Close to Home (37 page)

With a voice from the map app guiding her, she was finally able to turn onto the road leading to the diner. She parked outside the long, low building and walked inside to take a corner booth. A waitress with overbleached hair took her order, then left her alone.

And that's when she realized just how lonely she really was. In the brightly lit diner, with the lights gleaming off the harsh white walls and black-and-white tiled floor, she was all by herself in a booth that could easily hold four. There were a few other patrons—an old man in a brimmed hat, eating a piece of pie at the counter, and a woman doing a crossword puzzle while she sipped on a soda and ignored her half-eaten burger.

To top it all off, the music coming through the speakers mounted near the ceiling was some old Beatles tune that Cody loved. He liked everything from rap to country to old stuff from the sixties and seventies. “Eleanor Rigby” was one of his favorites.

The haunting lyrics about isolated people resonated with Jade, touched a deep, unhappy part of her soul. She had two fathers now, neither of whom knew her, an overprotective mother who thought she saw ghosts, a sister who was as weird as all get-out but whom she loved, and a boyfriend she felt was slipping away.

Get over yourself,
she thought as the song went on. For the love of God, was this the long version? She didn't need to be reminded that she was by herself.

As the waitress brought her drink, she took a sip and checked her phone. No response from either Brittany or Cody.

“Come on,” she said out loud, then shut up. She thought about texting Cody again, but didn't want to be
that
girlfriend, the needy one begging for his attention.

But she was.

Gracie was right. She was obsessed with Cody, and he didn't care for her. Kind of like Gracie's damned ghosts, always just out of reach, real or not. Wasn't that how Cody's love for her was? Didn't she know he was really into Sasha, the college girl who probably even had that damned Beatles song, which, thankfully, finally ended, its last note dragging out.

Her fries came, but she wasn't really hungry and her excitement about getting her car back disintegrated as she stared at her phone and faced the heart-wrenching truth that Cody didn't love her. Probably never had.

Disconsolate, she dragged a french fry through some ranch dressing and took a bite. She had two choices. Either she could run off to Vancouver to have things out with Cody, meanwhile trying to beg a friend to take her in so she could leave this stupid little town, or she could face the fact that her boyfriend was a jerk-face who didn't care enough for her and make it official—break up with him and do what Mom wanted: make a new life for herself here with her oddball family, horrible school, and scary, old, supposedly haunted house.

There were some good things about staying. The girl whose locker was next to hers had been friendly, and that Sam dude in Algebra was really kind of funny, and then there was Liam Longstreet. Although his friend was a total dick, Liam was nice enough, had even offered to help her get a new phone, and he would be around at the house while the renovations were being completed. Except that he was going with Mary-Alice, who was a total nightmare.

Her phone buzzed, indicating a text had come in. She read it quickly, her heart doing a quick little kick at the thought that Cody was answering.

Of course she was disappointed.

Again.

It was Mom. Worried about her as usual.

Home soon? was the text.

She responded. Ya. On my way. That was a bit of a lie, but it bought her some time.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked. Her name tag read “Gloria,” and she seemed worried, for some reason, her eyebrows drawn together, her lips turned downward. Not exactly great for business, Jade thought.

“I'm fine,” she said, not meaning it.

“Well, thanks, then,” Gloria said, and paused as if she were about to add something, then offered an unconvincing smile and headed to the counter, where the man in the hat was starting to put on his jacket.

Jade took another long swallow of soda and looked outside, through the long bank of windows at the parking lot and farther out, to the traffic rushing along the interstate, headlights appearing out of the fog, taillights fading quickly.

Her own reflection was visible, pale and watery, like one of Gracie's damned ghosts. She did look sad. Troubled. Even haunted.

God, this was ridiculous.

She wasn't going to let anyone, including Cody Russell, make her feel miserable.

With a newfound insight, she decided no boy was worth all this misery.

She was done with him.

But she couldn't break up with him in a text. The next time he called, she'd tell him.

And if he didn't phone her?

His loss.

