Paradise Falls (11 page)

“And he built a crooked house,” Jennifer sighed.
 

Katie was right. Why was she doing this to herself? She could barely remember his voice or his touch no matter how she obsessed over it and living in this awful place didn’t help. The ceiling had a long spidery crack in it.
 

Jennifer was surprised Elliot hadn’t sent county inspectors just for spite.

Katie’s offer floated back into her head. The money was in her bank account. She kept more than half of her last three years’ salary. While the yearly pay for a Paradise Falls high school teacher was well below the state average, her savings were robust.
 

The sun had set. Jennifer left the light off and played with her tablet, looking at computers. She wanted to have something nice for once, something that wasn’t a hand-me-down. The tablet chimed. The little envelope icon was blinking. There was an email in her school inbox from Jacob.
 

Jennifer, I’m sorry. We never exchanged numbers. You left your helmet behind at my place. I’ll bring it to you on Monday.

The question was left unsaid. Unless you’d like me to bring it over tomorrow. She bit her lip.
 

If she moved in with Katie, that probably meant no Jacob. Then again, Philadelphia was not that far. She could still see him if she managed to fix the mess she made. Thinking about that morning made her so angry with herself that her hands started trembling.
 

What did she get for running out on him like that? Elliot, that’s what. She should still be there. Jacob was never anything but polite, kind, and even chivalrous, and her stupid brain twisted him into something he wasn’t. He probably was just in a bad accident and studied martial arts as a hobby, like other people she knew. Howard Unger and Brock Edwards gave after-school jiujitsu classes. Rachel had a scar on her leg from a motorcycle accident. They were just regular people. So was he.
 

Except Jacob was more than that. He was kind and he saved her.
 

Just like…
 

No. No, no, no. Stop it!

Her ring itched. She bit her lip and looked at it. Her sister was right.

She made up her mind. Call Katie tomorrow, and then call Jacob. Maybe invite him over just to talk. The fridge needed to be restocked first, so she turned on the alarm clock. The Bi-Lo opened at ten, but she could get in a relaxing ride first, stretch herself out and work out the storm in her mind, then talk to Jacob like an adult, not a flighty teenager. The guy with the mansion could probably deal with a long distance… she didn’t want to think the word
relationship.

It’s been three days, Jennifer.

Leaving school was the only thing bothering her. Rachel would be happy for her and Krystal… well, Krystal would get over it. She would graduate at the end of the year, move on, move away, and Jennifer would fade into the background of the girl’s life. A happy memory.

“I’m not just going to be someone else’s happy memory,” she said, settling into the bed.

Saying goodbye to them would be like cutting off her arm, but if she stayed here, then what? How long would it be until Elliot got fed up and took what he wanted?

Katie is right. I don’t have to do this anymore.

Twisting up into a cocoon of blankets, she fell asleep.

The house groaned as the old wood shifted. The groaning grew louder and louder, followed by the crash of glass shattering and skidding across the kitchen floor.

11.

There were heavy footsteps in the kitchen. Jennifer switched on the light, then swung the bedroom door shut and gently twisted the lock, wincing at the sound. The landline phone on her nightstand offered a quiet hiss. Frantic, she turned on the light and looked for her cell phone. Panic throbbed in her temples, ice cold. There was no way out. She needed to call for help and she needed her gun.

Her cell phone and revolver were in her purse.
 

The purse was in the living room.
 

The big Amish dresser didn’t want to move, until it started to slide across the floor. Frustration coiled hot in her muscles and Jennifer gave it one great shove, and it finally started to slide. She stopped pushing the dresser when it fully blocked the door, and listened for any sound beyond her own panting. The footsteps resumed downstairs, but this time, they were heavy thumps on the living room carpet. Why didn’t she carry her purse upstairs?

Idiot, think.

There was no use in hiding. Her only hope was her neighbor. She pounded the wall with her fist. “Mrs. Carmody! Call the police!”
 

