The Escape (6 page)

Pip-pip-pip.

It was back. A definite
pip
! Something hitting her window.

An electric zing of panic shot through her.

She
had
heard something.

Avery clicked off her bedroom lights and crept to the wall, crouching in a modified crab walk, her eyes straining to see over the sill with all of the flowers she had received, accompanied by mushy letters of praise and tokens of thanks from people she’d never met. She sucked in a shaky breath and glanced out the window, thinking one of those strangers had come for her. Or maybe the same person who had come for Adam and Fletcher.

The
pip-pip-pip
came again.

“Avery!”

It was half call, half whisper. Avery threw open the window. “Fletcher?”

He was standing on her driveway, half bathed in yellow streetlight, the bandages on his head and arms standing out stark white against the blue-black night.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Come down.”

She looked over her shoulder, then back at Fletcher. “My dad’s asleep. He’ll flip.”

Fletcher looked down at his hands. Nearly every finger was bandaged or splinted—most of them both.

“Hold on.”

She tiptoed past her father’s room and slipped the lock on the back door—the only one in the entire house that didn’t squeak—then walked down the driveway to Fletcher.

“You’re out of the hospital.” It was obvious, so a stupid remark, but Fletcher smiled anyway.

“Yeah, they released me this morning.”

“And you decided the best thing for your recovery was a midnight walk over to my place?”

Fletcher snorted. “It’s barely ten and ‘your place’ is around the corner. Not exactly a cross-country trek, Ave.”

Ave
. No one had called her Ave in at least a year.

“So?” Avery raised her eyebrows.

“I just had to get out of the house. My mom was hovering, staring at me. I’d fall asleep with her watching me, and when I’d wake up, she’d still be watching me.”

“Creepy.”

“Yeah, I guess she thinks this dude is going to come to finish me off or something.” He shuddered.

Avery was quiet for a moment, and then she asked, “Do you remember who did this to you?”

His lips pursed and his forehead wrinkled. She could tell that he was searching for a word or a memory.

Fletcher shook his head. “I don’t remember anything.”

They walked to the end of the block in companionable silence, then continued toward the baseball diamond. Finally, Fletcher cleared his throat.

“Did you get the flowers?”

“I got tons of flowers. I don’t know why though. I didn’t do anything.”

“No. From me. I-I sent you flowers. You know, just to say thanks.” Even in the darkness she could see that he was blushing, a fierce red that went up to his ears. “I mean, it’s no big deal. Not you finding me, the flowers. The flowers—they are not a big deal. You know, just to say thanks.”

“There were a couple of bunches on the front steps when we got home tonight. To be honest, I hadn’t read the cards yet.”

“That’s cool.”

There was another beat of awkward quiet, just the sound of their shoes crunching the dirt over the diamond.

“Remember at the hospital when I asked you what you think happens when we die?”

Avery stopped, the breath snatched from her chest. “Yeah.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I try not to, but…do you think people go somewhere immediately? Or do they—do they maybe hang around? Unfinished business and all that.”

Avery had considered the same question every day, what felt like every moment, for months after her mother died. She pored over texts and the Bible and did Internet searches on every myth and legend and belief possible. Not one gave her a solid answer. Not one gave her enough satisfaction to feel peace, to feel whole again.

She shrugged.

Fletch seemed to drop the subject and smiled, rolling his head back to look at the sky. “It’s kind of nice out here right now. No one but us, you know?”

Avery huffed a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re already getting tired of your adoring fans.”

A stitch of pain crossed Fletcher’s face and Avery felt guilty. “I didn’t mean that—”

“No”—Fletcher shrugged her off—“I know it’s weird. People act like I’m some kind of hero because I survived.”

“Well, you escaped. And because of that, we were able to find Adam.”

He shook his head. “Fat lot of good that did.”

“But…you are alive. Which means there is a better chance the police can catch this guy. You know, because you’re a witness and stuff.”

Fletcher loosened a rock with the toe of his sneaker, then picked it up, rolling it in the palm of his “good” hand. “Did I already say, ‘Fat lot of good that did’? I can’t remember worth shit.”

“It’ll come back,” Avery said, awkwardly patting his elbow. She had never really
touched
Fletcher before. Or any boy, for that matter. They were casual friends who greeted each other with a head nod, and that was it.

Fletcher asked, “People treated you different after your mom died, right?”

Avery pinched her lips together and looked off in the distance. “Well, yeah. I mean, at first it was, ‘I’m so sorry,’ and after a while it was, ‘Aren’t you over that yet?’” There was an edge of anger in her voice.

