyond it lay a smal , tiled foyer and the front door. To my right stood an identical arch, leading into the living room. The couch faced away from me and the television was on, tuned to a morning-news talk show.
Ryan was nowhere in sight.
I scanned the table, searching for the key among sticky dishes and abandoned food. It wasn’t there, but I did find a cel phone, fully charged and receiving a strong signal. Mine, now, I thought, slipping it into the front pocket of my shorts as I turned toward the living room.
The phone rang when I was inches from the doorway. A digital, polyphonic version of “Bad Boys.” Someone had a real y cheesy sense of humor. I slapped my hand over the phone in my pocket, then dug for it desperately. I got it on the second ring and jammed my thumb down on the End Cal button. Nothing happened. Shit, wrong phone.
In the living room, less than five feet away, Ryan moaned and sat up on the couch with his back to me. He rubbed his face with one hand while his other searched blindly on an end table for the ringing phone. I slid back from the door frame in case he turned around. And I listened, frozen in place.
The song stopped. “Hel o?” Ryan asked, stil half-asleep. Then, sharper, “Why the hell didn’t you write it down the first time? Or at least wait ’til you got closer to cal for directions. I could have slept for several more hours.”
He paused, and I held my breath. It had to be Sean, because he wouldn’t talk to Miguel like that. Or Mom. And I was fairly certain no one else would cal Ryan.
“Okay, okay. But find a fucking pen this time.” Another pause. “You ready?
Okay, the town is cal ed Oak Hil . It’s eighty-five miles southwest of Saint Louis.
You’l be on I-55 until…”
I quit listening; I’d heard al I needed. They were going after Carissa, but they wouldn’t be there for hours, so there was stil time.
A minute later, Ryan hung up the phone with a curse and a grunt. Classy. He fel back on the arm of the couch and was snoring in seconds.
In a rush of relief, I released the breath I’d been holding for nearly two minutes. It was about time something went my way.
I tiptoed, literal y, back to the basement door and eased it open long enough to slip through, then closed it soundlessly.
“Faythe?” Abby whispered.
“Yeah, it’s me. Just a sec.” From the top step, I checked the reception on the cel phone. Two bars. Stil watching the screen, I took the steps one at a time. On the fourth step, I lost one bar, and by the sixth, I had no reception at al . I ran the rest of the way to the basement floor and straight to Abby’s cage.
“Did you find the key?” she asked, her face eager, eyes bright.
“Not yet, but I found this.” I held up the phone. “I think it’s Eric’s.”
She smiled. “Great. Call the council.”
“I can’t. It doesn’t get any reception down here, and Ryan’s stil upstairs.”
