Shackled (8 page)

David's expression dropped. “Absolutely,” he said. “Everyone does. Anyone who says they don't is a liar.”

“Right,” I said. “Well, mine tells me I'm . . . that it's my fault. That it's a curse. That everyone I love will get hurt or go away.”

“I get it,” David said. “Gotcha. So not, like, schizophrenic . . .”

“No, not schizophrenic. And you're confusing that with multiple personalities. I don't have that. Either one, I mean.”

David shrugged. “I think there's a case to be made that we
all
have multiple personalities, but I see your point. Regardless, I don't think that particular voice makes you insane.”

“What does it make me?”

David's lips twisted around on his face for a moment as he thought. “To put it lightly?” he said. “Bummed out. It makes you majorly bummed out.”

“Okay,” I said. “That's fair.”

“So what can I do?” David asked. “I want to help, Pelly. I mean, regardless of where we—of how you . . . you know.”

I thought back to the creepy guy's license plate, and the website I'd saved to my favorites. Wondered if maybe David had a credit card.

And snapped my rubber band.

It wouldn't be fair. He'd just told me he liked me, and while his sincerity seemed genuine, I couldn't just start using him for his money, for God's sake. Maybe I was insane, but I was not a freaking gold digger.

“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all. Except maybe change the subject.”

“Okay. You watch
Saturday Night Live
?”

And with that, we stuck to talking about TV, movies, and music for the most part, although I did tell him some of Jeffrey's more embarrassing stories from when he was little. So that was fun.

“Are you sure you can afford all that?” he asked as we walked out of the restaurant.

“Sure,” I said. “I don't know what Eli pays you, but I'm in the upper six figures now.”

David laughed, and something I barely recognized as one came out of my mouth.

“What else do you like to do, anyway?” David asked.

“I'm not really sure,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Getting the job at the Hole in the Wall was kind of a test. See if I could be out and productive. I still don't get out much.”

Truer words were never spoken. Apart from school and dinner, I mostly watched movies or read. Sometimes both at the same time. Jeffrey might've had an incurable video game addiction, but we were both still big readers. Mom and Dad were definitely a part of that. Between the four of us, our combined household library sustained me for six years.

“Don't get out much,” David said thoughtfully. Then he asked, “What do you want to try?”

“School,” I said.

“Ha, wow. That'd be quite a hot night out. You party animal.”

“No, I know, it's weird. I do online school. Which is okay. Maybe I'd actually hate being on a campus, but since I haven't been in so long, I don't really know. I guess it's more that I'd like to be
able
to do it. Whether I liked it or not is sort of irrelevant.”

David considered my logic. “I guess it's one of those ‘don't know what you got till it's gone' type things, huh?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“That's cool,” David said. “But what about going-out type stuff? You want to try movies, or dancing, or—I don't know, hang gliding?”

“Those would all be great if I could get out of my house.”

“Pelly?”

“Hmm.”

“You're out of your house right now, I'm not sure if you realize that.”

I think I smiled.

“Well, if you ever want, I know an after-hours club that's pretty cool,” he said, and started doing a little tap dance in his sneakers as we walked. “I'll have to show you my moves.”

“You dance, too? What happened to martial arts?”

“My mom thought I needed to be kept busy, I guess. She's right.”

“You know tap?”

“A smidgen. Maybe a pinch.”

“Cool,” I said.

David began whistling. I'd never heard him do that before;
I mean, really, who walks around whistling? But it was kinda cute. And he was oddly good at it.

Then he put both hands in his pockets and did this dance-step thing, like a skip and a jump, which made me smile. He smiled right back and shrugged happily.

“A fighter and a dancer,” I said.

“And a black-belt barista,” David said. He grinned and started up his little jig again.

Then he jingled his keys in his pocket.
Jang, jang, jang.

“So,” he said, “you want to get ice cream or—”

“Stop!” I shouted at him, so loud it brought me to a halt.

David froze, eyes flying open. “What—”

He'd silenced the keys. But I could hear them ringing in my ears,
jang, jang, jang . . .

“Stop!” I cried again, my hands hovering in front of me as I fought the urge to cover my ears.

“Pelly? What is it?”

Jang, jang, jang . . .

Him.

He was there.

“God, what—” My eyes started to pinwheel. “I . . . oh my God . . .”

David held out his arms, as if to catch me. “Pelly, what is it? Your face, you're all white.”

