Shattered Secrets Read online

  Pressing his hand between my shoulder blades, Boredas urged me toward the house. My feet skidded on the rocks. Going in wasn’t an option. I couldn’t. He was deranged. He’d claimed I had a true home and that he’d been searching for me for a long time. I shook my head, took one more look at the house, then turned and ran for the cornfield.

  “You won’t make it far, and I don’t plan to hurt you,” he shouted.

  I didn’t look back. I kept moving forward, jumping over the chopped stalks, avoiding patches of ice from the recent freeze. I hurried into the forest. The trees were bare of leaves, providing me little cover, but it was dark, and I wore black; even my hair was dark. I could hide in the night. Daytime would be another story.

  Ducking under a low-lying branch, I slipped on some slick underbrush and landed on my butt. I jumped to my feet, not even bothering to look back. I couldn’t slow down. I wouldn’t slow down. I’d run for days if I had to. But my chest hurt, and my legs were shaky. And I didn’t know where I was.

  Boredas couldn’t be behind me. He stayed still when I took off.

  Add lazy to the list of strange personality traits.

  I stopped. My lungs burned, and my pulse raced in my ears, thrumming faster than ever before. I needed to figure out what direction I was heading. I needed to listen for the highway, for any clue to help me out of here.

  “You shouldn’t have run,” someone behind me said, but it wasn’t my captor. This voice sounded deeper, ominous, and very close to my ear.

  Warm, humid breath greeted my skin, raising the hairs on my neck.

  Shaking rocked my core, and cold prickles of fear raced to my fingers and toes. Turning around wasn’t an option. Running wasn’t either. He stood too close. If he was armed… Oh, God, I really am going to die.

  “We were paid to deliver you alive, but no one ever said we couldn’t hurt you.”

  Pain radiated through my head. White spots appeared in my vision, and the world around me faded.

  lost my freedom. Not only were my hands duct taped but now my ankles were too. To make matters worse, I was hogtied and lying on a smelly couch. I guess I pissed off Psycho Number Two. My head throbbed, and I knew without touching it that I had a knot. Probably a concussion.

  No one would be taking me for a CT scan though.

  These men were hired to capture me, but by who? Questions swam through my groggy mind. Questions I was too afraid to try to make sense of or answer.

  I kept my eyes shut. Boredas and his not-ashamed-to-hit-a-girl buddy weren’t talking. Who knew where they were, but I certainly didn’t want to open my eyes and find them staring at me.

  Wriggling my fingers, I tested for any weakness in my bindings, but my effort was useless. Tape held me tight.

  I lay still, too scared to move, listening for any sound, any movement. I heard the wind blowing through the trees, heard the roof groan, mice scratching in the wall, but nothing else.

  Did they leave me alone?

  Click, click, click.

  The noise sounded far away. Maybe it was just the mice infestation.

  I shuddered. How bad was this place?

  I had to see. I couldn’t take blindness any longer. Barely opening my eyes, I squinted around the candlelit room. My stomach churned. Decayed animal carcasses littered the floor. A raccoon or two, maybe a cat or dog…

  Maybe the smell wasn’t the couch after all?

  Empty bags of potato chips, soda bottles, pizza boxes—these things were tossed about. Cleanliness obviously meant nothing to these guys. My hope for survival diminished, deflating my lungs. Hot tears slid down my cheeks, soaking the upholstery beneath me. I didn’t care. I wanted to burn this place down, burn it and the people in it—well, the crazies anyway.

  A laptop was the only sign of electricity—or modern times. It sat on the edge of an ancient writing desk nestled against the wall by the stone fireplace.

  Psycho Number One and Two were not in the room, so I fully opened my eyes and tried to see what displayed on the screen.

  Black background, white banner across the top with someone… no, something—an elven woman and some big, toothy monster-looking thing. An RPG Paused button blinked in the center of the page. RPG? Role-playing games? My kidnappers were role-playing?

  Oh. It all made sense now. Boredas, hunter, Copper Rocks—these idiots took their game playing too seriously. Somehow they confused me for part of their made-up world. This was bad. Really bad. Maybe I could talk my way out of it? Maybe I could… wait, Psycho Number Two said they were paid to catch me.

