Cut Me Free (22 page)

“I am so sorry for everything.” Cam presses his lips against my hair, and I know if I don't push him away now I'll never bring myself to do it. Pulling my hands in, I press gently against his chest until he leans back, and I change the subject.

“When I found Sanda here in the city, the man who had her kept her locked in a cabinet under the stairs and had an entire closet of weapons he used to torture her.”

Cam winces and his fists clench so tight I can see the veins stand out on his forearms. “So you think it's him? And that's why he did that to your closet?”

I shrug. “Not necessarily. Maybe this is common for psychos like him. The Father had one, too. I mean, they aren't going to leave it all spread out everywhere. Plus, I don't even know how her captor would find me. Let alone know my name is—was Piper.”

You'll always be Piper.

Cam walks to the window and peers through the small gap in the curtains. His expression is like he's fighting a war in his head. When he speaks, he doesn't move. “Can I ask you a question?”

I ignore my first reaction to build up a few more barriers between us for good measure. He pretty much knows all my secrets now anyway. When my response comes, it sounds tentative. “Okay.”

He keeps his eyes on the world outside. “How many more have you…?”

I'm dismayed, realizing it's really not an unfair question. “No, no more. That's all. I swear it.”

“Was there another way?” His eyes come to mine and the streetlight reflects off them. There is a hope and misery in his expression that throws me off balance and I don't answer right away. “Did you have to kill him?”

“I didn't go there intending to hurt him.” His eyes are so penetrating I can't face the intensity there. I study the swirls in the wooden boards beneath my feet. “He came back when I was inside, trying to save her.”

“Wow.” He lets out a long, low whistle. He scrutinizes me until I become so uncomfortable I have to turn away. “So what? You're some kind of vigilante? Save those in need? Avenge them?”

“No.” I whisper my answer too fast.

Maybe.

“No,” I repeat, louder this time, and Cam tilts his head to one side. “I was only trying to help her. He came after me and I defended myself. He dropped his cigarette when I knocked him out and it started the fire.”

He deserved to die.

A bitter growl escapes my throat. “It'd sure be nice to know if he did right about now.”

“If he did what?”

“Oh.” I shake my head, willing Sam to be quiet for a minute. I need to get a grip, no more talking to myself. I gesture toward the bedroom and the chaos we left in there. “If he died.”

Cam turns from the window with a nod and a purposeful stride toward the bedroom. “I think I can help you with that.”

“You can?” My eyes widen and I start to get to my feet, but then he freezes and pivots toward me.

“Before we get to that, we should narrow our options,” he says. I can see in his face that he's formulating a plan. “Could it be anyone else? Friends or family of his who might know what you've done?” Cam asks.

“No. I don't think I've ever met anyone that he knows,” I say, shaking my head and bending over to retrieve the first-aid kit before getting to my feet.

“Excuse me for asking this, but how did you kill your parents?” When I whirl back to face him in shock, he continues. “Sanda's guy—if someone came to help, the fire wasn't that bad, or he wasn't out for long—he could've made it out alive. Was there any way your parents might have survived?”

I swallow hard, and the image of the bloody knife flashes through my mind. One they'd used on me a hundred times, but the blood I see isn't my own. The word slips out between my teeth. “Unlikely.”

“You didn't say impossible.”

The air leaves me in a gush and I flop back on the couch. “Nothing's impossible when it comes to them.”

“Okay. Then we'll start tomorrow.” He sits back down beside me and throws his arm across the back of the couch.

“Start?”

“Figuring out who this psycho is.”

Without hesitation, I shake my head. “No. This is my problem, not yours. I don't need help.”

“Right.” He nods. “And I'm sleeping on your couch until we figure it out.”

“No,” I protest. Standing, I turn toward the door to escort him out, but he gets there first, puts his hand on it and stops me.

“If not for you, let me do this for Sanda.” His eyes are pleading and kind. “She deserves a chance at a normal life. You saved her already. Let me be the hero for her this time.”

