See Jane Run (20 page)

“I'm not your sister.” She tried her best to inject confidence in her voice. “Let me go, please.”

Tim looked down at her with an appraising expression that made Riley even more uncomfortable.

“Let me go.” She felt her strength and anger growing. “LET ME GO!” She twisted toward the dark, greasy window at her side and thumped her bound hands against it, trying to reach it with her feet.

“Help! Help!”

The toe of her sneaker caught a crack in the glass and she was able to kick through. Joy obliterated her fear and she screamed louder, a string of tear-choked nonsense words.

“Please help me! Someone, please, he's crazy, please!”

Tim just stared down at her until Riley, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, stopped screaming. She flopped back hard on the couch, tears rolling from her eyes and into her ears.

“No one can hear you. There's no one around here. The neighborhood is mostly abandoned. Except for us.” He smiled as if that were a good thing. “I can't believe I found you. You look so much like Mom did when she was younger.”

Riley gritted her teeth. “I'm not your sister. We're not siblings. I don't even know you!”

A dark expression cut across Tim's face. “Don't say that. You are.” He advanced on Riley, pulling a small blade from the food shelves.

Riley pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her whole body was shaking. It didn't even slow Tim down. He grabbed her by the arm and brandished the blade then slit the duct tape down the center.

“But you have to promise me you'll be good,” he said, pointing at her with the blade of the knife. “You have to listen to what your big brother tells you.”

Riley's ears were ringing. “You're not—”

Tim whirled and stamped his feet. “Do not say that!” He looked like a child, his apple cheeks flushed a deep red, his eyes wild and unfocused.

He's crazy,
Riley thought.

She swallowed hard. “I was just going to ask you, how am I supposed to know you're my brother? Where have you been all my life?”

Tim's nostrils flared. “They left me. They left me like garbage, just like they're planning on leaving you.”

“I—”

“I'll prove it!” Tim raged.

He yanked her up and plopped her down in one of the aluminum chairs then wound a length of duct tape around Riley's torso and arms. He held his finger to her. “Once you believe me, I'll take that off. If you're good.”

Riley blinked. Tim's cadence and behavior swung from normal to almost childlike in a matter of seconds, and the switch was chilling—both sides Mr. Hyde.

She heard Tim tinker with some things behind her, and her mind started spinning. He was behind her with a knife. She couldn't see what he was doing, had no idea what he was thinking.

She had to get him to free her. She had to find a way to get loose. Her eyes went to the rectangle of window that wasn't covered by a sheet. She squinted, seeing nothing but darkness and the foot-sized hole she kicked through. Where were they? How long had they traveled—how long had she slept?

“There!” Tim dropped a large manila envelope on the table in front of Riley. He snatched it up again then upturned it. “Proof.”

Riley watched as pictures floated out of the envelope. “I don't understand, Tim. What are these?”

One of the photos worked itself free from the envelope and floated down. It landed face up directly in front of her—an answer to her question.

The bottom fell out of Riley's world.

She recognized the scene immediately—the birthday party from the postcard she received. But in this one, everyone was ready, grinning and facing the camera. The boy, dead center, eyes round and focused on his cake.

And Riley's mother next to him.

Everything was a blur. Every thought, image, or memory she had shaken, false, wrong.

“That's my mother,” Riley whispered.

Tim shuffled a few more pictures around then dropped another in front of Riley. It was the same scene, and he jabbed at it. “Dad.” His eyes cut to Riley and there was a crazed, pleased look in them. He jabbed again. “You.”

Riley leaned closer, scrutinizing the photo. She, her mother, and her father were all in this one. She, a toddler in a fluffy pink party dress, sitting on her father's arm.

And Tim was right between them.

“That's you?”

He nodded. “That was my ninth birthday. Mom made a coconut cake. You threw it up on your dress.”

Riley felt exposed, the intimate details of a past she didn't even know laid out for her on a cheap aluminum table by a complete stranger.

“This is when you were smaller. We were all at the zoo.”

Another picture of this unknown happy family. Riley, a bald-headed infant, was reclining in a stroller. Tim, younger, but very much the same kid, grinning a toothless grin, his hand firmly held by Riley's father while giraffes stood in the background.

“Do you remember this Christmas?” Tim pushed another snapshot in front of her. “You got a tricycle. I got a fire truck.”

A vague memory unhinged itself. Riley, small, being placed on a shiny red tricycle. She felt her father's hand on the small of her back, giving her a gentle push. She could smell the fresh pine, and somehow knew that her mother was making noise in the kitchen, just off to her right.

Riley swung her head, her eyes scanning the debris pile then trailing back to what remained of the kitchen. “This was our house.”

Tim did a little happy jump. “That's what I've been trying to tell you, silly!”

Riley's head started to throb. This was the house Jane Elizabeth O'Leary came home to after she was born at Granite Cay Hospital. They were in Granite Cay! It was a little more than a six-hour drive from Crescent City. Riley's eyes ticked with moisture. Who was going to find her now? Would Gail, Hempstead—would her parents even think to look here?