Jang, jang, jang . . .

He was there and he followed us, oh God, he'd been following us, stalking us, picking us out—

I reached for David's arm, clutched it, and let myself sit down on the blacktop, right in the middle of the parking lot. David followed me down, looking into my eyes.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, firm and calm. “Should I call for help?”

I worked for a long moment to try to get spit into my mouth. It had gone as dry as a grave.

“He was there,” I whispered finally. I could not generate any spit. “In the store. Watching us.”

“Who was where, Pelly?”

“The man who came into the Hole in the Wall. With Tara. Wednesday. It was him.”

I don't think I'd blinked in the last two full minutes.

“He was in the store the day she disappeared. Jingling his keys. David, that was him!”

TEN

Every muscle in my body went rigid and locked in place as David drove us back to my house. All thoughts of David's confession of devotion, or whatever it had been, were gone. All I could feel—all I could
taste
—was the sound of those keys jingling in that sick old man's pocket.
Jang, jang, jang . . .

“You should take a breath at some point,” David said.

“Huh?” I gasped.

“Breathe,” David said softly. “Take deep breaths. Four counts in, six counts out. C'mon.”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can.”

I didn't know whether to punch him or hug him. I split the difference and tried his technique instead. Much as I hate to admit it, by the time we rolled up to the sidewalk in front of my house, I did feel slightly more relaxed.

That didn't stop me from leaping out of the car at top speed and racing for the front door. I don't know if I was surprised or not when David appeared at my shoulder. And I didn't care. I had things to do.

I threw open the door and rushed in, barely registering Mom and Jeffrey on the couch watching a movie. Mom practically jumped up from the couch as I ran past.

“Penelope!” she said. “What on earth—”

“Not now,” I said, beelining for my bedroom.

I got inside. Flipped the light. Got my laptop fired up before David and Mom showed up together at my doorway.

“You're home early,” Mom remarked. She might've glared mildly at David. Suspicious. Maybe imagining that whole get-inside-your-shirt thing.

“I don't have time,” I said, already facing my laptop screen and bringing up the license plate website.

Mom turned to David. “Is everything all right?”

“Uh . . .” David looked at me.

“No, it's not all right!” I said. “I mean—yes, David is fine, we're fine, I just remembered something and I have to look this thing up real quick and I just . . . need quiet!”

Mom gave up, moving back down the hall. David tentatively stuck his face past the threshold.

“Should I go?” he asked.

Impatiently I waved him inside. “Shut the door.”

He did it. Took a seat on the floor, resting his back against the foot of my bed. “What're you doing?”

I filled in the information on the website, then swiveled my chair toward David. “Listen,” I said, “I have to ask you a favor, and I absolutely need you to say no if you don't want to do it.”

I could see his shields going up again. “Okay . . . ”

“Do you have a credit card or anything like that?”

For the first time ever, I saw David's face become suspicious. “Debit card, yeah,” he said. “My dad wanted me to have it to learn how to budget or whatever, since no one uses cash anymore.”

“I need it. Need to use it, I mean.”

“What for?” he asked, but his hand drifted toward his pocket.

I rolled away from the desk so he could see the screen. “I can use this website to look up that guy's license plate,” I said. “Find out where he lives, criminal record, everything.”

David had his wallet out by then but held it closed. “Is that the best idea?”

“It's the only idea I have left,” I said. “David, no one is going to believe me about the keys. I don't know if I picked out the right guy in that photo lineup. Tara's parents hate me. This is all I got.”

“I don't think they hate you.”

“Doesn't matter,” I said. “I need to do this. Look, I've got the cash to pay you back right here if that's what—”

“It's not.” David tapped his wallet against his other hand. “What're you going to do once you have the information?”

Huh. That was a good point.

“I don't know,” I admitted. “But once I have it, maybe I'll come up with something. Seeing the information might, you know. Trigger an idea.”

David didn't look convinced. He studied me closely for a minute, then pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to me. “Okay,” he said. “I trust you.”

When he said that, I felt the corners of my eyes pinch. I cleared my throat and said thanks, then put his info into the site. A minute later I had everything I needed.

“Franklin Rebane,” I reported to David.

He'd been reading the spines of all my books. When I spoke, he got up and leaned over to read the screen with me.

“Canyon City,” David said. “That's, what, two hours from here?”