“When did people start treating you normally again?”

Avery picked up her own rock, palmed it, then sent it on a line drive past the pitcher’s mound. “They didn’t. The way they treated me became the new normal.”

“People never paid any attention to me before all this happened, but I think that was better.” He dropped his rock. It rolled over his bandaged fingers and plunked onto the ground at his feet. “I think being ignored is better than everyone watching me. I—”

“Wait.” Avery reached out for Fletcher instinctively, her hand circling his wrist.

There was a light rustling behind them.

A prickle of nerves shot down her spine. “Did you hear that?” She yanked him to the ground. “There’s someone here.”

Avery knew every covert tactic, thanks to her father’s love of spy movies, but she was sure the thundering beat of her heart would give away their location at the edge of the baseball diamond. Her heart only thumped harder when the bushes across from them shook and a figure stepped out. They could see it was a person from the glow of streetlights, but that was it.

The person swiped something against a tree trunk. A flame caught on the tip of the match, which glowed fluorescent orange, illuminating the hard angles of the man’s face. His thin lips were bared, and he held a cigarette between his yellowed teeth.

“What do we have here?” The guy jutted his chin toward Avery and Fletcher, and then took a long drag from his cigarette. He squinted, cupping his hand over his eyes as if there was glare from the sun. Then he rolled back on his heels, satisfied.

“Huh! You that kid on the news? The one that got all beat up. The little bitch that ran away. Is this your little girlfriend, faggot?”

The guy shifted. His cheeks were pockmarked and still spotted with acne. His hair was greasy and plastered hard against his forehead.

“Jimmy Jerold?” Avery asked.

Jimmy Jerold was the stuff that nightmares were made of—the high-school dropout who still hung around, selling pot and pills in the school parking lot. He was always getting arrested. His two nicotine-stained fingers gripped his cigarette, and he blew out a long, white pouf of smoke.

“Your little girlfriend knows me.”

Avery could see Fletcher stiffen beside her. He took a small step forward toward Jimmy, effectively stepping in front of Avery. “Dude, we were just talking,” Fletcher said, his voice calm. “We’re cool.”

Jimmy moved like a flash and was nearly nose to nose with Fletcher. “We ain’t cool,
dude
.”

Avery’s stomach plummeted as the glare of the streetlight caught the blade of Jimmy’s knife pressed against Fletcher’s neck. Fletcher was on his tiptoes, with Jimmy gripping a fistful of his shirt.

“Leave him alone, Jimmy!”

“This pitiful son of a bitch? Maybe I should gut him. Finish him off. You were supposed to die out there, you know. You and your little bitch boyfriend.” Jimmy blew a huff of smoke into Fletcher’s face, and his lips thinned as he grinned sadistically.

Fletcher just stared straight ahead as if he wasn’t seeing Jimmy.

“Fletch—” she started.

Blue-and-white lights cut through the darkness and Jimmy let go of Fletcher’s shirt, shoving him backward. Avery grabbed Fletcher’s arm to support him, and they both started to run. Avery could hear his breath straining as he kept pace with her, his weight balanced against her shoulder until her house came into view. They doubled over in her driveway.

Adrenaline crashed through Avery’s system and she blinked, her throat tightening. “Oh my God, that guy is a psychopath.” She could feel tears forming. “I’m so sorry, Fletcher.”

Fletcher stood in front of her, his eyes hard and dark. “He said I was supposed to die out there.” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “What do you think—”

Avery stepped backward, her lower lip trembling. “Fletcher.” She gestured at his chest, unable to push the words past her lips.

He looked to where she was pointing. There was a starburst of wrinkles on the cotton where Jimmy’s fist had been. In the center, like the stamen of some hideous flower, was a smear of blood. Fletcher didn’t raise his head again before turning on his heel and walking into the night.

• • •

I
shoulda
killed
him. I shoulda killed him.
The words swirled around in his head. The faster he walked, the more the night air broke over his face. His hands were fisted so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms.

The metallic waft of the blood on his shirt assaulted him, and he felt something noxious roiling in his gut. That smell…

A
thick, dense forest of pine trees surrounded him. Somewhere, a river flowed. He could hear it. He should have been able to smell it too—the fresh, mossy scent of the water, let alone the heady, sharp scent of the pine needles that cushioned his step. But the dull, metallic stench of the blood overtook all of his senses.

“Adam?” Fletcher called. There was no response. His voice came out shaky and weak. “Adam, dude, where are you?”

