Spellbound (26 page)

“That's what you get, bitch!” she yelled, and pulled the door shut.

I ran back up the stairs, feeling my ankle starting to throb. I grabbed the doorknob, twisting it and shaking it, but it was no use—she'd locked me in the basement.

I pounded my palms on the thick metal door, calling her name even though I knew it was futile.

“Fine, you made your point, now let me out!”

I pounded again, screaming, “It's freezing in here, let me out!” But I couldn't hear anything on the other side of the door—just the deep bass that pulsated from Brendan's speakers and made the door vibrate underneath my fingers.

“Crap,” I moaned, folding my arms and covering my chest with my clutch in a pathetic effort to keep warm.

Then I looked down at my clutch. “Emma, you fool. Remember, you have a phone,” I chastised myself. I stepped away from the door and went back down the steps into the quieter
basement. I pulled off my gloves to dial the cell phone and texted both Ashley and Brendan.

Kristin locked me in the basement. Pls get me!

The pain in my ankle was now pulsating, so I kicked off the heels and put them in my locker, slipping the flats on as I first called Ashley, whose phone went straight to voice mail.

“Hey, Ash, it's Emma. Are you at the dance yet? Kristin has locked me in the basement. Can you please come get me?”

I tried Brendan next, hoping he had his phone on vibrate. Frustrated, I slammed my locker door shut, hooking my lock back on but leaving it dangling open. I rested my back against the lockers, getting more annoyed with each ring of the phone. Eventually, his voice mail also picked up.

“Brendan, it's Emma. Kristin locked me in the basement. Can you come let me out please? I'm trapped in here and it's freezing and I'm all alone….”

I turned my head—and that's when I saw why it was so cold in the basement. The fire exit door, right next to the entrance to the chemistry lab, was propped open.

“Oh, you're not alone.” I spun around when I heard the voice. The only sound I could make was a gasp before the hands closed around my neck, slamming me into the lockers.

I scratched at the hands that held me pinned against the lockers by my throat, dropping my phone to the floor with a metallic clack.

“Where's your savior now?” Anthony snarled, his bloodshot blue eyes just inches from mine. The alcohol on his hot breath made my stomach churn.

“Hey, tough girl, I asked you a question,” he growled, slamming me against the lockers again as his hands tightened around my neck. I felt a blunt pain in the back of my head where I'd hit the raised metal vents on the locker. I let out a choked scream, gasping for air as I tried to pry his meaty hands off my throat.

And then his chapped lips were on mine, invading my mouth as I coughed and grunted out feeble screams, trying to breathe. I twisted my head from side to side, pressing my lips shut as tightly as I could. My aching head was filled with the stale, sour smell of alcohol and body odor. My feet kicked, my hands frantically scratched his face, my nails dug into his cheek as I tried to cause him pain, distract him, something to get him away from me. Blindly, I clawed at his eyes, tearing a gash near his left eye. For a moment, he flinched, releasing
my neck as he clutched his bleeding face. I took my chance, raising my knee with a sharp jerk and connecting with Anthony's crotch. He doubled over with a grunt, and I shoved him in the chest, pushing him off me.

“You stupid bitch,” he groaned, lunging forward with one thick hand that grabbed a fistful of my hair as I tried to run for the fire exit. My head snapped backward as he sharply yanked on my hair. My ankle wobbled and I fell to the floor, sprawled out at his feet as I gasped for air.

“You ruined my life,” he bellowed, towering over me and blocking my path in the hallway, his palms spread out to touch the lockers and the opposite wall. I noticed a smear of blood—my blood—against the metal slots next to his thumb, and my stomach twisted.

“You did it to yourself,” I choked out, reaching a hand to the back of my head and feeling a wet spot where my hair was matted with blood. My eyes scanned the narrow, empty hall way for a weapon—any kind of weapon. My gaze fell on my lock, dangling there unlocked. If I could unhook it quickly, maybe I could hit him with it….

“Anthony! What are you doing?” The shrill voice echoed through the small area, sounding more panicked each time it bounced off the walls.

Anthony straightened up and looked at his palm, where he clutched a fistful of my hair. He held his palm out and let the tangled wad of hair drift to the floor before looking at Kristin and laughing. He actually laughed.

“I'm doing what I want, Krissy.” He turned his menacing glare on a wide-eyed Kristin, who stood at the base of the staircase, staring at me in horror as I inched out of Anthony's sight and toward the fire exit.

“This isn't what we talked about,” she screamed, stamping her crystal-covered feet. “You were just supposed to scare her and make her go to Casey so you'd get allowed back in school.”

“That was never going to happen,” Anthony growled.

