Cut Me Free (25 page)

“Always in such a hurry. You need to learn how to appreciate the little things. I can teach you that.”

I don't respond. I don't even want to think about what he could mean. All I know is that I need to be sure that by the time Sanda gets out of school, Brothers won't be there to hide in the shadows, waiting to grab her or hurt her.

If I get my way, he'll never creep out of the shadows again.

“See you soon.”

Closing the phone from Brothers, I stick it in one pocket and shove my phone in the other. I pull on a loose shirt over my tank top, grab the iron bar from under my pillow and stick it in the waistband at the back of my jeans. Rushing into the kitchen, I don't let myself slow down or even think. If I think, I know the fear will overtake me, and I can't let that happen. Not right now. I grab the smallest knife, wrap a thin washcloth around it, and tuck it in my sock.

When I reach the door, I skid to a halt. Every bolt is unlocked. Had I left them that way and not noticed? I was always so careful about it. I check around the apartment, but it's empty. I'm alone. Shaking off my confusion, I lock up and go out.

The only thing that matters now is figuring out how to survive a conversation with a madman.

 

26

I've never been to Camden and I wish I didn't have to go. I stand in the subway station hoping I can overcome my fear and climb on board when my train comes. We're underground, enclosed, and I'm supposed to climb on a train with so many strangers. What if we get stuck? Being trapped underground sounds worse than being locked in an attic. At least I could see the night sky. At least I knew there were only walls keeping me in, not walls
and
twenty-five feet of smothering earth.

My anxiety makes it hard to breathe, and for an instant I regret giving my bolt to Sanda. But the thought is like the trains going through this station, gone almost as soon as it appears. I don't need it anymore, she does. It's time to be strong without it. My hands tighten by my sides as my train pulls to a stop. The doors open. It waits for me. I close my eyes and try to picture my life here with Brothers gone, a future where Sanda and Cam are safe, a future without fear. When I open my eyes, my nerves have settled and I climb on the train. I'm relieved to see it isn't too full or too empty, and shortly after we leave the station the train moves aboveground as we cross the Delaware River. Coming out into the daylight helps me breathe easier.

When I reach the address he gave me, I stand in stunned silence. This building is worse than Brothers's old apartment. If that is the venom in my new life, this is the rotting, festering bite. The building is like those surrounding it: old and smelling of garbage and decay. Its once white bricks are yellowing like a smoker's teeth. Littered papers cover the flower bed that, like the building, has long been void of life.

Even in the sunlight, I'm freezing cold from a chill that sinks deeper than the heat of the sun can touch. I hurry past the boarded windows and up the stairs into the entrance before I get a chance to change my mind. In the lobby, a directory lists office numbers and old tenants who have moved on. With one glance at it, my steps slow, and then stop. There are way more X's on the directory than there should be. He's removed every vowel and replaced each with an uppercase X. The way they are placed, and the image in my head of the Piper-Puppet, makes my skin crawl. It's like dozens of dead eyes are staring out at me from within the wall. It's a message to tell me he's here.

He's waiting.

I walk through the lobby and turn down the second hall on the left. No matter how careful I am, each footstep echoes around me, announcing my presence. The world seems to slow as I inch down the hall. My mind searches for another answer even though I know this is my only chance to end this. To face him alone … and win. It's the only way to end this without hurting someone I care about. At the end, I reach a door labeled
STORAGE
, exactly as he'd said. This is the place.

As I raise my fingers to try the knob, I hear muffled voices inside. Brothers isn't alone. I drop my hand and back up a step. Even with everything Cam has taught me, how can I possibly take on more than one person?

Every hair on my body is standing on end, like they're smarter than me, like they know better and are trying to escape what is coming. I can't tell if it's fear or knowing I'm so close to Brothers. Either way, something bothers me. I wish I could run. No part of me wants to be here doing this. But I have no other option. So far, Brothers has only been trying to scare me into doing what he wants, but he'll tire of that sooner or later, and I will not let him decide to take Sanda back as the next step in his game.

