Cut Me Free (4 page)

“You can trust me.”

I just watch him, waiting for him to continue. There is no reason to discuss this.

“Janice…” He looks like he's searching for the right words. “Well, let's start with the fact that she has more in common with you than you think. Her name's origin for example.”

I'm not all that surprised. For her to let me stay here based solely on Cam's recommendation, I figured it had to be something like that. Still, the confirmation makes me suddenly wary. “And what is
she
hiding from? Did you ask her as many questions as you're trying to ask me?”

“Yes.” His gaze hardens and he continues. “And she was a lot more forthcoming than you've been. She is a very good woman who was in a bad situation.”

I nod, not pushing to know more. They can keep their secrets if they let me keep mine.

“The point is, without my okay, she'll never let you rent this place. Especially without filling out an application or running a background check, which I don't think you want her to do,
Charlotte
.” Cam steps in front of me. He waits, knowing I don't like it when he stands so close. I can see it in his eyes.

Lowering my gaze, I inch back into the apartment, my spine prickling with frustration even as I do what he wants.

“Good, now sit down and answer a few simple questions for me.”

My feet echo oddly in the mostly empty space as I reluctantly drag them back to the table. “What do you want to know?”

Cam takes the seat across from me. “What are you running from?”

“Who says I'm running?” I knock my knuckles against the wood table. “I'm getting an apartment—
if
I can get your permission. Looks to me like I'm staying.”

“You ran from somewhere to stay here,” Cam says. His eyes stare through me as I study the wood grain on the table. The swirls and loops help me focus. I have no problem lying to him if it means he'll drop this and leave me alone. God knows I've done worse.

“Why do you care? I thought I was hiring you so I wouldn't have to answer these kinds of questions.”

“You are.” Cam takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I just like to know that I'm not helping dangerous criminals. Asking a couple of questions helps me sleep at night.”

I fake a laugh and am happy to hear that it sounds less awkward than it feels being forced out of my chest. “Do I look like a dangerous criminal to you?”

He doesn't answer, but he waits until I meet his eyes. They intimidate me, but I refuse to even blink. After a few seconds, I realize the best way to end this conversation. I'm not the only one with secrets.

“What happened to the real Charlotte Thompson?” I ask.

Cam blinks, and I see something new in his expression, but it isn't the guilt I was expecting—more like resignation.

“Her mom died. She went to live with her dad in France. I don't think she'll be coming back—at least not for a long time.”

I stand, but Cam grabs my hand before I can get away. I jerk it out of his hold and resist a thousand impulses that tell me to grab the chair or the vase and hit him with it for touching me when he knows I don't welcome it. When he drops his hand and looks up at me, all the violent urges fizzle like lit matches in water. I expect to see hunger, a thirst for power and dominance. But instead his eyes are sad, pleading. And they steal my breath away.

“Tell me you're running from the bad things others did.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “And not the bad things you did.”

I swallow and take a step back. “Yeah, others.” Then the apartment feels much smaller, and I need to get away. Turning, I walk into the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the night air. My brain fills with the images I've been fighting off for more than a year. The monster I'd become, the knife in my hand, the violence I'd never have believed could come from me, the blood … so much blood. I press my palms against my eyes and try to shove it all away. They were the monsters, not me.

You are good, Piper.

Sam's voice calms me down, like always. Four deep gulps of the chilly evening air later, I watch the way the sky fades from the light pink at the horizon up to navy overhead, the perfect shift of one color into a completely different one. My old life could fade away and become something new. If only I am brave enough to make it happen.

Cam walks down to where I wait. I'm the picture of patience and calm, pushing aside wave upon wave of panic at everything I'm doing—everything I've done. I'm an expert at this. If I repeat that a few more times, it's sure to be true.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So, I know you don't seem to have to worry much about money, but have you thought about—what now?”

My mind stops its whirling. “What do you mean?”