“That's what you told me! It was
your
idea! It was
your
plan!” Kristin cried, her usual composure just a memory as her face twisted with the realization that she'd made a deal with the devil.

“Well, plans change.” He scowled at her. Kristin occupied all of his attention so I stifled a cough, pulling myself off the floor.

“No, Ant, this will get me in trouble, too! I can't get kicked out!”

Kristin ran up to him, beating her fists weakly against his broad chest. He didn't even react—it was like hitting a brick building. “I didn't sign up for this,” she wailed. “Just forget it, it's over!”

“I'll tell you when it's over!” Anthony punctuated his command with a quick, but powerful, backhand across Kristin's face.

Blood immediately streamed from her nose, dripping on her cleavage and dress, staining it with darker crimson splotches. Kristin whimpered, covering her face with her hand as Anthony backed her up against the wall, his muscles bulging menacingly underneath his long-sleeved black shirt.

“Don't you ever tell me what to do again,” he snarled in her face as she began sobbing, her tears mixing with her blood.

“That's right, cry. It's all you're good for.” Anthony's voice was chillingly calm as he rested his palms on either side of Kristin's head, trapping her between his massive arms. She cast a terrified glance over his shoulder at me as I steadied
myself on my feet, reaching for my phone from where it had fallen. My hands shook as I kept my eyes on Anthony's back, my fingers closing around the small silver case.
Just stay quiet, run outside and call the cops, call Brendan.

I slowly started backing away from Anthony—when my phone rang. Reminded of my presence, Anthony whirled around, the base madness spreading over his face as he targeted me in his gaze. I saw my lock dangling within inches of my reach; I grabbed it and aimed for his head, chucking it right at his face.

I didn't wait to see if the metal lock connected with him, but I heard him grunt as I whirled around, running for the fire exit. I shoved open the heavy door and raced up the stone stairs, which let me out right near the rear entrance of the school—the entrance that led into the gym. I pulled on the door—locked. Of course it's locked. It's always locked from the outside. I could hear the music—Brendan's music—taunting me through the door, see the lights through the high windows that I could never reach without a ladder.

I started running around the block to the main entrance, but a chilling thought brought me to a halt.
What if he's waiting for you in front of the school? Just run somewhere, just run and hide
.

I raced toward Fifth Avenue, trying to keep my thoughts clear as I ran for my life. Go somewhere with people—go to the Met. There were always people hanging out on the steps of the Met. He wouldn't dare attack me in plain view.

Within minutes I had reached Fifth Avenue. The avenue was flanked on one side by the long stone wall that framed Central Park, and on the other, wealthy East Side homes. I could see the Met in the distance, shining from the spotlights that lit it up at night. I heard two sounds—my own heartbeat,
throbbing in my chest, and my own soft footfalls, the rapid but light sound of the satin slippers on pavement as I ran, afraid to look behind me.

And then I heard the third sound—a heavy, thudding, rhythmic sound. I glanced over my shoulder as I ran, and my blood ran cold—a large figure was following me, racing after me.

Even in the darkness I could make him out.

Anthony.

“You better run!” Distant but savage, his warning spurred me on. I ran faster, afraid if I tried to call someone I'd drop the phone, or lose speed. And that's all he'd need to catch up with me. I kept looking at the empty street, hoping to see a taxi or any car that I could flag down.
City that never sleeps my aching butt.

The phone in my hand vibrated. I opened it and barely had it to my ears when I heard Brendan's frantic voice.

“Where are you? I heard your message, Em, are you okay?”

“Anthony's following me!” I screamed, gasping for air as I ran, feeling a sharp pain slice through my ankle every time my foot hit the sidewalk in the thin slippers.

“Where are you?” Brendan yelled.

“Met,” I gasped. “People—there will be people there.”

“I called the cops after I heard your message. I'm coming,” he shouted. I shut the phone, holding it tightly as I pushed myself faster, seeing the white museum grow closer with each step.

Don't even look behind you. Just keep going. Don't waste any time.

I raced along the empty, dark sidewalk, the streetlights ahead of me flickering as the light inside them stuttered and died. It was as if I were running into a tunnel of darkness. I
rounded the corner when I got to the Met, scanning the grass for the sight of anyone—any people, any classmates, even a stray homeless guy. Someone. I needed a witness; I needed someone to see me.

But it was empty. The night was so cold—too cold. But the temperature wasn't what set me shaking. I turned around—he was farther away, but he was still coming for me. And he wasn't going to stop.

In spite of myself, my muscles locked, immobile. Do I continue to run away, up Fifth Avenue? It was a straight shot—nowhere to hide, since the park wall was on one side, practically framing me as prey. Should I try to double back and go to Vince A?

