The Detour (14 page)

I bit my lower lip.

Except …

Getting him alone would give me the best chance of making my escape.

My best chance and my worst nightmare were the same thing: me being alone with him. I leaned against the headboard and bent my knees. I was just so tired and sore. I didn't know how much fight I had left in me. I wanted it to be over. I wanted to be out of here. I wanted to be home.

What would I be doing right then if I were at home?

Getting ready to Skype with Rory.

My eyes filled with tears. Would I ever even get to meet him? I was so stupid to go for so long without meeting. And why in the hell hadn't I sent him a new computer, one with a working webcam so that I could see him when we talked? See the expression on his face when he told me I was beautiful? When he told me that he loved me?

Stupid. I'd been so stupid to accept everything. I'd been so stupid to mistake kowtowing for contentedness. I did whatever everyone else told me to do and accepted it as what I wanted, too.

Why did I never stand up for myself?

If I escaped,
when
I escaped, things would be different. They would. I'd already decided that I wasn't going to college and was going to visit Rory.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Maybe I would live at home. Maybe not. Maybe I'd move out, maybe build a house. Maybe close to my parents, maybe not.

Whatever I did, wherever I chose to live, would be
my
choice.

If I got myself out of this situation, things would change.

Click!

Every ounce of determination fled my body. I curled my knees tighter, wrapped my good arm around them, and prayed Wesley would leave me alone.

The door opened.

Wesley walked in and closed the door behind him. He set the padlock and OSU lanyard with the key still attached on the bookshelf next to the door. He noticed me staring at the items and said, “I don't trust that little crazy to not lock me in.”

Well, if we agreed on nothing else, we certainly seemed to bear the same opinion of Flute Girl.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. “So. What should we do to pass the time?”

I didn't answer. But as much as every fiber of my being wanted to, I didn't look away from him, either. I needed him alone in that room with me. But I was scared to death.

I cleared my throat and said, with more confidence than I felt, “You know you can get in a lot of trouble helping Peg keep me down here.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I don't plan on getting caught, though.”

A huff escaped my lips. “Wow, really? And how do you plan on avoiding that?”

“I don't know.” His eyes narrowed. “That's not really what you should be worried about.”

I gulped, and then raised my chin to appear much bolder than I felt. “And what should I be worried about?”

Wesley laughed. “You are so different down here than—” He stopped.

I frowned. “Different from what?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.” He took a few steps toward me.

I stiffened. The weapon should have already been out. I should have had it in my hand because if I grabbed for it now, he'd see me.

Wesley glanced at his watch. “Well, look at that. Nine thirty on a Sunday night.” He tilted his head and set a finger on his chin. “What does one do at nine thirty on a Sunday night?”

I knew what I did every Sunday at that time. I Skyped with Rory. Right then, he was sitting in Chicago at his computer, waiting for me to call.

Wesley kept coming and sat down on the end of the bed. “It would be a good time to Skype, don'tcha think?”

I froze. Why would he say that? He couldn't have any idea about me and Rory.

Unless he'd read the journal.

“I bet Rory is soooo bummed he can't talk with you tonight, huh?” He laughed. “Good night, my beautiful girl.”

I gulped. That was Rory's line. He always said it when he signed off. “Shut up!” I yelled. “It's none of your business.”

Wesley licked his lips. “Let's meet up in Chicago and have our first kiss.”

“That's private.” My heart pounded. Bad enough that Peg had read my journal, but she let Wesley read it as well? How invasive. Humiliating.

Tears started to form in my eyes.
Stop it, you can't cry in front of him.
But the thought of him reading my journal, where I wrote about everything, including what Rory and I told each other … it was too much to bear. I wanted to grab my little blade and cut his head off. “It's between me and him. It's none of your business.”

Wesley laughed then. He laughed so hard that his eyes glistened with tears. He leaned over and held his stomach for a moment. His mirth faded to a chuckle. “You know. Did you ever consider he might be fake? Some guy just yanking your chain.”