“You're surprised, aren't you? I knew you would be.”

“What happened to it?”

Tim looked away, his shoulders slumping. “I tried to fix it up nice for you. But when you left, there was no one to take care of it. Homeless people came and tried to stay here, and the city tried to tear it down. I tried to make it nice though.”

“Wh—what happened to you?”

His eyes were hard again. “They took me away.”

“Who's ‘they'?”

Tim gritted his teeth. “The people my parents left me with when they disappeared.”

There was a tightness in Riley's chest. Why didn't she remember Tim? Had her parents really left him? She didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was scattered all around her. Riley cradled in her mother's arms at the beach while Tim dug sand in the background. Her father and Tim, locked mid-arm wrestle.

Proof.

Her parents had left him behind. Tears clouded her eyes. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that her parents would never do that, but the truth was she wasn't sure she knew what her parents would do. She didn't know who her parents were anymore. Nadine and Glen wouldn't leave a child behind, but maybe Seamus and Abigail would.

“They didn't tell you where they were going?”

Tim swung his head. “I was asleep.”

“And they left you here?” Riley gaped.

Who
were
these
people?

“I was sleeping in my other house. The house where they put me.”

Riley wasn't sure what to say. “So you gave me the postcards.”

Tim nodded. “But you didn't do what I told you.”

“You said my parents weren't who I thought they were. You said you knew who I was.”

“And then I came and found you. You were supposed to leave them and come with me. You were supposed to know what the postcards meant.”

Riley looked away. “You didn't sign them or anything. How was I supposed to know who they were from? How was I supposed to find you?”

Tim sighed. “I was there, Janie. I was there with you the whole time.”

The pleased look on his face turned Riley's stomach.

“Oh.” Tim clapped. “You must be hungry.” He went to an ice-packed cooler and picked something out. “I got you something special. Hot dogs! I remembered you love them.”

Riley couldn't remember the last time she ate a hot dog. When her parents changed her name, had they changed everything else about her too?

Her pulse raced as Tim set a pot on an ancient hot plate and filled it with water. He stared down into it before dropping the hot dogs in.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don't want anything from you, Janie. But I had to save you. Your parents are awful, awful people. Taking you away from them will teach them a lesson.”

Riley dragged her tongue across her chapped bottom lip. “You know they didn't have a choice when they left.”

Her father's sullen voice, telling Riley the same, hummed in her ears, and she missed her parents terribly. They wouldn't disappear while she was here, bound to a spindly aluminum chair—would they?

She didn't want to look at pictures anymore. She didn't want “proof,” didn't want any more creeping memories of life in this broken-down house. She had to get out, even if it meant getting on with her life should her parents abandon her.

Tim set a hot dog on a paper plate in front of Riley. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, his own plate in hand. She watched him pick up a hot dog and take a huge bite, juice dripping over his filthy fingers, his lips smacking as he ate. He gestured toward her untouched plate.

“Aren't you going to eat?”

There was no way Riley could sit across from this stranger, in the midst of this dirt and debris, and share a meal. She was about to say the same when a thought struck her.

“I can't.” She tried to shrug her shoulders and the tape puckered with a tight sucking sound. “I need my hands to eat.”

Tim gazed at her, considering. “You're going to be good, right?”

Riley nodded, keeping her eyes focused on Tim's.

“'Kay.”

His fingers wrapped around the knife, and she tried not to look afraid. He slit the duct tape, and Riley's whole body fell forward, blood rushing to her arms, shooting pins and needles. She waited for Tim to put the knife down while silently judging the distance from her chair to the front door. The house was small, much smaller than the Blackwood Hills one, but she'd have to cut in front of Tim to get to freedom.

It was worth it.

The door hung slightly lopsided on the frame, the bottom cracking with water damage. There was a lock that looked new, but she was sure a swift kick would knock the whole thing off its rusted hinges.

“Where—is there a bathroom here?”

“I've been working on it for a month now. It even has water. Do you remember where it is?”

Riley shook her head. “I don't remember.”

Tim pointed toward the pile of debris. “You go right behind that and there's the hall. It's the first door.” He grinned. “Your bedroom is the second.”

The thought of her sleeping in this house, with him there, sent pricks of anxiety all the way through Riley. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe deeply, to focus—anything to quell the unease that was welling inside her.

“Thanks.”

She pushed her chair back and stood slowly, certain that the thundering of her heart would set Tim off. He waited for her to stand then went back to finishing his dinner. Riley took one glance at the top of his head as he ate, and when the adrenaline surged through her, she took off running—or tried to.

Her feet were still bound.

The duct tape loosened up a tiny bit, but Riley was going down. Her body hit the moldy, dirty floor with a thud, and the wind was sucked out of her. But Riley refused to stop. She clawed at the ground, wriggling toward the door, her fingers digging into the floor. She felt the wood splintering at her fingertips, the old, dead wood pricking into her flesh. It hurt, but Riley didn't care. She only wanted out.

“What are you trying to do?” Tim was standing over her, his body blocking most of the light in the room, throwing Riley into a dark shadow. “What are you doing?”