No answer. The old woman’s television babbled through the wall. Jennifer banged the heels of both hands against the wall and called Mrs. Carmody’s name repeatedly. The heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and shook the floor. The bedroom door shook like a leaf when it a meaty fist pounded the hollow wood.
 

“Open up.”
 

Jennifer felt a tight clutch of panic in her chest. Grayson Carlyle. He hit the door hard enough to make the hinges creak. The old door splintered around the doorknob, and banged against the back of her dresser.
 

“I’ve called the cops!” she shouted. “Get out of here!”
 

The closet was full of clothes but it was also full of Franklin’s stuff. After shoving the racks of old shirts out of the way, she felt along the back of the closet for his old Louisville Slugger, tucked in the corner. The kid’s size bat was almost three feet of solid ash, unbelievably hard even before age turned it nearly to stone. Covered in dirt and scuff marks, the end of the bat was worn striking a ball so many times.
 

The carpeting bunched up behind the dresser enough to slow its movement. Grayson shouldered the door. The dresser held. Briefly. It skidded across the bare floor until it hit the throw rug, and the rug bunched up. The door was open maybe six inches, and Grayson peered through it.
 

“Open the fucking door. You’re coming with me.”
 

“Get away,” Jennifer said. “I’ve got a baseball bat.”
 

Grayson snorted, and shoved. The dresser caught on the bunched rug, and tipped. The drawers came open, spilling out everything inside, and the whole thing tipped over with a crash.

Jennifer gripped the bat tightly in her hands and edged towards the door, fighting every instinct, screaming at her to
run
, but there was nowhere to go.

Grayson peered through the opening. He was dressed head to toe in black, a watch cap pulled low over his thick brows. He pulled back for a running start, and then the former linebacker crashed into the door like a freight train. The door snapped with a hollow
crack
, where it hit the fallen dresser. Grayson grabbed the broken door in his big hands and shoved it into the room. It broke into pieces and ripped right off the hinges. With one big slab of a foot, he kicked the dresser back and squeezed through the opening.

Jennifer edged away, until he stood to his full height in her bedroom.

A surge of cold anger tore through her. He was in
her house.

Her lips pulled back, her eyes widened, and she tightened every muscle in her body. The rough handle of the bat dug into her palms, and she tested its weight.

“Get out!” Jennifer shrieked. “Get out of my house!”
 

“Put the bat down, bitch.”

She moved the bat in slow circles, like she’d seen players do when they were waiting for the pitch. She tilted her head down, clenched her jaw, and blew out a breath.

Grayson stepped over the broken door and fallen dresser, then came at her. Jennifer swung with all her might, twisting at the waist and pivoting her feet while ignoring the flare of pain in her ankle. The bat whipped through the air, right at his head.

He was too fast, and the bat too short. He caught it with a grunt, stopping the swing by catching it just above her hands, and seized the end in his other hand. With a turn of his arms, the bat tore free from her hands. Jennifer screamed again and jumped back. She almost fell when she hit the nightstand. She crawled over the bed and headed for the door. Grayson’s ham-sized hand clamped down on her ankle, sending a teeth-gritting flash of red pain up her leg as he dragged her back.
 

The panic surging in her chest turned to ice and crushed the air out of her lungs as she remembered another bedroom, another man pinning her to a bed. Shrieking and contorting herself with a hidden, frantic strength, she drew her leg up and kicked him right in the jaw. Grayson’s head snapped back, and let go. He thumped against the wall. Blood poured from his mashed-in nose, and he stared at the wet streak on his hand, naked shock widening his beady eyes. Raging, he came at her again, teeth clenched.

Jennifer went for the door, crawling over the dresser, and again she was too slow.

He got both her legs this time, pulled, and dragged her around, away from the door. She landed on her backside, her back hit the wall, and her head cracked against the plaster. A blinding white flash consumed her vision. Grayson dug fingers into her arm to pull her around, then wrapped his arms around her from behind in a bear hug. She screamed until the strength of his massive arms crushed all the air out of her. He lifted her flailing body from the floor. She kicked her feet against the wall, her grippy socks catching on the smooth plaster.
 

