Gone (Gone #1) (15 page)

Someone was coming her way, and she had left the bedroom door open. Why hadn't she closed it? She looked around for a hiding spot, but Chester appeared in the doorway before Macy could move.

He looked around. At first, she thought he didn't see her, but then she realized his eyes were adjusting. She was about to duck to the ground when he stared in her direction. His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing in here?"

"I…uh, went into the wrong room." It sounded more like a question than a statement, and definitely sounded like a lie. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice.

Taking a few steps toward her, he kept staring at her. "Then why didn't you walk out once you realized your error?" He stared at the phone in her hand.

"I was bored. I wanted to play a game."

Anger flashed over his face. "Bored? You're worried about being bored?"

"I was just—"

"How could you even think that?" He took a few more steps closer. He was close enough to grab her if he wanted. "After spending all that time in the barn, I would think watching some funny shows with your grandparents, after a couple nice meals, might I add, would be a treat. But it's not enough for you?" He took another step.

She swallowed, taking a step back. "I usually play games or text when I watch TV. It's just—"

He grabbed her arm, squeezing hard. Macy tried to push him away, but he only added more pressure. "We're here to spend some time with your grandparents. They haven't seen you in over a year. Forget about games and texting. The only thing you need to worry about is spending time with them. Didn't you see how excited they were to see you?"

Macy didn't respond.

Chester twisted her arm, causing sharp pains.

She let out a cry of pain. "That hurts."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Answer my question."

"What?" Her arm hurt so bad she couldn't even remember what he had asked.

"Your grandparents. Didn't you see how excited they were to see you?" He twisted her arm even further.

Macy winced. "Yes. Will you stop?"

He shoved her back, jamming her side into the dresser. "Stay out of my room. Got it? Don't ever come in here again."

She nodded, again trying to push his hand off her arm. He shoved her again. The dresser dug into her side. It hurt as much as his fingers digging into her arm. She dropped the phone, and it landed on the stack of papers.

Chester pushed her hand away, digging his fingers deeper into the skin. "Since you don't want to watch the show with your grandparents, go clean the kitchen. I'm sure they would appreciate that. Then if you're still bored, let me know and I'll find plenty more for you to do. Understand?"

Macy nodded, wincing from the pain.

"Answer me." He squeezed harder, this time, digging his nails into her flesh. She could feel it break the skin. Warm blood ran down her arm. She watched as several drops fell onto the pile of her clothes. "I said answer me!" He pulled her closer, grabbing her other arm. "Do you understand? Boredom will not be tolerated, you selfish, spoiled little brat."

Swallowing she nodded. "I understand."

"Don't be ungrateful for everything I've done for you."

She nodded, hating him even more than before. He had done nothing for her—nothing. Ripped her away from her family, forced her to eat meat, locked her in the back of his truck and then in the barn's dungeon, and then he had completely taken away her identity. She wasn't going to let him brainwash her. She would pretend if she had to, but deep down, she was going to hang onto every ounce of her dignity until she could get away from him.

He stepped back and shoved her toward the door, finally letting go of her arms. She rubbed them, glaring at him. How dare he? What made him think that he had the right to do all of this to her?

"Get out there and clean the kitchen for your grandparents. They're tired from their traveling."

She stared at him, wanting to give him a piece of her mind. Rubbing her arms, and thinking back over everything she'd been through in the last several days, she didn't think it was worth it. What if he put her back in the barn? She couldn't deal with that again.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing."

He stepped toward her and grabbed her arm again. "You look like you have something to say. Say it."

"No. It's nothing."

A terrifying look covered his face. "Tell me."

"I don't want to."

"Too bad. You have to do what I say now, and I'm ordering you to tell me."

She stared at him, fear running through her. "Let me go. I want you to let me go."

He shoved her arm into her side. "I wasn't touching you when I first asked. That's not what you were going to say."

A lump formed in her throat as tears threatened. "Please stop."

"Please stop," he mocked her. He shoved her against the bed, her head hitting the post. "What were you going to say? Tell me."

Her heart raced. It didn't matter what she said, he would keep hurting her. If she lied, he would know. If she told him the truth, he would make her pay. "Let me go."

"Not until you tell me what you were going to say."

Tears filled her eyes. Macy stared at him with defiance. If she was going to tell him the truth, then he may as well know how much she meant it. "I want to go home."

"Home? You are home. At least for now, this is your home."

Macy's eyes widened. What did that mean?

He grabbed her shirt, bringing her close enough that she could smell him again. She gagged as she tried to pull herself from his grip. He tightened his hold on her collar. "This is home, and this is your only family. Those other people don't appreciate you the way we do. They're not your family. I brought you here to keep you safe. You need my protection. Only I can keep you safe. Those idiots couldn't find their own shadow in the middle of the summer."

"Don't talk about them like—"

He threw her into the bedpost. "Don't talk back to me ever again."

She turned around in time to see his fist headed right for her face. She raised her arms in defense, but didn't have enough time to block him. She heard a cracking noise as he made contact. Pain shot through her nose and then hot, thick liquid drained from it. She brought her hands to her nose, feeling the blood pool in her palms.

Chester shook his head. "Stupid girl. Look what you did."

What she had done?