  Nothing made sense.

  A door banged closed somewhere to my left. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, but it did little to calm my pounding heart. My hands were cold yet sweaty, and my feet were freezing.

  “She’s still asleep, but it looks like she’ll wake soon,” a man said, his voice too close. He probably stood right above me, staring, thinking about what he planned to do with me. “She’s shaking.”

  One of them slammed something down.

  “You shouldn’t have hit her.”

  “Oh, come on, I was just having a little fun. You shouldn’t have untied her. You know she could easily slip away if she comes into her powers.”

  Insanely delusional.

  “She doesn’t have a clue about her powers.”

  Plastic crinkled—I hope that’s not to wrap my dead body in.

  “She’s scared, Ruckus. This poor girl has lived in the realm of man her entire life, given up by her parents when she was a baby, and now her father wants her back to off her publicly—”

  I held back a scream. They did mean to kill me. And it sounded like they’d been role-playing for years. I wiggled my fingers, trying to dig my nails into the sticky tape. I had to get away. I had to get free. Why couldn’t my problems just be about Mark and Derick? Why did I have to get caught up in some kidnapping scheme? Some sick, twisted scheme at that.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, brother.”

  “Not soft. But look how beautiful she is. Imagine—”

  Footsteps. Heavy, fast footsteps. They stopped right in front of me. A clammy finger trailed from my temple to my collarbone, and I couldn’t hold back the trembling any longer.

  “I thought you might be awake. You should not eavesdrop. It is rude.”

  I opened my eyes and faced the men, anger filling every inch of me. I was going to die anyway. “Kidnapping, stuffing a girl in a trunk, punching said girl and tying her up on a couch with intent to kill her is rude. Me overhearing you say all that is unfortunate.”

  Psycho Number Two knelt, smiling and revealing all his crooked, yellow teeth. He looked nothing like his friend, and I already knew Ruckus wasn’t as nice. Not that either of them could have been deemed ‘nice’.

  “Such spunk. But we do not intend to kill you. Your father will handle that.”

  “My father is probably worried sick about me right now. Maybe he’s out looking for me—or at the police station trying to get help. You have me confused with some disgusting game.”

  He looked over his shoulder and grimaced. “Game, huh? Is that what you think? It’s just a game to you? We fight wars. We battle good—”

  “For evil,” Psycho Number One piped in.

  Short, dark, and hairy growled. “It’s not just a game. There is so much more you do not know. You will be taught. Then you will be killed.” He chuckled and cupped my cheek with his huge hand. “And such a shame. You would make a fine breeder.”

  Bile rose in my throat, and I spit it in his face.

  Rising to his feet, he backhanded me.

  Ringing split my head in two, and my cheek vibrated with heat.

  I inched myself against the couch and tried holding back tears, but the stupid things slipped out anyway. I didn’t want to die.

  he kidnappers ignored me, for the most part. Occasionally, sympathetic Psycho Number One glanced over his shoulder. His eyes told me he didn’t like what he was doing, but his actio
ns stayed the same. Both men sat at the desk, clicking away on their laptops, blowing things up and fist bumping each other.

  My arms and legs had numbed hours ago. There was no sense in asking to be released. Psycho Number Two meant business, and I meant a paycheck. Unless that was part of his delusion, as well.

  I trembled for hours. Neither of them was kind enough to put a blanket over me. The idea of a blanket from one of them made me shudder worse. How often did they kill people? How often did they do laundry? Remembering the smelly duffel bag in the trunk, I was positive I didn’t want to know the answer to either question.

  “Great work,” Psycho Number Two said, jumping from his seat. “They’ll be here for her soon.” He grinned and stormed out of the room.

  Psycho Number One looked at me again and then shrugged.

  Knowing someone was coming for me—or that they thought someone was coming for me—made chills rush up and down my arms and legs. I’d never been so cold in my life.

  “I should light a fire.” Boredas ran from the room.