“Y
ou have to calm down! Everyone!” Rosalie was shouting again, her voice raw from screaming over the yelling and crying and shrieking that was happening in the nearby stalls. “Shut up! Everyone!”

A break. They actually stopped making noise to listen.

“Look,” she said desperately, hands against the wall closest to her. “You have to all pull yourselves together. We don't have a lot of time, and we need to find a way out of here!”

“How?” the girl in the next stall said.

“I'm not sure. But we
have
to figure it out!”

“Again, I said, ‘how?' ” A little snobby-sounding. Who cared. “Who are you?”

“I'm Rosalie. The one he calls Star.”

“I knew it!” the girl next door said harshly. “Rosalie Jamison. I thought you were dead!”

“Is that what everyone thinks?” Rosalie asked, panicked. Had her mother given up on her? Candice, of course, started to wail again.

“Do they think I'm dead too?” Candice cried. “I'm Candice . . . Candice Fowler.”

“Not everyone,” Princess clarified. “It's just that you've been gone for so long, it seemed likely. At least to me. I don't know what they think about you, Candice.”

“I want to go home.” Candice was crying again.

“Oh, God! How do you stand that?” Princess said. “Can she please stop whining!”

Never,
Rosalie thought, but yelled in the direction of Candice's stall. “Cut that crying shit out. Candice, we don't have a lot of time, so pull yourself together.”

The crying was reduced to an irritating sniveling, but at least Rosalie could hear herself think again. More important, she could communicate with the new girls. “Okay, now that we don't have to yell. Who are you?” she asked, throwing the question out to both girls.

The two new girls started talking at once.

“Wait. Hold it. One at a time. You, Princess.”

“Don't call me that! It's demeaning,” she snapped, and Rosalie wondered if, because of her obviously superior attitude, for once the name was apt. “My name is Mary-Alice Eklund.” She paused, as if the name should mean something. When Rosalie didn't respond, Mary-Alice—a little miffed, it seemed—explained that she attended the private, Catholic school in town, that her father was some big deal, and she was tricked into thinking she was meeting her boyfriend when she was taken. She sounded like she was holding herself together, but her words trembled a little. Rosalie could hear she was scared, just not falling apart like Candice. “There was this lady walking a little dog at the school where they attacked me. I hoped she would help, and maybe she did. Maybe she called the police. But I can't be sure. She was there one minute and gone the next. The same with the man in the bleachers. Oh, God, what if they were all part of the plot.”

Maybe, Rosalie thought. She knew there was someone in the background, someone pulling the strings.

“Maybe the woman will call the police. Maybe she got the license plate of the car,” Candice said. For once she was thinking beyond her own misery. God, was there hope for her?

Mary-Alice continued, “But my mom and dad, they'll find me.”

Oh, yeah, how?
Rosalie thought, but didn't say it while the second girl, “Whiskey,” said that she was Dana Rickert, also a student at Our Lady of the River. Dana's story was a little different; she'd been caught at a shopping mall and had thought it was a random abduction until she was driven to the school and Mary-Alice was captured.

“Did anyone see you being forced into the truck in the parking lot of the mall?” Rosalie said, hoping beyond hope.

“There were some people there,” she said, sniffling, as if fighting tears, “but no one close.”

“What about security cameras. At the school? They have them, and at the outlet stores?” Rosalie's mind was spinning. There was an outside chance that someone had seen it happening, could ID the kidnappers, and would call the police.

“I think so,” Dana said.

Mary-Alice wasn't so confident. “I know at least one of the cameras is broken. That why Liam and I meet there . . . or did.” A sadness tinged her voice, but Rosalie ignored it. At least both girls seemed to be willing to do something, and though she heard the terror in their voices, neither had fallen into the same emotional, self-pitying puddle as Candice had.

Rosalie grilled them, trying to think of questions that would help.

Neither girl could identify their abductors. Rosalie had had the most personal contact with the big guy, though Dana, who worked part-time at the local pharmacy, thought she'd seen each of the abductors at one time or another in the store, but she wasn't sure and couldn't name them.