The voices inside stop, and I wish I could've made out any words. I study the door. There are a few bolt locks, each locking from the outside. My heart races, pounding hard against the wall of my chest.

This door isn't designed to keep people out. It's meant to keep someone in. A glimmer of hope flickers in my mind.

It's an attic for him. Lock him in forever.

My mind whirls through the implications. This may not solve anything. It's a storage room, but there could still be a window. Even more important, he's not alone. Can I leave someone—
anyone
—trapped in a room with Brothers until they kill each other or die of dehydration? What if it's another child?

I sigh and lean my forehead against the wall. It would be so easy, but still I can't do it for so many reasons. I can't leave anything to chance. I have to know for sure. This time, I will make certain he can't ever come after us again.

I draw in a silent breath and check out the doorknob. Everything is unlocked. If I can catch them by surprise, that might be my best chance.

Pulling the iron bar out of the back of my jeans, I put my other hand on the knob. With three quick breaths I turn it, throw my weight against the door, and crash into the room.

The lighting was already dim, but as soon as I enter, a dark figure scrambles to one side and flips the light off. The lack of windows makes it pitch-black inside, like a crypt. The darkness is reaching out, striving to draw me in. The room is much bigger than I expected. I can't make out the back wall from where I'm standing. Aside from the metal racks stacked with overflowing storage boxes directly inside the door, I can't see anything. I do the only thing I can, kick the door closed, duck behind the storage rack, and wait for Brothers to turn the light back on.

The darkness is silent, but also very loud. I hear rapid breathing that is close—too close. Water drips through pipes in the wall behind me. It falls erratically, each unexpected drop setting me on edge. I slide up against the wall, trying to protect myself the best I can in the utter blackness. The wall is covered with grime beneath my fingertips, but I do my best to ignore it. Sam whimpers in my head.

This is bad. We shouldn't have come.

“This really isn't what I had in mind.” Brothers's voice comes from a few feet to my right and I spin toward it. Bending my knees, I inch forward, lifting the bar over my head again. One more word, one loud breath, and I will have him. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I'm primed and ready to attack. Then I hear a
click
and duck back behind the rack as the darkness is driven away.

Blinking in the light of the single dim bulb that sways overhead, I tighten my fingers around the cold metal bar. I wait for any words or noise, but I hear nothing. Peeking out between two boxes, I see Brothers's dirty-brown eyes staring straight at me. I can see the burn scars on his neck even from here.

“You should drop that before somebody gets hurt.”

“That's kind of the idea,” I growl, and try to decide the best way to get around the metal rack between us.

“It won't be me”—Brothers gives me a dark smile and it makes me squirm—“or you.” He raises his wrist and I see the black metal barrel of a gun. My arms tremble so hard I almost drop the bar. I hate guns.

But it's not pointed at me. It's pointed at the wall opposite us. I take a step back, my breath catching in my throat as I peer around the other end of the rack. I'm overcome with gratitude that I'd decided not to lock the door and walk away. Cam is sitting against the far wall. A dirty cloth has been stuffed in his mouth. His wrists are red and raw from struggling against the ropes that bind them. His hazel eyes are wide as he stares at me and waits.

Sliding out from behind the rack, I step between Cam and Brothers. The monster moves his eyes and gun to me but doesn't speak. His free hand hangs at his side, tightening into a fist and then relaxing and tightening again. I see the corner of a bandage poking out below the cuff of his sleeve. He definitely didn't escape the fire unscathed. One vein at his temple is pulsing and his cheeks are flushed. He seems upset and frustrated. Not confident and in control like he'd sounded on the phone.

I'm not sure what to expect. His anger confuses me. My movements are sure, the hand holding the bar steady, but my voice wobbles when I speak. “Did you bring him here?”

Brothers glares at me like I've just said the stupidest words ever uttered. “No. I wanted you, not him.”

Behind me, I hear Cam's quick breaths matching my own and the realization hits me. My unlocked apartment door—he must've come back and overheard the phone call. A small groan escapes my lips. “You're impossible.”