 
He pushed her towards the wall, but her feet were planted. She let them bend, and then with a wordless scream pushed with all her might. Muscle from riding, muscle from leaping and spinning, muscle she carried in her legs and grew and grew since she was twelve years old coiled with power like steel bands. She pushed against the wall in a single explosive motion. Gayson lurched backwards, losing his footing as. He let out a throaty grunt as he crashed into the air conditioner, and his arms opened enough for her to wriggle loose.

Jennifer slammed onto the hardwood floor and went rigid. Pain lanced up from her tailbone, too intense and hot to muster a scream. Her lungs filled with air that wouldn’t go back out. She choked and sputtered as she rolled away from him. As Grayson drew back from the window, the wreckage of the air conditioner scraped down the roof, hitting the sidewalk below with a crunch.
 

The window!

If she could get out the window, then she could climb onto the porch roof and slide down to the street. She could run, or at least get to her bike. The window wasn’t far. It took all she had to ignore the pain in her tailbone and flaring ankle to drag herself towards the window. She had her hand on the windowsill, she just had to grab it and pull herself up.

Almost there.

With a grunt of effort, she pulled and the hot, humid night air met her face. Another second.

Grayson’s hand twisted around in her hair.
 

Jennifer’s shriek burned her throat. Her scalp burned as Grayson yanked her back into the room. His other hand closed around her throat. Wrenched to her feet, Grayson shoved her onto the bed hard enough to push the mattress off the box spring. He was on top of her. His knee pinned her back, and his fist ripped hair from her scalp as he pushed her face down into the bed.
 

The comforter smothered all the air. She couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t stop screaming. It felt like her lungs would burn themselves up and burst out of her throat. Her heart beat so fast it was just a buzz in her chest. It felt like dying, like an ice pick was ramming through her chest.
 

 
“Shut up, you goddamn
bitch
,” Grayson snarled. “Hold still.”
 

Go with him. Cooperate
. If he took her outside, then someone would see or hear them. She could get loose and run away. He pulled her onto her feet and backhanded her. Pain exploded from her jaw and the world went all tilty-turny again and he pulled her towards the broken door by the hair.
 

The lights went out.
 

Grayson froze. Jennifer went stone still, holding his wrist in her hands, trying to stop the ripping at her scalp.
 

Grayson let go of her and turned towards the direction of another person moving in the house. The pain in her tailbone screamed as she hit the floor, crushing everything else out until she gathered herself up enough to scramble into the closet.

Grayson struggled with another man.
 

As if it could keep her safe, Jennifer wrapped herself in one of Franklin’s old shirts. The other man escaped Grayson’s grip. He spun around and his kick to Grayson’s back sent him against the wall.
 

Grayson produced an automatic pistol from under his coat. The stranger pointed and the gun flew from Grayson’s hand. A knife stuck his palm. Blood sprayed on the white plaster wall. Grayson howled and grabbed at his hand, then bull rushed the stranger, who put his hands on Grayson’s shoulders and rolled right over him, adding force to the charge that sent Grayson into the wall.
 

Plaster cracked in a ragged spider web where Grayson’s head connected with the wall. Grayson stumbled against the other wall, his face a bloody mask from a big cut on his forehead and his broken nose. Black blood gushed from his misshapen nose and hung from his jaw in thick streams. He looked like a demon when his lips pulled back in fury.
 

Grayson threw himself at the stranger, who caught his arm by the wrist and elbow. The sound was almost as awful as Grayson’s scream, like someone taking a handful of wet rotten wood and just cracking it with all their might. Bent at all the wrong angles, Grayson’s arm went limp and he stumbled into the window. His head went through it before he stopped to reach for his fallen gun. The stranger was already moving.

He brought the old window sash down on Grayson’s head, pulled it up, and brought it down again. Grayson went still and slumped to the floor. The stranger calmly picked up the gun, checked it, and slipped it into his belt behind his back. Grayson’s chest rose and fell in slow motion.