Neither had overheard what the two losers had planned for them, but they'd both known about Rosalie going missing; it had been all over the news. Candice's name hadn't been mentioned, as far as they knew, probably because she'd been captured more recently, and neither girl had caught the news or heard about it on Facebook or Twitter. That bit of information, of course, caused Candice to start sobbing again.

Perfect, Rosalie thought, but didn't reprimand her as she was crying quietly.

As both girls had been forced out of the truck, they'd seen the barn and a lean-to with a car parked in it and a little cabin, but it had been foggy. There had been some fields, maybe, but no animals that they'd seen, and they each said they'd driven through the forests.

“It's in the hills, above the river,” Mary-Alice said. “I think we passed that old tavern. The Elbow Room.”

Rosalie had missed that when she'd been hauled up here.

“I didn't see it,” Dana said, “but I was so freaked.”

Mary-Alice hesitated. “Me too, but . . . but my uncle used to go there years ago, when my grandpa was alive. They both worked in the woods, and my mom said they hung out there after work. It's not too far from that old wreck of a house, you know the famous one, Blue Peacock Manor, or whatever it is. Where that new girl lives.” The sneer in her voice returned. “Jade McAdams.”

“We're close to her house?” Dana said, and Rosalie was at a bit of a loss. These new girls had lived here most of their lives, it seemed, and that would help. Rosalie was a newcomer, didn't know the old landmarks.

“Yeah. It's around here.” Mary-Alice seemed sure.

“How far from town?” Rosalie asked. “Or the tavern, or another farmhouse, or something?”

Neither girl was certain, but their impressions helped. At least they had some idea of where they were and the direction of the nearest road. That was something. For a few seconds Rosalie felt a sliver of hope. Until she reminded herself that the only reason the captives would be allowed to view their surroundings, as well as the faces of their kidnappers, was that this barn was temporary. Either they were going to be taken to another location, probably far away, or they were going to be killed.

An icy dread stole through her, but she tried like hell to keep it at bay. She had to fight whatever sick fate the kidnappers had planned.

Once she'd learned as much as she could, and the girls were starting to repeat themselves or worry aloud, she said, “We have to work fast,” and took heart that both Mary-Alice and Dana seemed to have more backbone than Candice. As she had with Candice, Rosalie instructed the new girls to search their stalls inch by inch and look for anything that could be used as a weapon. Surprisingly Mary-Alice came up with the buckets that were used for their toilets and said, “I'll swing mine at his ugly head.”

“Me too, but I'm gonna make sure it's full first,” Dana added bitterly, clearing her throat. Though she was obviously scared spitless and sniffed back tears, she was willing to get on board with the escape plan. Dana said that she'd been a gymnast until last year, when she'd suffered an ankle injury. Now, she admitted, she'd gained weight and was really out of practice, but she was willing to try scaling the walls. Better yet, Mary-Alice claimed she was a cheerleader, used to doing human pyramids and being thrown into the air to land on her feet and was, she informed Rosalie, in great shape. The snooty girl at least seemed game.

“Then go for it,” Rosalie said. “But listen up. I'm not kidding when I say we're out of time. Don't freak out, but tomorrow night, things are gonna get worse.”

“How?” Dana asked, and Rosalie launched into what she'd overheard, leaving out nothing.

“An auction?” Mary-Alice whispered, horrified.

“I'm not sure. But whatever it is, it isn't good.”

“Fuckers!” Dana declared over Candice's sniffling.

Mary-Alice's snooty tone disintegrated. “Let's get out of here. Now!”

Finally,
Rosalie thought, someone who understood. Felt the urgency. Was willing to help in trying to get free.

Now, maybe, just maybe, they had a real chance to escape.

 

He drove past the diner, still not believing his good luck.

Twenty minutes earlier, he'd parked in an alley near Hal's Auto Repair. Knowing it was about closing time, he'd decided to wait until the last grease monkey left, and then he'd hop the fence and return the magnetic sign he'd “borrowed” to its rightful place on the Longstreet van. Hal was an old-school businessman, a guy who'd lived and worked in Stewart's Crossing for all of his near-eighty years, a man whose word was as good as his handshake, and a man who had avoided computers and everything he considered high-tech. Including security cameras.