“Are you getting a job? Going to school?” He kicks the back of one shoe lightly against the step behind him, and for the first time since I met him he seems uncertain.

“Oh, I can go to school?” I haven't attended school a single day in my life. I was supposed to start, but the Father took us back and it never happened. I've spent the last year trying to learn what I can where I can—devouring newspapers, magazines, books, anything I can get my hands on. The first month, when I couldn't stop shaking long enough to be seen outside without drawing attention to myself, I'd spent long days and sleepless nights trying to absorb culture, customs—life—all through television sets in my hotel rooms. I tried so hard to add on to everything Nana managed to teach me in only a few short months. Still, the idea of going to school seems as foreign as going to Mars.

When I realize Cam is squinting at me I go on. “Can I go to college as Charlotte? Can Charlotte go?”

“You might need more documentation from me, but that shouldn't be a problem.”

I nod and try not to reveal how overwhelmed I feel. It's a heavy freedom, like someone gave me wings so large I can barely stand beneath their weight. I've never had so many options in my life. “I think I'll wait. Get a job first and maybe go to school next year.”

“Okay.” He peers at me hard for a few seconds before continuing. “If you decide you need help on the job front, let me know.”

A small laugh escapes my lips, and from the way his face hardens I wish I could suck it back in. “Why? Are you hiring?”

“No.” Cam shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet and leans toward me. “But if I'm sure I can trust you, I might know someone who is.”

He's so close I see the light reflecting in his eyes. I smell his mint gum.

“Don't.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Don't what?” His eyes are holding mine, and I struggle against the urge to run.

“Don't trust me.”

 

4

Three days later, I watch a little boy sitting on the edge of the Rittenhouse Square fountain and smile as he kicks his feet in the cold water and squeals. My heart aches that Sam never made a noise like that in his entire life. The most we ever had were quiet giggles when I read him stories in the attic. Only at night when we were sure no one could hear us—that was our time.

I shift my position on the bench across from the fountain and check the clock again. There's still an hour before I'm supposed to meet Cam with the other half of my payment. Until then, I will stay in the sun. My pale skin is already pink, and I love it. I probably shouldn't because I've already had a sunburn once and it was anything but fun, but it feels like proof that I can go outside. Now I never have to go back in if I don't want to. The freedom is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Sometimes it is too much.

A shiver chills me from the inside out and I glance around the park again to make sure no one is looking at me too closely, no stranger staring too hard, but they barely seem to notice other people are here. Everyone is too absorbed in their own lives to pay attention to anything else, and that's just fine with me.

I spent half of my first week in the city locked in my hotel room hiding in the bathtub. I'd adjusted partly to life outside the attic by then, but the city is so much more. I came here because it is the opposite of a small attic in a cabin in the wilderness. But it is the opposite to the point where nothing is small. So much of everything I've never known—holding me, binding me, drowning me in vastness. I needed a moment of smallness and security to reorient myself in this new world. But I'm doing better now. The most important thing is to remember to keep breathing. Nana said as long as I keep breathing everything will work itself out.

I stretch, trying to absorb even more of the sunlight, but this time the warmth reminds me I'm alive. I'm alive and Sam is dead. He was six. No six-year-old should die. It's wrong. The whole damn world is wrong. He will never get to be seven.

The rough bark of the tree scratches against my back, so I sit forward, and all at once I forget about sunlight and warmth. She's here. It's the same girl from before, and I hear Sam pleading again. Her clothes are as dirty as the first time. This time I can clearly make out a new cigarette burn on the back of her hand.

My eyes search the park. Someone else has to see; it's so obvious. The mother of the boy on the edge of the fountain sits beside him, reading her magazine. Other people are on phones or deep in conversation. Even a policeman glances at her and then looks away with no sign of really seeing her. My frustration burns like a branding iron. I want to make them all see what they're blind to.

It's like X-ray vision, Piper. You're the superhero who has it. They aren't heroes. You have to be her hero.