“Round about,” I said. “No criminal record. Damn it.”

“You were hoping?”

“I was
assuming
. And then if he did have one, it would make the cops take more interest, maybe.”

“So since he doesn't have any kind of record,” David said, “doesn't that sort of at least
suggest
he's not a—”

“Look,” I said, standing up and pacing around my room as David took my chair and continued scrolling through Rebane's information. “Here's the facts. I saw my best friend at the Hole in the Wall with someone driving Franklin Rebane's car. That's not up for debate. Maybe the man she was with isn't this Rebane guy, maybe he stole the car, maybe he borrowed it. Who knows. But that's the first step. That's it. I have to see
if the guy driving that car is Rebane or not, and then go from there.”

“I don't get it,” David said, twisting back and forth in my chair. “What's that going to prove?”

“If the creepy old guy from the Hole isn't Rebane, then Rebane may know who he is,” I said. “If that wasn't him, then the cops might be looking for the wrong guy.”

“And if it was him?”

“If it was him . . . then I need to know more.”

“Okay,” David said, “so how do you plan on doing that?”

I folded my arms and raised my eyebrows hopefully. “You want to take me on a road trip to Canyon City tomorrow?”

ELEVEN

The next day, my insides jiggled as I waited in the kitchen for David to arrive. Whether it was because we were about to track down a kidnapper, or just because we would be alone together all afternoon, I didn't know.

“Arncha gonna have lunch?” Jeffrey demanded as he smeared an inch of strawberry jam on a piece of white bread.

“Not hungry,” I grumbled.

“You're being bitchy again,” Jeffrey said.

“Imagine that.”

“Yep. Me and Mom are gonna go see a movie today, and I was gonna ask you, but now you can't come, I don't care what you say.”

“No kidding?” I asked. “I mean, Mom's really taking you to the movies?” Usually she worked all day.

“Yep.”

“That's awesome,” I told him. “Seriously.”

“I know,” Jeffrey said. “You still can't come, though.”

“I have plans, dude,” I said, and my nerves buzzed again.

“With
Day
-vid?” Jeffrey said, acting like a little kid.

“He's driving me, yeah,” I said. “Don't say it like that.”

Jeffrey grinned, and I could see the teenager he was so close to becoming. Very weird.

At six minutes past noon David drove up in his red pickup. My nerves did their electric shock thing again.

“Gotta go,” I said to my brother. “Tell Mom I won't be home till late.”

“You're gonna get in trouble,” Jeffrey said, delighting in the idea.

“Yeah, well, don't hold your breath,” I said. I hadn't been in any trouble since—well, ever. Not in the last six years, anyway.

“I like your hair,” Jeffrey called as I opened our front door.

I paused. “What?”

“Your hair,” Jeffrey said. “It's all, like, straight and stuff.”

I hadn't noticed. I must've brushed it out after my shower. Or maybe I just didn't want to know that I'd done it.

“Well, um . . . thanks,” I said.

He waved. I went outside. Patted all my pockets to make sure I had everything: smokes, lighter, band around my wrist, pillbox, shoulder bag with wallet, phone, tissues, snack, water. Good to go. If the apocalypse began, I'd be ready.

I met David halfway up our walk. He wore jeans, sneakers, and a white thermal beneath a black T-shirt. He'd done
something more with his hair again, different even from last night. And it looked good. I tried to tell myself he didn't do it for me, because to assume that would be so freaking arrogant. Except . . . after what he had said last night, was it really so wrong to believe that?

“Howdy,” David said.

I tripped on my sidewalk with a grunt.

“Uh—hi,” I said. Nice start to the day.

“You want to get something to eat on the way?” David asked as we walked to the truck.

“Sure,” I blurted, even though I still wasn't hungry.

“Cool,” David said as we climbed in. “We'll stop by the Hole. I think Harriet's working. She'll hook us up.”

I almost choked at the double entendre. Since David didn't seem to notice he'd said it, I just looked out the window.

“I'll cover gas,” I said.

“No worries,” David said. “I got it.”

“David, no, seriously.”

“Penelope, yes, seriously,” David said. He said my name with the wrong emphasis: PENNEL-ope. It was stupid. And I liked it.

“But it's my mission,” I said.

“And I'm a mission support specialist,” David said. “I'll do my job, you do yours. That's how it works.”

“Why are you doing this?”

I felt him glance at me. “I told you I wanted to help.”