  My teeth chattered. I had to escape. Sitting still made me sick; never mind not getting away meant imminent death. I inched forward. Falling off the couch would be loud, but maybe they wouldn’t hear. One man was out getting firewood—at least I assumed he was—and the other… maybe he was gone for a while.

  I peered over the edge of the cushions. No dead animals, no food, and no knives immediately below me. Just a dusty, wooden floor that looked like it was built centuries ago, the planks rotted and warped by moisture. I wriggled one more inch forward then plummeted off the couch, landing on my right shoulder. Hot, stabbing pains shot through it, and I held back a sob.

  It’s broken. It’s broken, and I’m not getting out of here.

  Fast-paced steps shook every board I lay on, sending stabbing pains through my arm. I screamed. I let it all out, the fear, the hurt, the anger, the agony—one loud, gut-wrenching wail.

  “What did you do? You’re making this so hard on yourself.” Psycho Number One scooped me up then put me back on the couch, right onto my broken shoulder.

  “It hurts. Please, please, untie me. I need to go to the hospital. Please.” All my determination to be strong, to be fearless, dissolved.

  He turned me over and ran his hot hands over my arm.

  The touch—I screamed again.

  “You’re going to annoy my brother.”

  “Please. You can’t believe I’m some part of that game. Please, I’m a girl, a girl who goes to school and has two parents who love her. I have boy problems and worry about my hair and college. Please, please just take me to the hospital.” Tears streaked my cheeks and ran into my hair, turning cold as they soaked my scalp.

  Boredas frowned, his face blanching. “It’s not broken. You dislocated your shoulder.”

  My stomach lurched. I’d seen enough television to know how painful putting an arm back in its socket could be. I didn’t want any part of it.

  “Please …” The word seemed so simple, yet so important. Would please really help? If he was crazy, would a normal cry for help mean anything to him?

  “You have the power to heal yourself. You have the power to end all this misery. Even those who seek to kill you. Search inside. I cannot set you free, but good calls to me. I’m tired of fighting for evil.”

  Normal meant nothing to him. I screamed again. Let his brother be annoyed. Let the whole freaking neighborhood be annoyed. Not that much of a neighborhood existed outside this shack, but if I yelled loud enough, maybe someone would hear me.

  “They won’t.”

  I stopped sniveling and looked into his eyes, so sad and downturned. “What?”

  “No one will hear you. Not where we are.”

  How did he know my thoughts? Maybe that’s what all his victims think. Maybe I thought it aloud?

  Psycho Number One startled and glanced toward the back of the cabin. “I’ll be just a minute. Don’t try to get away again.”

  Oh no. The other crazies must have arrived.

  There was no escape. Even if my hands were free, I couldn’t run with a dislocated shoulder.

  I closed my eyes and waited. Time ticked by. I listened for sounds, for a car pulling into the rocky driveway, for the rustle of wind in the trees, for mice in the walls, for anything to take my mind off the pain, off the fear. Every shake hurt more, my shoulder throbbing harder and harder, my pulse pounding in my ears. Every second brought me that much closer to the end.

  Sniffling, a new scent greeted my nose. Not the smell of rotting flesh, but a smell of burning wood. Maybe the nicer of the two murderers followed through on his decision to keep me warm. Maybe kindness truly existed in him after all.

  Opening my eyes, I looked at the fireplace, but no orange light or sparks there. The smoke formed dark gray clouds overhead, blanketing the ceiling. Air rushed from my lungs. I gasped over and over, wheezing in the noxious fumes as I struggled to get free. I didn’t want to die, not here, not this way, coughing and coughing, tied up. I didn’t want to burn, never see my parents. I wanted out, out, out, free.

  “Help! The house is on fire. Please, get me out of here!” I cried, pressing my nose into the nasty cushions to filter the air, the back of my throat burning, my skin covered in sweat.

  The planks rattled. Someone was coming for me. A strange calm filtered through my thoughts; I’d rather die by knife than burn to death.

  “Abby?”

  “Derick?”

  “Abby!” He appeared through the billowing smoke and then knelt before me. His face, his eyes—relief flooded every feature of my Derick—or what used to be my Derick.