Cam frowns, but I guess it's hard to argue with a gag in your mouth. I wish more than anything that this time he'd stayed out of my business. He'd probably be worried, but he'd be at home. He would be safe.

I chew on my bottom lip. It doesn't matter, he's here now. Watching out for me got him into this. I should've fought him harder. I should've refused his help at the library and refused to talk to Brady with him there, something or anything. If he'd never met me, he'd be hanging out with Lily or his aunt at the studio. I know better. It's dangerous to let people get close to me.

They always die.

“Why don't we let him go, then?” I lower my iron bar so it dangles at my side. It won't protect me against a gun anyway. “And we can have the conversation you wanted.”

“He wasn't supposed to be here.” Brothers's voice is louder than before. He keeps his gun pointed in our general direction and starts pacing back and forth along the opposite wall. I notice a limp that definitely wasn't there before the fire. His eyes shift between us, wild and angry. This man is nothing like the Father. Cold, calculating, and cruel, the Father never lost control or acted without knowing the full plan and every contingency. When Nana called the police, it certainly hadn't been expected, but he'd been ready for it. Nana was drugged beyond recognition in front of us, then Sam and I were bound, gagged, and tossed in the attic. The Father was back downstairs, relaxing and watching some muffled TV show that I could hear through the vents before the cops even pulled in the driveway. He was always too smart, too calm—too inescapable.

With Brothers, things haven't gone as planned and he doesn't know how to handle it. He's smart when he gets to move everyone around like pieces on a chessboard, but when the pieces don't play by his rules, he loses control and he doesn't know how to recover. He's panicking. He's not logical, he's unstable.

And in some ways, he's even more dangerous.

He limps back and forth, back and forth, like some sort of caged animal. Every time he takes a step, the gun bounces in his hand and I hear a clicking sound. I'm afraid it might go off.

Click—click—click—click
—

My mind scrambles to find a way to focus his energy, to calm him down. “Okay, let's pretend he isn't here. What did you want to talk about?”

Brothers stops and turns back to face me. His eyes clear a bit and he wipes the palm of his free hand against his leg. “I wanted to show you.”

“Show me what?” I keep my face blank, knowing he needs to feel in control again or none of us will get out of here alive.

“It's hard to be alone. And you took the girl.” He's speaking to me like I should understand. Waves of ice and heat take turns slamming through my body as he continues. “Now I need a replacement, and you—you have scars.”

I don't answer, but I nod and wait for him to continue.

“I need it. You understand. And no one should judge me. They're small and I'm so large. I do things they can't imagine.” His eyes are wide and he keeps bobbing his head up and down, like he is willing me to agree with him. “I've heard of people like you—girls who like it. Some have told me before and I understand. We have different hungers and different needs, but it isn't wrong. Who the hell gets to decide what is wrong?”

Don't listen to him, Piper. He doesn't know you.

“You think I-I choose this?” I ask. My voice wavers as I peek down at one of the scars on my arm.

“I know you do. You must.” Brothers looks satisfied and superior … almost
certain
. “The ones who don't like it, they die so fast.”

My head echoes with the words of the Father saying the same thing, again and again.
You won't give up. That's how I know you must like it. I can see it in your eyes.
His blue eyes pierce my spirit as he ties me down and grabs his favorite blade. The image burns against the backs of my eyes like someone is branding it there for eternity. No matter whether he is dead or in prison, he will always be there in my head—haunting me, taunting me. He always said the part of me that was like him was what kept me strong, what kept me alive. Of the various ways he tortured me, it was those words that sliced the deepest.

I'd rather die than be like him—but is it that madness that kept me alive?

“No no no,” I hear my voice moan over and over without my consent. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I drop the bar and curl in on myself as I battle away the memories, the nightmares that ricochet around my world. Cam taps his foot against my shoe, trying to get my attention. But I am stone, no longer capable of motion. Deep down inside, where it's so dark I don't dare to look—could that be what I hide? That in some ways I share their madness? I scoot back toward the corner with a firm shake of my head. The need to escape from his words and these thoughts overpowers me. “No, you're wrong. I don't like it.”