Sunshine (29 page)

“I’ll be fine,” I say, pushing the women’s door open.
He hesitates before letting go of my hand. “I’ll wait for you right over there.” He points to a group of plastic chairs around a table a few feet away.
I’m thankful that there are only a few stalls and that they’re all empty. I can chunk it in peace. When I’m done, I splash cool water on my face and rinse my mouth out. Just as I’m about to contemplate this situation now that I have a minute to myself, my face slams against the wall near the hand dryer.
It happens so fast that I can’t stop it. In one fluid movement, my body is pressed against the wall, my arms are held behind my back, and I’m sure my rib has cracked even more by the way the pain is raking through my side. My sunglasses slide off of my face and snap in half on the linoleum floor by my boots.
I glance at the mirror just long enough to take note that a steady trickle of blood is dripping from somewhere near my left temple, and that there’s a person holding me against the wall.
The man behind me is about thirty. He has blond hair clipped closely to his scalp. He’s so thin that I can feel the bones of his fingers digging into my arms. His skin is just as pale as mine, but his cheekbones and eyes are sunken into deep shadows on his face. The eyes that stare back at me in the mirror are almost black.
This all happens in less than a few seconds, and it takes even less time to recognize who this is.
Michael.
It has to be him and not some person he’s taken over. His expressions move easily on his face. The muscles in his body don’t look like they’re being pulled by invisible strings, the way they had with Jack or Jade.
His face contorts with a smile when he notices the recognition on my face. “We are going to calmly walk to my car,” he says softly. “And if you draw any attention to us, I will kill your little boyfriend.”
I gulp as the grip on my arms loosens and he lets me go. I have to lean against the sink when I turn around to catch my breath.
“Oops,” he says, almost sounding too human. He tears off a piece of paper towel and wipes off the blood on my face.
Instantly, I pull away. “Why are you doing this?” I try not to yell.
He laughs, tossing the brown paper in the garbage. “It is time to leave. Remember what I said.” He walks past me to open the door. “After you.”
My feet move slowly as I try to formulate a plan. Myles will be waiting for me where he said he would be. Unless he already saw Michael. Did he walk in through the front entrance, or was he hiding somewhere in the bathroom? How did he find us?
We pass by the food court again, and Myles is sitting at the table he pointed to earlier. His head snaps in our direction and he stands, looking ready for a fight. Michael quickly grabs my wrist, walking right beside me now as we walk past Myles, who is only a few feet in front of us.
Something Michael communicates to Myles causes him to sit back down. I cannot describe the look on his face as we exit the rest stop building. Hopeless, angry, horrified. They all seem to fit and fall apart at the same time.
It’s even darker than it was when we got here less than fifteen minutes ago. Cold wind hits me in the face as the urge to bolt grows stronger in the pit of my stomach. Michael’s hand tightens around my wrist, cutting off my circulation.
He follows my gaze to where Alex and Adrienne are sitting in my car parked at the far end of the lot. “I would not think of that,” he says in my ear. “I am much faster than you.”
He has to shove me so I keep walking after that. We only stop moving when we come to a white, rust covered van parked behind the building.
Michael takes a step forward, sliding open the door. “Get in.”
Before I can take a step, I’m thrown into the tin can of a car, my coat flying past me so I’m in nothing but my tank top. He climbs in soon after, shutting the door behind us. My back scrapes against the rusted floor as I scramble to the front of the van where the driver and passenger seats are. I can’t climb up front to get away because there’s a heavy metal grate blocking it off. He’s grabbing me by the back of my hair before I can blink.
I try to kick, screaming unintelligible things as my arms flail in front of me, searching for something to grab onto. My boots hit the metal grate. This is the only hope I have.
Without even thinking about it, I bring my knees up to my chest and pump them out as hard as I can. My goal is to distract him; I don’t expect the metal to fly off.
The noise gets his attention long enough for him to loosen his grip so I can pull free, but not without losing a good chunk of my hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice tells me that it’s no use. Even if I can get to the front seats, out the door, into the parking lot, he’ll still chase me down.
But I’m not going to just sit here and be a victim. I’m done with that shit.
My forearms graze the broken frame around the front seats as I lunge forward, kicking behind me. I reach the steering column before a hand grabs onto my right knee, another on my left thigh.
“Alright. Enough of that,” he says. In one hard yank, my cheek hits the cold, hard floor and he’s rolling me over. I’m in the back of the van again. “Please do not scream.” His dark eyes shine as they stare down at me. “I really dislike breaking jawbones.”