“Yeah, but why?”

David laughed, but nervously. “Thought I pretty much covered that last night.”

“Really?” I turned to face him. “I mean, that's
really
the reason.”

David opened his eyes real wide and tried to start about a dozen sentences. Finally he said, “Honestly? It's most of the reason, yeah. But, um . . . look, maybe I shouldn't go into this right now, big mission coming up and everything.”

“What? Tell me.”

“I think you're wrong.”

Panic attacks feel like heart attacks. This felt like a punch in the stomach.

“About
what
?” My voice squeaked.

David looked worried. Also, determined. We turned onto McDowell, headed toward the café.

“About Tara,” he said. “I think maybe you saw someone who looked like her. And maybe, sure, the guy you saw jingled his keys. Lots of people do that. Obviously. I mean, I did it, but that doesn't make me a kidnapper. Didn't seem like her mom was on board. I'm sure that detective is going to look into it, like he said he would, and . . . I don't know. I'm happy to do this for you, regardless, but a big part of it, Pelly, a huge freaking part of it is to show you that nothing strange has happened, that you didn't see your friend, but that maybe you
needed
to. And the sooner you see it wasn't her, the sooner you'll feel better.”

He paused.

“And that's what I really want,” he said. “The you-feeling-better part.”

I watched him in silence while he kept driving. I must've made him uncomfortable, because after a while he kept shifting in his seat. But he didn't say anything.

He had a point.

I knew that. I was insane, but not necessarily stupid. I did need to find Tara. If I could do that, I could undo all the stupid things that had gone on since she had disappeared. I could get my life back together. Be normal. Go places. Go on dates. Things like that. And if, somehow, I was totally wrong and the girl from the café wasn't her . . . at least I'd done something.

“You're right,” I said quietly, turning to face front again. “Maybe it wasn't Tara I saw. But I have to know for sure. This is the first time I've done something. Like, taken action. You know? I have to see for myself. That's all.”

“You're wrong about that, too.”

“Wow,” I said. “This whole ‘bold you' thing? It's got a kick at the end.”

“This isn't the first time you've taken action, you got the job at the Hole,” David said, unfazed. “You went out last night. How easy was that?”

“Not very,” I mumbled.

“Right. So this . . . I mean, this is a big deal. I think. Don't sell yourself short.”

I wanted to say something snarky-like. But I didn't.

“Anyway,” David said. “I got your back the whole way.”

“Thank you,” I said as we pulled into the dirt parking lot of the Hole in the Wall.

David turned to look into my eyes. “Anytime.”

Neither of us was scheduled this particular Saturday. As we went to the counter and placed our orders with Harriet—who looked very confused both at two employees ordering hot chocolate and sweet rolls for lunch, and that those two employees were us—I began wondering who David and I were now.

I mean, I'd been on dates. Sort of. Group things with people from my day treatment group therapy program, for the most part. There'd been a fun little Greek restaurant nearby, and in broad daylight, surrounded by people like Alecia, I'd felt mostly safe. I'd had a couple of awkward, clandestine kisses here and there with a guy from “Groop,” which I really do not care to get into. But that's it.

Last night at Orange Table with David, what did that make us? Were we boyfriend/girlfriend? Something else? Same as always? Friends with benefits, that kind of thing? It's not like we'd kissed. He'd told me how he felt, and that was it. I hadn't even told him how
I
felt.

Probably because I didn't know. This was all new. Unexpected. As if seeing Tara wasn't enough to throw my world into a new orbit, now there was David.

I almost dropped my hot chocolate when Harriet handed it to me. David didn't say anything as we walked back out to the car with Harriet eyeing us the whole way. I wondered if there
was a rule against coworkers dating. Or if maybe Harriet liked David. Or if maybe David actually liked Harriet, and he was just using me somehow to get to her. . . .

“There's smoke coming out of your ears,” David said.

I bumped into the truck. “Huh?”

“You're thinking way too hard,” David said. “What's up? Is it the cocoa? Because I bet I can have Harriet fired. I have that kind of pull.”

“Sorry, no,” I said, bypassing his joke. “I mean, I'm fine.”

“Okay,” David said. “You ready to do this?”

I nodded.

“Are you positive you
want
to?” he asked.

“No.”

David looked as surprised as I felt. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

“I just mean, like you said, I could be wrong about this whole thing. All of it. And what happens then?”