He was angry. As he yelled, spittle came out of his mouth and Riley thought about that night in the housing development—the car, the high beams, the man pounding on the sliding glass door and demanding she come out.

“That night.” Her chest was tight and sweat pricked out at her hairline and upper lip. “That…” She gasped, trying to suck precious air into her lungs. “Was…” Every word stabbed at her. “You.”

“You weren't listening to me! Just like now.” Tim crouched down, his face a few inches from Riley's. “You're not listening to me!”

She was in full panic attack mode now, struggling to breathe as black streaks swirled in front of her eyes. Her head felt light but her temples pounded and she couldn't remember what the doctor had told her to do. That seemed like lifetimes ago, anyway.

“What is wrong with you? Stop that! STOP THAT!”

But Tim's proximity and his yelling was only making it worse.

“Stop!”

His hand sliced across her shoulder and connected with her cheek. She heard the smack of his palm before she felt the sting.

Everything stopped.

“You're as bad as they are,” Tim spat, his voice low. “I don't think I can trust you. Now don't move or I'll—I'll have to…” His eyes flicked from her face to the floor behind her head. “Don't you move or I'll have to do something bad.”

The tears were pouring from Riley's eyes as Tim stamped around the room, grabbing things from the shelf. He poured something on a towel and came at her with it. She tried to struggle; she used her arms to push him away, but he was strong and easily overwhelmed her, pinning her arms down and sitting on her chest. He pressed the cloth against her mouth and nose before she could protest, before she could scream. And then everything went dark.

• • •

Yellow-white sunlight poured over Riley's forehead and she squinted, trying to block it out. Her head was throbbing to an angry, insistent drum beat, and she felt like she had been sleeping for days.

A little wiggle of something gleeful erupted inside of her. JD. Tim. Hempstead and Gail. It had all been a dream.

She opened her eyes, blinking away the fog and sleep then focusing on the blankets that covered her. The coverlet was cream-colored and smattered with delicate pink roses. She was in a single bed with a cheap white arching footboard. It stood out against the mildew-gray walls and the few remaining streaks of faded green wallpaper. Where was she?

It all came flooding back in a hideous filmstrip, and Riley pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and gently rocking. Fear fueled every cell, and she was almost too terrified to move, thinking that somehow, if she could stay perfectly still, she could fade away, ooze into the mattress, disappear. Her fingertips grabbed the fabric of her pants and she frowned, realizing that she was in a pair of knee-length flannel pants with ruffles around the hem. The shirt she wore, sleeveless with a baby-pink polka-dot pattern, matched the pants.

It wasn't the pajamas that scared her—it was the fact that someone had put her in them. She started to breathe heavily again, to feel the sharp edges of another panic attack coming on, but she refused to allow herself to focus on that when there were much bigger issues at hand.

Where was she?

Where was Tim?

Did her parents even care that she was gone?

There were slippers placed under the bed for her, and Riley grimaced as she slid into them—they were her size, exactly, but nothing she would ever pick out. The swirly pink and purple pattern was too girly and young, something a child might like.

Because Tim had shopped for his little sister.

Riley would have thought she was numb to the cold, nauseous feeling that thinking about Tim shopping for her gave her, but it was back again, full force, and she felt the urge to heave. She stamped it down and picked her way carefully across the half-decimated floor, refusing to consider what made the gnawing little holes in the floorboards. She pressed her ear against the door first and, hearing nothing, slowly turned the knob.

The door was locked.

She jiggled the knob then pounded the door, kicking it with her slippered feet. “Tim! Tim! Let me out of here!”

There was no response on the other side of the door, and Riley rushed to the small window above the bed. She refused to call it “her” bed. The window was narrow and long, with slits of light pouring in through the boards tacked haphazardly on the outside wall. There was no screen on Riley's side, and most of the window glass had been shattered, but the boards crossed out any opening bigger than Riley's ring finger.

She turned back to the room, her eyes scanning for anything that could help. The remains of a white dresser were useless, the cheap pressboard crumbling in her hand. The closet doors had been removed and the graffiti in the closet cavity had been hastily painted over. There were only three hangers in the closet, and new clothing, tags still on, hanging on each one. There was a pair of stiff jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a short-sleeved one. There were packages of thick white gym socks, panties, and sports bras in a bag on the bottom of the closet, and set carefully next to that was a pair of knock-off gray Converse in Riley's size, seven and a half. She shuddered thinking of Tim, wondering what he said when he shopped for her. Did he mention they were for the sister he was planning on stealing?

Her clothes—the clothes she had come in with last night—were nowhere in the room. Neither was her purse. But she wasn't going to dwell on that. She grabbed the package of socks and shoved a pair on then slid on the sneakers. She refused to touch anything else Tim had bought for her, but she needed the shoes for traction. She gripped the pole the clothes were hanging on and yanked with all her might. It bowed and the wood groaned. She shimmied it from side to side and one side broke through the wall. She was able to yank the thing down then, coming with it, landing with an “oof” on the wood floor.