And he’s on top of me. His legs are around my waist, one of his hands pinning both of my arms above my head as I struggle under his weight. He reaches behind him, under his coat, with his free hand. The same knife he had this morning re-appears. “Are you going to be still now?” he asks calmly.
Like there’s any other option. I nod.
The shiny knife disappears for a second as he leans over me so his face is above my head. He’s reaching for something in the front. When I hear duct tape being pulled from a roll, I snap. “Please stop.” It leaves my mouth pathetically.
Michael takes the hand that’s wrapped around my wrists, taping them together tightly. “Why?” he asks, positioning himself as before, knife included.
“I know you don’t like me or whatever, but you don’t have to do this,” I babble.
He laughs quietly to himself. “It is not a question of whether I
like
you or not. You simply cannot be a part of this.” With his free hand, he takes my chin and pushed my head to the side so my right check is against the rusty floor.
I try to keep him in my left eye’s field of vision, but I can only see him through my peripheral. And the knife coming down.
Taking in a sharp breath, I prepare for the worst. My scalp stings, making me aware that I cut it on something back in the bathroom.
“That looks deep,” he comments. Then he presses his hand to it for a few seconds. I start to feel dizzy, though I’m not sure if he’s doing it to me or if I have a concussion. “There,” he says, pulling his hand away.
He actually gets off of me now, my rib throbbing as he does. And he’s clutching his wrist. Which is bleeding dark red.
I try to sit up, but my body is pinned to the floor. “What did you do?” I scream.
He smiles. “We should get going.”
Without another word, he climbs into the front as my eyelids begin to get heavy. I’m blacking out, but not before reaching my hand to my head and pulling it away covered in my bright red blood fused with his dark crimson.

It feels like I just blink, but I know I’ve been out much longer. Through the small, square back window, the sky has turned completely black and it’s snowing.
I can barely make this out; there are huge spots popping up in my vision. I’m also vaguely aware that the van is no longer moving.
Then the door is sliding open, a cold gust following Michael in as he grabs at me. I try to kick him away, but he already has me. “It is time for a game,” he says in my ear when we’re both outside the van.
My coat gets left behind on the blood streaked, rusted white, metal floor as he drags me by the arm. My hands are still taped together. The wind freezes my skin as heavy flakes of snow stick to my hair and face and then melt.
He pulls me forward into the darkness, further and further. After a minute, I can’t see anything, and there’s no sound except our footsteps and my heavy breathing.
Without warning, he throws me onto the ground. It’s soft and muddy, and a few twigs hit me in the back as I land on my ass. “Do not move.” His voice comes from the dark. Then his footsteps begin to fade away.
More snow falls on my face, my hair is getting soaked. A lot of time seems to pass in the silence that surrounds me now. And in this time, I think.
I think about breathing.
I think about surviving this.
I think about what my family will think if I do end up dead. What Myles would tell them.
Somewhere in all of this thinking, I’m getting up and walking in the opposite direction of where I think Michael went. Sounds start forming. Far away, but sounds that tell me that I am not alone.
Tires screeching. Doors slamming. Footsteps.
I keep moving.
Sophie, stop
.
Myles’ voice. And I don’t know if I’m imagining him speaking in my head or not. I stop. Everything is black. My pulse pounds in my ears. A cold hand touches mine, and I know whose it is, even if I can’t see him.
But before I have a chance to say his name, I’m ripped away.
My back is slammed against something hard, a tree, maybe. Myles is yelling. This is what registers in my brain first.
Hands around my throat. I’m being lifted. No air. This is what comes next.
Michael lets go, dropping me in the mud as I gasp and cough. I sense him kneeling down next to me, his nose practically touching mine, his breath on my face.
I shove my arms between us because it’s the only thing I can think of to get him away from me. Myles is still yelling something in the distance that I can’t understand. I wish he would hurry up and help me out already. It’s not like I can fight him off by myself.
Then hands around my wrists.
Before I can think of a way to get him off, my wrists are being pulled apart.
The tape doesn’t give, but my bones do.
I don’t feel it immediately; the snapping sound and the way my hands hang limp gives me enough confirmation that they’re broken. I scream and my throat is grabbed again, choking off the sound.
Myles is closer now. I can hear him. “Fight someone who can fight you back.” His voice sounds animal, hoarse, and like a growl.
Michael lets go and I cough more, gagging. I almost fall over, but he catches me by the shoulders. I feel him turn in the general direction of where Myles’ voice is coming from, but instead of walking toward him, he smashes his fist right into the center of my chest.