“Then we come home,” David said. “That's all.”

“Yeah, we come home, but then what for me?” I said. “If I can't get Tara back, then . . .”

David said nothing, only waited for me.

“Then maybe nothing will ever change,” I went on.

“Well,” David said slowly, “let's find out. C'mon.”

He climbed into the driver's seat. I stood outside the passenger door for another moment, staring blankly at the empty space his body had just occupied.

“Okay,” I whispered to his ghost, and got in.

David was a very safe driver for seventeen. Or maybe he was a very safe driver
because
he was seventeen, I couldn't tell. He got us onto the freeway that would connect to the highway out of town, nice and smooth. Of course, on an early Saturday morning there wasn't much traffic to contend with, which helped.

I couldn't get my mind to settle down on any one topic. Thoughts ricocheted from one side of my skull to the other until I could barely keep my eyes open.

“What's your family like?” I asked, trying to get something to focus on.

“Pretty decent,” David said. “For family.”

“What do they do?”

“My mom's an editor for a health magazine,” David said. “Like, for vitamins and stuff. And my dad's a dealer.”

Well, that certainly got me to think about something new.

“Drugs?”
I said.

“Blackjack.”

“What's blackjack? Is that some kind of heroin or something?”

David laughed out loud. I thought for a second he'd run us off the road, careful driver or not. “Blackjack, the card game,” he said. “He works at one of the casinos on the reservation.”

“Oh,” I said, and sat back in my seat. “God. I thought . . . wait a sec, you did that on purpose, didn't you.”

David gave me a theatrical, innocent shrug.

And I smiled. “Can I smoke in here?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“It's hard to get the smell out. You know.”

“Sure, yeah. It's okay.”

“Do you want me to pull over? We can park, take a break.”

“We've been on the road for, like, ten minutes.”

“Yes, but see, I'm flexible that way.”

“I can make it,” I said, looking out my window. “I shouldn't do it anyway.”

“Why do you?” he asked.

I bit my lip, reconsidering his offer to pull over. Damn. Once the desire was in my head, it wouldn't go away. So much for not being addicted. Or self-medicating. That's what Dr. Carpenter called it.

“Okay, pull over,” I said. “I mean, when you get a chance.”

“How about once we hit the 17?”

“Okay.”

David kept an eye out. About fifteen minutes later, outside of Phoenix proper, he found a big stretch of dirt and slowed. He pulled off, and we climbed out together. We stood on either side of the bed of the truck, draping our forearms over the sides, facing each other. Traffic zoomed past, uncaring. I wondered what they thought of us. Of who—or what—we were.

I lit my cigarette and tilted my head back, blowing the smoke up. Wind frittered it away into nothing. It was getting chilly.

“It's going to be cold up there,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

“I've got an extra sweatshirt behind the seat if you need it.”

“Not yet, but thanks.” I took another drag and shut my mouth, blowing the smoke out of my nose. “I picked it up a couple years ago,” I said finally. “From some—people. I was going to say friends, but they weren't, really. Just people I knew.”

“Those darn kids from the wrong side of the tracks?” David asked. “Getting you involved with the wrong sorts of people? What with their long hair and disregard for authority.”

“No. Nothing like that. It was just around, and I picked it up. It was something to do.”

“You should give it up.”

“I know.”

“I mean, when you're ready.”

“Yeah.”

“I personally don't care,” David said. “But I think you'd be happier without them.”

“Happier,” I mumbled, blowing out a cloud.

“Someone buys them for you, you said?”

“Yeah, I got a guy. Well, a girl. But she always says that about stuff. Whatever you need done, she's ‘got a guy' who can do it.”

“So she's a friend.”

I stamped the cigarette out in the dirt. “Not exactly,” I said. “She isn't
not
, I guess. Met her at my doctor's office. She buys them for me once a week.”

“I don't know if you know this, but you sound like you don't like her very much.”

I pulled out another smoke. Lit it. Kept it between my lips as I answered, giving me that unique smoker's lisp. “What d'you shink?”

“I think there's a lot you don't talk about.”

I froze in place, eyeing him through gray smoke. David gazed easily back at me, his face friendly. I pulled the smoke out with my fingers. Stood there looking at David carefully.

A brand-new thought came to mind. Something I'd never considered. Something Dr. Carpenter had never suggested. Something that made me feel both really guilty and at least a little excited.