Ever since the night Nana told us stories and explained to Sam and me what a superhero was, he'd been convinced I was one. I wish I'd had something super inside of me. If I had, I could've saved him.

The girl stumbles, and I grip the grass with my hands as I see the man shift his thumb and push on the circle of red, raw skin in the center of her burn. She doesn't even gasp, but I see her back stiffen from the pain as she hurries to catch up.

I'm on my feet and following them out of Rittenhouse Square before I realize it. Keeping half a city block between us, I almost miss it when they duck down an alley behind a sleazy bar and disappear into a back entrance. An old comic book store is on the other side of the street. I cross, go inside, and wait. I flip through comic after comic without really paying any attention. I can't drop my gaze from the bar entrance.

Don't lose her again, Piper. She needs you.

Standing and watching, I wait at the window display until I see them come out an hour later. Even from across the street it is clear he's spent the entire time drinking. Instead of holding her hand, he drags her along by the hair. For the first time, I see her whole face and realize that her features are distinctly Asian. His are not.

He probably kidnapped her. See? I told you.

It doesn't matter though. Sam and I know better than anyone that a kid doesn't have to be stolen from their family to be in danger. I wait until they get a little farther down the street before sneaking out of the shop and following again. Sam and I feel everything the little girl does: the fear of how he'll hurt her next, the dread of how much worse it could turn when she gets home, the need to do everything perfectly right even though she knows it won't be enough to save her from more pain.

At the next corner they turn right, and I follow them to a building in South Philly seven blocks away. He pulls her into a dingy basement apartment and I walk past, trying not to be too obvious as I check the place out.

An alley leads to an area at the rear of the building that probably was grass at one point but now is just overgrown weeds and a single large tree. The stench of garbage is so strong I cover my nose as I sneak around and peek through the only window I can find.

One pane is very dirty but I can still see through it, and the other is broken and half covered by a piece of cardboard. A television is the only noise I hear coming from inside.

I crouch in the shadows of the tree. It's dark now, and the branches hang so low I can barely make out my hand in front of my face. If I hold very still, he shouldn't be able to see me here, but I can see in the apartment as he drags the little girl through the kitchen.

At first, I think he's heading to the fridge, but he walks past it and opens a miniature door to a space under the stairs. Inside, I see a blanket and a box of crackers with a small, bloody handprint on the label. With a shove, he pushes her inside, and I flinch at the impact as she lands hard on her knees. Then he closes the door behind her, slides a lock into place, and grabs a beer from the fridge.

Trembling, I wrap my arms across my knees as he turns off the light and leaves the kitchen. I can still hear the TV, but there is no noise from the girl. No sign of life. If she ever fought him, she gave up long ago. No one else would understand that, but I do. It's easy to underestimate how terrifying it is to fight back when you've never had to do it. It takes almost an hour and every ounce of my self-control to ignore Sam pleading in my head and get to my feet.

Help her! Save her, please.

I walk home in the darkness to my new life in my new apartment.

And nothing feels new at all.

*   *   *

Even through the pillow over my head, I can hear the pounding no matter how much I wish I couldn't. When images of the girl in her cold cupboard aren't keeping me awake, nightmares of burying Sam under the old pine tree torment me. I don't allow myself to think about what happened after I threw on the last shovelful of dirt.

My brain feels ready to explode through my forehead, and when the pounding stops it's the sweetest relief I've felt in a long time—until it starts again. I feel the warmth on the floor beside me and it takes a moment to remember that it isn't coming from Sam. Sitting up, I drag the pillow off my head and blink in the brilliantly bright light pouring through my window. My fingers run across the small electric blanket. I've had it for nearly a year, but it still looks new. I guess when you don't use it the normal way, it shows. I didn't need it for the cold—I'm used to being cold. What I couldn't ever get used to was sleeping without the heat of my little brother curled up by my side. I never lie under it, but lying next to it is the only way I can get comfortable enough to sleep.