The sound that comes from me is a half sigh, half groan, but he knows he's won. With a grin, he leans against the door and reaches out to touch the tips of my fingers with his.

“Fine,” I mutter, and jerk my hand away with a shake of my head. His grin falters a little, but not much, and I see that familiar glint of determination in his eye. I'd been keeping him at a very safe distance, and somehow in one night he'd knocked down most of the barriers I'd built to protect myself. I refuse to be left completely unguarded though, and I'm keeping that last one up with all my strength. It is the only protection I have left. “Help me clean up, then I'll go get Sanda.”

*   *   *

As I dump the rest of the rose petals in the garbage, I hear Cam moving in my room and a scraping of metal on metal. We haven't spoken since I agreed to let him stay, both of us working to clean up the nightmare in grim silence. I can't face the closet again, not right now. I sit on the couch with the Piper-Puppet in my lap. Closing my eyes, I wait. After a few minutes, he sits down and rests his arm next to mine. Not touching, but close enough for me to sense his presence even with my eyes closed.

“We'll stop him. I don't know how, but we will.”

I swallow and press my head back harder into the soft couch cushion, wishing I could sink down inside it and disappear from this madness forever. I want to hide from the new horrors in my apartment and my life, but as the message said, I can't hide from them anymore.

In fact, I'm certain I'm the only one who can stop them.

 

23

Letting Cam sleep on the couch was the best idea ever. I don't think I've slept this well since I first saw Sanda in the park. Feeling safe is a wonderful thing, an unfamiliar sensation. With my new stalker I'm probably less safe than I've been since I escaped the Parents, but with Cam it doesn't seem that way. I just hope letting him stay isn't putting him in danger, too. Not that he'd leave even if I begged him, because I tried.

Cam ran home for a shower and to see Jessie while I dropped Sanda off with Janice. He'd called his aunt last night to tell her he was staying with a friend, but from the fact that she'd already called three times this morning, I'm pretty sure she suspects something is off. When I step out the front door, he's waiting in fresh clothes. His hair is damp. Before I can say a word, he gets to his feet and takes off walking.

Without a glance over his shoulder he says, “You coming?”

I watch his back for a moment before hurrying after him. It feels backward. Usually it's him trying to catch me, not the other way around.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“We have a lot to do.” Cam turns and walks backward so he can face me as I jog toward him.

“Like what?”

“I thought we'd start with the Free Library.”

I swallow and try really hard to focus on the plan. No getting excited. A real library? I've only read about them in books … ironic, I know. I've wanted to find one since I arrived in the city, but with Sanda, I've never had the time. “But why?”

He doesn't slow down. “We're going to check up on your parents and find out if Sanda's villain survived your little bonfire.”

I freeze in my tracks. “They'll have that information in the library?”

A sad smile crosses his face. He stops and walks the few feet back to me. “They have computers. We can search news reports. I'd offer to do it at my place, but after I didn't come home last night, I think it might be awkward to bring you with me. Aunt Jessie didn't give me enough room to take a breath while I was there, so the library is our best option. Lucky for you, I'm a sucker for cute girls with serious problems.” He stops a foot in front of me and leans forward, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I'm happy to help you.”

“Thank you. I need a good
friend
.” I can see from his expression that he caught my not so subtle hint, but he nods without comment. Pushing back the confusion that fills me when he stands so close, I step to the side and walk next to him. I can't afford to sort through my emotions right now, but he's a good guy, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do need his help.

*   *   *

The Free Library at Rittenhouse Square is smaller than I expect. It takes up the bottom two floors of a high-rise apartment building, which explains how I haven't realized it was here. Still, I love every inch of it. Each level is packed with shelf upon shelf of books. The entire place smells like books. I love it. I want to move in and live here with all the other worlds I used to escape into.