I peered into the park—dark, silent. I could lose him in the park. I knew my way around.

I made my decision, running through the night-chilled grass into Central Park.

I stayed close to the rear of the museum, hoping to find a security guard or someone to help me. I shivered as I rested my back against the museum, trying to quiet my breathing as I listened for his pounding, heavy footsteps. All I heard was the wind rustling the dead leaves along the lawn.

My phone rang again—the tone echoing off the stone of the building as if you were ringing a Church bell. I grabbed it quickly.

“Brendan, no one's here. The Met was empty. I'm afraid,” I whispered into the cold metal. “I don't know if I lost him.”

“I'm close—where are you?” Brendan's breathing was heavy—it sounded like he was running to meet me.

“I'm behind the Met—I'm trying to lose him in the park.” My voice shook as I slinked through the trees. I tried to avoid the lampposts, opting to stay hidden in the dark.

“Emma, don't do that—please, get out of the park. I'll be there in a minute.” Brendan's voice was softly pleading, but I could hear the urgency behind it.

I cautiously stepped back on the pathway, looking behind me as I passed the Obelisk behind the Met.

“I think I lost him,” I said, relieved.

“Where are you exactly?”

“Not too far from Belvedere Castle,” I said, walking backward and watching the empty pathway, which twisted before me.

“I'll be there soon,” Brendan vowed. “Just stay on the phone with me until then. Is there anyone there—a security guard, anyone?”

“No. Wait, I only see…” I squinted in the distance at a dark, shadowy form—was that a person? I couldn't tell.

And then the form began moving. It was running. It was coming for me.

“He's here,” I choked.

My fight or flight kicked in—because I was flying. I ran along the pathway, berating myself with every throbbing foot step that I rapidly pounded into the dark pavement.

Stupid girl, stupid cliché. Run off into a deserted park. With an injured ankle, too. Find a security guard. Find someone.

And then I remembered my date with Brendan at Belvedere Castle. When security kicked us out.

I changed directions and started running for Belvedere Castle. It sat perched above the park, luminous and bright.

The castle was very close, and in less than a minute I was running up the steps that just two weeks ago, I leisurely climbed with Brendan, blissful in our first date together. And now, I was speeding up the stairs, fearful for my life.

I burst into the stone plaza, flinging myself on the doors of the observatory. I yanked on the doorknob, banging loudly on the embellished windows.

“Help me!” I screamed, pounding on the doors until my already-raw palms split.

An older, gray-mustachioed man rounded the corner, swinging a flashlight and wearing a Parks Department uniform.

“Miss, we're closed,” he said sternly. Then he got a good look at me and his face softened.

“Are you okay, miss?” he asked gently. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Yes, please, help me,” I croaked, still gripping my phone.

“I'm being followed. I was attacked at school—I've been running….”

“Okay, miss, you're safe now,” the man said, his voice gentle as he approached me with his palms forward. Only then did I realize how wild I must have looked.

The guard pressed a button on the radio attached to his shoulder.

“Hey, this is Yanek up at Belvedere—”

His kind eyes rolled back in his head as his knees collapsed underneath him, his jaw dropping in an uncontrolled, stomach-twisting way. My eyes followed his fall—and then they looked up.

“You're so predictable, Emma. Running to the fancy lit-up building for help,” Anthony mocked me in a high-pitched imitation of a girl's voice, fluttering his hands about excitedly. I noticed he held a bloody rock in his right hand, and he stepped over the man's crumpled-up body, throwing the red-smeared stone to the side.

“You're crazy!” I screamed, backing away from the observatory.

“No, I'm desperate. It's different.” Anthony took two steps forward for every one that I took back.

“Because of you, I have to go away. My life is over.” He snarled, baring teeth that shone in the shimmering, flickering light of the lampposts.

“No, I can change things. I can go to Principal Casey,” I cried, stumbling backward down the steps to the rocks.

Stall, the cops have to be close. Brendan will find me.

“It's too late for that.” Anthony scowled, lunging forward and losing his footing on one of the stones that lined the base of the plaza.

“No, it's not,” I said hastily, trying to make my voice sound sincere. “My aunt's on the board, Brendan's mom is, too. We'll get you back in the school. We'll do whatever it takes.”

“Like I can go back there now,” he scoffed. “That part of my life is over.”

I looked around me, trying to figure out my options. The guard lay motionless—but his radio sounded like it was going off. Someone had to come up here to look for him. The cops were on their way. And there was no chance I could hop that fence onto the rocks without Brendan's help. Stay out here and let him pound on me until the cops get here? Try to stall?

Stall, stall, stall.