So he'd felt safe in his plan to jump the fence and return the sign.

But, as it had turned out, his course of action had changed the second he'd spied a Honda Civic pull out of the lot with none other than Jade McAdams at the wheel.

He'd fired up his truck and followed her at a safe distance as she'd driven around town to finally land here, at the Columbia Diner, where he'd first met Star and later abducted her. It was amazing, he thought, how easily the girls' new names had stuck. Once he had them rounded up and locked in their stalls, he immediately made the transition, and they'd literally lost their identities, become nothing more than flesh to be traded. He smiled at that, thinking about how much money they would fetch. The bidding, if he played it right, would go well into the tens of thousands for each ripe, young woman. That's why he hadn't touched them himself, hadn't so much as run a finger down their soft cheeks, or stripped off their bras to feel a tit. He didn't want to damage the goods, though he'd love to experience at least one of those tight little pussies around his cock. Or force one to give him head. That would be nice. A hot wet mouth, slick tongue and . . . shit, he felt his damned body respond to his fantasies, his cock growing rock-hard.

That wouldn't do.

Not yet.

As he watched Jade enter the restaurant, he'd considered going inside himself but hadn't wanted to press his luck. He'd driven to a wide spot in the road and kept his eye on the rearview mirror. The fog made it tricky, but with few vehicles on the road, he could wait, his truck idling.

Now, after smoking two cigarettes, he was getting impatient. What the hell was she doing? He figured Jade's mother wouldn't let her daughter out of her sight for long, so he told himself to be patient. But the fog was getting thicker, and he could no longer distinguish her car from the others in the diner's lot.

That worried him.

He couldn't blow this God-given opportunity.

Reaching for a third smoke, he saw taillights glow red through the growing darkness as a vehicle backed out of a parking slot.

The car turned around, headlights heading his direction, reflecting in the side-view mirror.

He waited to put his truck into drive, not wanting to alert the driver by flashing his tail or backup lights until the car had passed.

But it was a lumbering old Cadillac that drove by slowly, an older man in a hat at the wheel.

Damn,
He watched the old guy roll past, red taillights glowing brightly as he stopped to enter the side street leading into town.

“Son of a bitch.” He couldn't wait much longer. People were expecting him. If he didn't show, it would raise suspicion, and he couldn't afford that, any more than he could afford not to grab Jade McAdams. He had to remind himself that in about thirty hours his mission would be over, the transaction complete, and he would be gone, away from this small town with its small-minded citizens, away from the claws of Stewart's Crossing. Just the name of the town curdled his stomach. But he wouldn't have to be here long. He had his escape plan plotted, a new ID tucked away, a new life just hours away. He planned to drive into Canada to begin with, using his current ID; then in Vancouver he'd get on a plane bound for Mexico, but he would stop there for only a couple of days, pay a local fisherman to boat him from Cabo to Mazatlan and then fly south to San Paulo. He'd get lost in Brazil, find a small village where, he hoped, he could live like a king.

And never think of Stewart's Fucking Crossing again.

Another glance in the rearview mirror as a set of headlights blazed toward him. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, and this time, he got lucky. He recognized Jade's Honda. Ramming his truck into gear as she passed, he left his headlights off and hit the gas. The trouble was that she flew by, doing nearly forty in a twenty-five. What was she thinking? Didn't she notice the damned fog? If she drew a cop's attention for speeding, he'd be shit out of luck.

“Slow down,” he warned aloud as he watched her take a corner much too fast. The Civic slid a bit. He hit the gas. Once she'd turned onto a busier street, he switched on his lights and tried to gain on her, but that proved impossible when she barely paused at a stop sign, then hit the gas, shooting across the intersection and forcing him to run the stop. A Volkswagen van nearly clipped the rear end of his truck, but the driver swerved at the last second, honking loudly and, he saw in his rearview, flipping him off.