  Maybe I’m dead. He’s not really here. This is just a dream.

  “You’re going to be okay. We’ve got you.” He reached behind me and freed me of the duct tape prison.

  But freedom didn’t stop the room from spinning. “We’ve?”

  “Mark and me. We saw them take you and followed. I’ll explain later. We have to get out of here.” He grabbed my hand, his familiar touch beyond welcome, then lifted me to my feet.

  I screamed, and the room spun worse.

  “What’s wrong?” Derick—Derick—looked me over, running his hands along my arms and back.

  “My… shoulder. It’s dislocated.”

  He cursed. “You’ll be okay. Come on.”

  Derick took my left hand and led me through the decrepit structure, running through a side door to avoid the fire along the front wall of the house, then helped me into his dad’s Volvo. His dad’s Volvo. Derick and Mark saved me in Derick’s dad’s Volvo!

  I looked through the rear window. Flames licked the front of the house and leapt into the air, reaching for the heavens.

  The world faded in and out. My shoulder hurt so badly, and my breaths came quick. Too quick. I was hyperventilating.

  “Abby, stay with me,” Derick said, sitting next to me, running his fingers along my cheek.

  “Finally got through to 9-1-1. The operator called us a couple of stupid bastards and said we should head straight to the hospital.” Mark peeled out of the driveway, knocking me against the side of the car. “She okay?”

  Sharp pain tore through my shoulder and up my neck. I couldn’t help the screams. I’d been kidnapped. I’d run away, been caught and bound, dislocated my shoulder, then rescued. My breaths came even faster. Black spots filled my vision.

  “She’s in shock. Stay. With. Me. Abby.” Derick stared into my eyes. He was here, holding me, looking at me, rescuing me; I blinked over and over, trying to snap out of this weird dream, trying to maintain my hold on reality.

  He shifted his gaze away from me, eyes narrowed. “What happened to your arm, Mark?”

  “Scraped it on the side of the house when I was running away from that creep. He almost caught me, too.”

  The sounds of the accelerating engine and Derick and Mark talking and rocks dinging the wheel wells warbled in my ears. “I need to throw up.”

  “We can’
t stop, Abby. Just throw up in the car.”

  I glanced from Mark’s bleeding arm to Derick, then back at the flaming house. I still saw it through the winter trees and the dust trailing behind the car. I could have died. I would have died. None of this could be real.

  My heart and breathing combination were too much, but I couldn’t slow them. I didn’t want to. Tears streamed from my eyes, blinding me.

  Derick put his mouth next to my ear and grabbed my right cheek with his palm.

  The action was something I missed, something I desired, and it sent me right over the edge.

  I blacked out.

  startled awake, causing every muscle in my body to scream. My eyes wouldn’t focus. People were in the room, but I only saw blobs.

  “Abby, are you awake?”

  Mom. Her voice soothed my aching body but brought heat to my cheeks. I wanted her to wrap me in her arms like she did when I was a little girl, singing bedtime songs about how the world was a beautiful, wonderful place. Now, even home would be dark and haunting, millions of miles away from the secure place where I grew up.

  “Oh, honey, please don’t cry. You’re safe now.” She pushed hair from my eyes, but I still couldn’t see.

  “Derick and Mark—they rescued me? Or was that just a dream?” I sniffled and blinked a few times, and my vision finally cleared. “Where am I?”

  Mom drew in a deep breath, then slumped her shoulders, her long, brown hair falling around her thin face. “You’re at Mary Washington.”

  The hospital? I glanced around. No sunshine entered the room through the closed gray blinds. A small lamp provided dim light, and the TV hanging from the ceiling was tuned to some evening game show. Flowers surrounded my bedside—bright red roses.

  My favorite.

  The strong fragrance wafted toward me.

  Metal squeaked across the floor, and I jumped.

  “What was that?”

  Mom looked at the foot of the bed. “It’s Derick. He’s been waiting in here since the police finished questioning him, again.”

  I swallowed hard. The rescue wasn’t a dream, then. “And Mark?”