I fall on something sharp. My chest feels like it’s caving in. My stomach is hot and wet.
And I’m gasping for air, choking. My head hits the mud.
And then it’s quiet except for me choking on the cold wet ground.
In the distance I can hear sounds. Horrible sounds. Myles and Michael.
I want to worry about him, but it hurts.
Time passes. Seconds. Minutes. I don’t know.
I start crawling.
More time. More blood. My shaking, broken, hands scrape against sharp twigs and brush under the frozen snow. The second someone touches me I pull away, smacking my head on another tree.
“It’s okay.” Adrienne’s voice.
I’m being lifted up. Every piece of my body hurts, but at least I’m being helped. A coat is thrown over me, and then we’re moving. Before long I’m being loaded into the back seat of my car. I’m still gasping like I can’t find air, but I feel safer than I did outside.
“It’s okay,” Alex is saying somewhere in front of me. I get a fuzzy outline of both her and Adrienne standing outside my car. “You just have to stay awake,” she says before moving into the driver’s seat.
Adrienne tries his best to kneel on the floor behind her seat, shutting the door behind him.
I listen to Alex. I know that I’m losing a lot of blood. If I fall asleep, I don’t think I’ll be waking up. I try to ask her where Myles is. I can’t see much of what’s going on, other than Adrienne taking part of the coat that’s around me and pressing it into my stomach. That hurts beyond belief. I try to scream, but it comes out as more of a whimper. “I have to hold this here,” he tells me. “I know it hurts.”
I become aware that I'm shaking. “Wh-wh-” is all I can manage to get out between gasps.
“He’s okay. He’s coming,” Alex says, already knowing I want to know where Myles is.
“Turn the heat on,” Adrienne says.
It’s quiet for those few seconds before I hear the air blowing through the heater in full force. All I can think of is if Myles is okay.
“Just keep breathing,” Adrienne says. Despite the hot air blowing on me, I can’t keep from shaking. “I think she's going into shock, Alex.” He presses the coat harder into me and I gasp.
I can see some of Alex in the front. She’s on the phone with someone. “Just keep talking to her,” she directs at Adrienne.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says softly.
I try to stay still the best I can; I try to stay awake.
The door closest to my head slams open and I try to move as far away as I can. Michael is going to kill all of us.
Adrienne pins me down.
“Drive,” Myles’ sharp voice says. He gently lifts up my head, sitting down and shutting the door.
And I start crying because he’s not dead, and he’s Myles and not Michael.
I stare at his face above me, it has blood smeared all over it, and I don’t want to know what that’s from. He places both hands on my chest. It starts to feel tingly. I know he's going to do it fast, no time to take the pain away slowly. I brace myself.
At first my breath comes in even shorter spurts, and I cough a few more times as both he and Adrienne hold me down. Blood seeps out onto my tongue, but then in one long gasp, I can breathe again.
Myles takes his hands off of my chest and cradles my head. “We’re going to the hospital,” he tells me.
Now my temple hurts. The gash in my head must have gotten worse when I hit it. Multiple times. “My head,” I say to Myles.
“I know,” Myles says gently. “It’s going to be okay.”
But I don’t feel okay. On top of the rest of the pain, my brain feels like there’s something squirming around inside, causing a blinding, sharp rush from my forehead to my neck.
“Myles,” Adrienne says. Myles moves away from me, kneeling somewhere in the small space between the front and back seats. I can’t move my head to see exactly where he goes.
“Shit,” I hear him whisper. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him curse before.
So that can’t be good.
Silence.
I want to ask what’s going on. I want to know what they’re talking about. My eyes feel heavy, and I can’t talk anymore. My eyes shut without me wanting them to. I hear a loud crash. Glass breaking. Then a gust of cold air hits me. I want to know what happened, but my eyes won’t open. Not long after, I feel pain like I have never felt in my life scrape through my entire head.
Nothing I have felt before it can compare. Burning, knives, breakage. None of those words seem to work. I try to struggle my head free, but it’s clamped into place, and Adrienne has both of his hands on top of my legs, making it so I can’t move.
Against the hot liquid flowing from my scalp, there’s a cold one. And it feels like there’s a snake behind my eyes, fighting and snapping and trying to bite its way through my skull.
“Stop!” I scream over and over.
“Myles is helping you. You have to stay still,” Adrienne repeats again and again.
I start crying. “Please stop,” I repeat.
But nothing.
Why Myles is doing this to me?
I pass out before I get an answer.