He turned around and grabbed her gross clothes he had taken from the garbage. He shoved them into her arms. "May as well use these. You didn't want them anyway, did you?"

Macy grabbed them, wiping her nose. It burned on the inside, where the blood gushed from. It ran down into her throat, burning that as well. The awful, metallic taste made her gag as some of the blood made its way into her mouth.

By the time her nose stopped bleeding, the clothes were covered in blood. He snatched them out of her hands and threw them back on the floor. "Are you ready to start being grateful?"

She nodded, too angry to say anything.

"Good. Go in the bathroom and clean your face off."

"You broke my nose."

"Stop being dramatic." He felt her nose. "It's not broken. Bruised, sure, but I assure you it's not broken."

Macy rubbed it, glaring at him. Why did she have the feeling that he had enough practice with hitting people that he knew what he was talking about?

"Get in the bathroom. Your grandparents are going to wonder where we've gone."

Without thinking, she glared at him. "They're not my grandparents!"

A look of fury covered his face. His fist came at her face again. She tried to move out of the way, but was too late. She felt his knuckles make contact before everything went black.

Clothes

Alyssa looked around her dark room, unsure what had woken her. She couldn't hear anything now. Rolling over, she saw that Chad wasn't in bed with her—of course. They were getting along, but he wouldn't leave his computer, afraid he would miss a comment on his blog saying they had found Macy.

Pain seared through her broken heart at the thought of her daughter. Where could Macy be? If she listened to what people had to say on the various shows, the likelihood of Macy still being alive was low. She looked at the time; it was after one in the morning. It had now been seven days since Macy had gone missing.

An entire week. Alyssa didn't know how she had survived those days. Everything was a horrible, heart-wrenching blur. Nothing was worse than not knowing where her child was. More than anything, all she wanted was to find Macy and hold her in her arms and never let go again.

Tears filled her eyes. Would she ever see Macy alive? Had she run away, or had something far more sinister happened? There was no evidence either way.

Her phone rang. Was that what had woken her up? She found it under her pillow and saw that she did have a missed call. She didn't recognize the number, but she didn't care. It could be someone with information about Macy.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Mrs. Mercer, this is Officer Anderson. We have information about your daughter."

"What? Did you find her? Where is she? Where can I—?"

"Ma'am, please calm down."

Calm down? How dare he tell her to calm down? The only way she was going to calm down would be if Macy was back home, safe and sound. She grabbed a blanket and squeezed. "Go on."

"Some clothes have been found, and we need you and your husband to come down to the station and identify them."

Alyssa froze. Why did they think the clothes were Macy's? Where would she be without her clothes? It had to be a mistake—a horrible, horrible mistake.

"Mrs. Mercer, are you there?"

She gasped for air. "Yes. Where did they find them?"

"Near the mall."

"She could be close?"

"We can answer your questions at the station. Will you two be able to come down?"

"Of course. You want us to leave now?"

"The sooner the better, Ma'am. If they're identified as hers, we'll need to proceed as quickly as possible."

"What do they look like?"

"It would be better if you came here to see them."

The tone of his voice was enough to send chills through her. Something was wrong. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Really, it would—"

"What aren't you telling me?"

He sighed. "There is some blood on them."

Alyssa's throat closed up, and as it did an awful sound escaped. Blood on Macy's clothes? She shook her head as tears filled her eyes. "No."

"Ma'am? Do you need us to send someone to pick you up?"

She didn't want to be at their mercy, waiting to go back home until someone could drive them back. "We'll be there." She ended the call, taking deep breaths. She felt as though she was going to pass out. Bloody clothes? No. That wasn't right. It couldn't be. Macy had run off with a little punk from the Internet. A young, stupid teenager who didn't know the difference between a knife and a gun.

Her body felt like a lead weight. She couldn't move from the bed. She didn't
want
to get up. Seeing those clothes could be the end of her hope. What if they were Macy's? And worse, what if they really
were
bloody?

Alyssa had never been particularly religious, but she had found herself praying a lot over the last week. Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of it being that long. Alyssa put the phone on the headboard and grabbed an armful of blankets, clutching them tight. "God, please,
please
let Macy be alive and safe. Whatever happens with the blood, bring her back to us, alive."

Hot tears fell to her cheeks. She had to find a way to pull herself out of bed. She didn't want to face the fact that the clothes could be Macy's. What would that mean if they were? If it was bad, she didn't want to know. She would rather get back outside, searching for her.

Was that how the clothes had been found in the first place? The search team? Where had they been found? How? Alyssa felt a renewed sense of purpose. Even if the clothes were bloody, it could be a clue to finding Macy. What if she wasn't far from where the clothes had been found? What if Alyssa herself was the one to find and save her?

She jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over the blankets she had been hanging onto. "Macy, we're coming, baby. Hang on."

After she threw on some clothes, she ran downstairs to Chad's office. He was sleeping with his head on the desk again.

"Chad, wake up. We have to get to the police station. They might have a lead."

He sat up, making a snoring noise. He looked at Alyssa, obviously trying to process what she had said. "What? What kind of clue?"

"They found some clothes. They might be hers."

He rose from his chair, grabbing several things from the desk. "What makes them think that?"

"I don't know, but they want us to look at them. After we do, we need to go to wherever they found them and search with a fine-toothed comb. We're getting close. We can find her."