“Rory is real!” I said. “He came to my book signing!”

Wesley chuckled again, some leftover laughter, and widened his eyes. “Oh, okay. My bad. So you've actually met the dude. I take it all back.” And then he laughed again.

I didn't say anything. I didn't remember what I'd written in the journal that far back—whether or not I'd mentioned that Rory told me he was at my signing but that I hadn't actually met him in person.

Wesley must have accepted my silence for what it was: confirmation that I hadn't met him. “Oh, so you never met the dude. So he could be someone out there on the interwebz, some chimo perv just whacking off to your scintillating conversation.”

I couldn't stop the tears. “He's real. I know he's real.” I sniffled.

“Oh, okay,” said Wesley, with mock concern. “I wouldn't want you to go to Chicago for your first kiss and not have it happen.”

“Shut up.” I wiped my face with my right hand. I wanted him to leave. I didn't even want to try and attack him anymore. Or try to escape. I was tired. So tired.

Wesley pointed a finger at me. “I can help you with that.” The corners of his mouth turned up, and his eyes glimmered. “That first kiss. I mean, I don't want you to go all the way to Chicago only to discover Rory isn't real. What a disappointment for you.”

I shook my head. “He
is
real. I
am
going.”

He slid up the bed, cutting the distance between us in two.

“I need you to leave.” My voice quavered, and I knew he heard it.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. “About that first kiss?”

“Shut up,” I said. “Just go.”

Wesley slid once more, coming to a rest right beside me. His firm backside pressed against my leg. He smelled of wood smoke and gasoline.

I tried to slide away.

He leaned in and over my left side, blocking me from going that way. His face was inches away from mine.

I couldn't help but notice that my right side—my right hand, my right arm, everything—was unencumbered. And inches below me lay a sharp-edged piece of metal.

In order to get it while he wasn't paying attention, he would have to be focused on something else. I leaned to my right, making him think I was trying to avoid him.

“Where you going?” he asked. “I'm doing this for you, you know.”

My right arm was bent, my hand flat on the mattress.

“Fine,” I said.

His eyes widened a little. “What?”

“Fine.” I shrugged my right shoulder slightly. “Kiss me. I don't care.” Inside, I was cringing. And when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine, I wanted to scream.

His lips were warm and chapped. Disgusting. But I forced myself not to move. He must have thought I wanted more. I needed him to be distracted. And sticking his gross tongue in my mouth would be just the ticket.

I tried not to gag as his hot, slimy tongue groped around in my mouth. My right hand slid out, toward the edge of the bed.

Wesley's tongue kept probing. His hand slid up and rested on top of my left breast.

My fingers crept toward the gap between the mattress and box spring.

His fingers spread out and began to squeeze as his tongue continued to assault my mouth. My skin crawled.

Focus, Livvy, focus.

My fingers reached the gap and stopped. I stretched out my arm as far as I could go.

Nothing.

My reach ended what had to be centimeters from the thing that would get me out of all of this. I needed another inch. And there was only one way to get it.

I slid my bottom down, lowering my body and thus, my arm.

Wesley finally took his mouth off mine. “Oh yeah.” He slid down and lay on his right side facing me. With his left hand, he tilted my head toward him and put his mouth back on mine. His hand settled on my right breast.

I reached down with my hand and slid my fingers into the gap. I grasped the strip of metal and cardboard and pulled it out. Careful not to move quickly enough to draw attention to what I was doing, I slowly firmed up my grip.

His fingers yanked down the top of my camisole and exposed my breasts.

I bit his tongue. Hard.

Wesley snapped his head back. “Ow! What the hell?” He clapped his hand over his mouth.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh!” I slashed hard at his face with the blade, drawing a scarlet line down his left cheek.

“Oh, you bitch!” He held his cheek with his other hand.