Cam walks straight to the computers without a second glance at the shelves. I'm sure computers are useful, but next to all these warm, beautiful books they seem so cold and clinical.

The moment Cam starts clicking away at the keyboard, I remember what he said those cold machines could tell us. I move to his side and study the screen. Before I can even begin to wonder what on earth a “Google” is, he starts firing off whispered questions like an extremely quiet machine gun.

“Where did your parents live? State? Address? Anything you can give me will help.”

I swallow hard. “Wyoming. The closest town was named Greenville.”

His gaze is on me even as his fingers fly across the keyboard. “How long ago?”

“May of last year.”

“Can you tell me their names?”

“Douglas and Betty Nelson.” I speak the names I've never uttered and stare at the floor with unseeing eyes. The only reason I even know their names is because Nana told me. I try to ignore the fear that seeps through my marrow. They shouldn't still have this power over me. I won't let them.

“Betty is dead.”

I don't look up, but the tightness in my chest eases a bit. “How?”

He doesn't answer, and I wonder if he's as afraid to tell me as I am to hear it. “Haven't found any details yet. I'm still checking.”

“And him?”

Cam's hands stop. His shoulders tense as he bends closer. I glance up at the screen and everything slows to a halt—my breathing, my blood, my heart, my brain. Every piece of me the Father tried to control. His ice-cold eyes watch me. The image dated only a month ago. He sneers at my belief that I could ever survive him. He mocks my attempt at escape.

Sam hums so loud in my head it drowns out all sound. His scared voice echoes in my skull as it did in the attic. We are alone, Sam and I. The Father is here and no one will protect us … just as I failed to protect Sam.

“Charlotte?” Cam's voice sounds distant and panicked. His arm drops around my shoulders and I don't even flinch. I'm back in the attic and everything I've worked for seems so unattainable, so far away. His voice is a whisper on the wind, drawing me toward him through the miles and states between us even as his warm breath moves across my ear. “Please, you have to breathe.”

His fingers brush my chin as he turns my face toward him. His hazel eyes replace the Father's blue ones. The warmth and concern I see there pull me back as the edges of my vision begin to dim. I gasp in a deep breath and blink a few times as he crushes me in his arms.

“Thank God,” Cam whispers against my forehead.

The air in my lungs is like a portal back to the present and I can't get enough. I'm here now, in the living, breathing city of Philadelphia, not the barren woods and empty trails of Wyoming. I am free and this is my home.

I pull my bolt out of my pocket and wrap it tight in my palm. Gathering the strength to stand on my own, I pull myself from under Cam's arm and step toward the computer screen. Forcing my voice not to shake, I face this new truth. This new world seems darker and more dangerous now because I know the Father lives somewhere in it.

“He's alive,” I say.

“Yes,” Cam answers. He stands behind me like a support beam inside a wall. I can't see or feel him, but somehow his presence keeps me upright. “But he isn't here. This isn't him.”

I turn from the screen, but I still shiver from the Father's eyes on my back. “How can you know?”

“Because he's in jail.” Cam bends his knees slightly until I raise my eyes to his. “He's on trial for his wife's murder.”

I shake my head. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. I have my fingertips on all the puzzle pieces, but I can't turn them into the full picture. “But he didn't…”

“You can't know that.” Cam shrugs. “The details of her death aren't public yet. Maybe they both survived and he killed her in anger after you escaped. Either way, it answers our question.”

I can see in Cam's eyes how much he wants that possibility to be the truth, but I don't. Deep down I need it to have been me. As terrible as it sounds, I want the end of her cruelty to have been by my hands. After everything she did, after she didn't care that I was starving, after she took me to live with him and let him lock me in an attic—after everything the Father did and how she even supported it. She chose drugs over me and then the Father over me. Time after time, she proved that her needs, her addictions meant more to her than I did. Then—after what she let him do to Sam—I, her shield, turned into a weapon. I want to be the one that stole her life to make up for everything she'd stolen from me.