With speed fueled by pure adrenaline, I slid off the bed and ran to the door, shutting out the screaming pain in my shoulder. My blade was secure in my hand, so I reached for the padlock with only my thumb and forefinger, but got the lanyard instead. When I lifted it up, the weight of the padlock caused the key to slip. The heavy padlock dropped with a clunk onto the floor. I glanced back at the bed.

Still stunned, Wesley held his cheek as he sat up, feet swinging for the floor.

Don't look back!

I stooped over, snatched the padlock from the floor, and flung open the door. I leaped through the doorway onto a cement floor. Stark wooden stairs led upward. I pulled the door shut. As it closed, I caught a glance of Wesley nearing it, his face red, and his eyes narrowed and dark.

I flicked the latch on the door into the silver hasp on the wall just as Wesley slammed into the door.

I screamed and dropped the padlock and lanyard, then shoved my injured left shoulder against the door and grimaced at the pain. I leaned down, grabbed the padlock off the floor, and slid the shackle into the hasp. My hand was shaking so badly I couldn't click the padlock shut.

“Let me out!” The door banged again. The padlock was thick, but that silver hasp seemed to give a little each time Wesley slammed into it.

Come on, come on.
I tried again to close the padlock. My chest was heaving. My fingers shook on the metal. “Come on, you son of—”

Click!

A louder, much more satisfying sound from my vantage point on this side of the door, that was for sure. I glanced down and pulled my camisole back up. My hand was still trembling.

Wesley yelled, “I wish I could see your face when you find out the truth about Rory!”

“You want the truth?!” I yelled. “You're going to jail for what you did to me! For helping Peg!”

Wesley laughed, a chilling sound. “Sure. I'll be in jail while you go visit your
boyfriend
. Let me know how that goes.”

Bang!
He slammed into the door.

I stood there and panted as I waited for the pain in my left shoulder to subside. I reached down for the lanyard and threw it into the dark recesses of the basement. The key landed with a faint
ping
on the cement floor. I lifted my eyes to the top of the stairs.

A door sat ajar.

I'd gotten out of the basement room. Step one complete. Now on to the next one, where I had no idea what lay in store for me. I glanced around.

Where did it
—

My blade lay on the floor by the door. I retrieved it.
You didn't let me down.

Then I straightened my camisole, tightened my sling, and began to climb the stairs.

 

{18}

THE FIRST STAIR
was rough under my bare foot. The wood looked unstained and felt unsanded. I lifted my other foot to the next stair, then let the other join it as I slid my right hand up the railing.

Bang!

I jumped.

The basement door again. Wesley muttered something.

I set a hand over my pounding heart.
Chill. He's locked in. He can't get out.
But that door wouldn't last forever.

I moved up another stair, one foot after the other, being as silent as possible. I prayed they wouldn't creak very much. As I climbed higher and higher, none did. I reached the top of the stairs and set my hand on the knob. I held my breath, pressed my ear to the wood, and listened.

A clock ticked, almost echoing. Grandfather clock maybe? Although I didn't recall hearing a chime the whole time I'd been there. I listened for the hum of a refrigerator, which would indicate the door opened into the kitchen. But there wasn't anything like that. I leaned closer to the door, my nose nearly sticking out the gap. A slightly charred scent lingered over the smell of pizza. Maybe Peg had burned something recently.

Bang!

Wesley again.

I needed to get the hell out of there before he got loose.

I pushed the door open.
Creeeeaaaaak.

I froze.

I waited a moment to see if anything happened. Nothing did. I stepped out the doorway, leaving the door open. I couldn't help but notice a rusty dead bolt, again on the outside of the door.

Was it a hobby of hers to lock people in the basement or what? Or were the locks on the outside simply outdated child safety precautions, pointless now that Flute Girl was bigger?

That almost made sense.

I focused my attention on my surroundings. The door had opened into a living room, lit by a single lamp with a dusty white shade. A blue microfiber couch and matching chair and ottoman all faced a large television. Two doorways sat at either end of the room, but both were so dark it was impossible to tell where either led.