There
was
a
rustle
from
somewhere
behind
Fletcher. It wasn’t big enough to be a bear, but was too large to be a squirrel. It was like his body knew the sound before his mind did. He tensed. Every inch of his body sensed danger in the most primitive way. Sweat burned his eyes and poured down the back of his shirt.

It
was
coming
for
him. He needed to run. He needed to get away.

A
branch
shook. A twig snapped. Someone took another step through the foliage. But Fletcher was frozen. It was as if he had been turned into a statue. He thought his head was going to explode or his heart would blow through his chest. He wanted to growl, to roar, to make himself big and terrifying and impassable.

“Adam…” His voice was a mere whisper now, strained with tears and terror. “God, Adam. Man, where the fuck are you?”

Then
the
smell
of
blood
grew
stronger. He looked down. Fresh droplets fanned across the toes of his sneakers. Another drop fell and a fresh wave of nausea crashed over him. He looked up, trying to locate where the drop came from. Branches stretched above him, but that was all. He looked down at his shoes again as another drop fell at the edge of his vision, burning a trail down his cheek.

Fletcher retched. Through his daze, he had made it home. Kneeling in front of the toilet, he felt his whole body convulse. He was pretty sure he’d already thrown up every bit of food he’d ever eaten in his life.

“Fletch, honey, is that you?”

His mother clicked on the bathroom light, and Fletcher pinched his eyes shut at the harsh fluorescent glare. She put her hand on his back, then immediately pulled it away. “You’re sweating. Honey, are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

Fletcher flushed the toilet as his mother arranged a wet washcloth on the back of his neck.

“Do you need more pain medication? Or is the pain medication making you sick?”

His head was still swimming with images of Jimmy. He pushed the pads of his fingers against his temples and rubbed small circles, trying to quell his headache.

“I don’t know, Mom. The pain meds make me feel crazy.” He shrugged and pushed himself up from the bathroom floor. “I think I’m okay though. Maybe it was just something I ate.” He gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

He started down the hall, but his mother stopped him. “Fletcher, if there was something wrong—something wrong again—you would tell me, right?” Her smile was weak but her eyes were hopeful. “We can talk about things, you know.”

Anger swelled in his chest and his headache thumped like a bass drum. “I’m fine, Ma. It’s probably just something I ate. I’m going back to sleep.” He pushed the washcloth back into her hand, strode into his room, and shut the door.

• • •

Avery snuck back into her house completely undetected. If she were a normal teenager, this would be a triumph, but she was Avery Templeton, daughter of the chief of police and lifelong do-gooder, so it troubled her that her father’s snores didn’t shift in the slightest.

So did what had just happened with Jimmy Jerold.

She tried to scrunch her eyes shut and fall asleep counting sheep or listening to music on her iPhone, but with the tension thrumming through her body, every sheep or song dissolved into the terrifying snarl on Jimmy Jerold’s face…and the expressionless look on Fletcher’s. She wasn’t sure which disturbed her more—the fact that she likely had stood toe-to-toe with Adam’s killer or the stony, unaffected way her friend had reacted. A line she had read in class swam in the back of her mind:

“…Sometimes, in an effort to protect itself, the brain turns off certain functions, particularly in the light of trauma or a trigger.”

Avery started to breathe harder. Fletcher might not remember that Jimmy was there on the hike that day, but maybe his brain did. Maybe his body did but he had been frozen in fear.

She sat bolt upright and made a beeline for her father’s bed.

“Dad,” she whispered, gently poking his shoulder. “Dad.”

It took little more than a heavy breath to wake her father, who was on his feet in the amount of time it took for most people to blink. Instinctively he reached for the gun belt but stopped when he thunked into Avery.

“Avery? Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

She nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Maybe. Yeah, I mean, not really.” She gnawed her bottom lip. “Dad, Fletcher came by. He and I snuck out tonight.”

Her father sucked in a heavy breath. One eyebrow was arched and Avery could tell that he was pressing his lips so as not to interrupt her story. But he was not happy.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Avery, you broke a house rule and you broke a city law. Is this you just coming clean?”

“No, Dad, that’s not the point.”

“No, Avery, I think that very much is the point.”

Avery groaned. “Dad! Just listen to me. I’m sorry about sneaking out and you can punish me, but something happened.”

Suddenly, Chief Templeton’s dad face was replaced by his cop face: hard, penetrating eyes, slightly cocked head. “Tell me.”

“We weren’t doing anything. Fletcher had been cooped up and just needed to get out of the house so he came by here. We walked out to the old diamond—”

The chief pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point, sweetheart.”

“We ran into Jimmy Jerold.” Avery was more terrified than she had been when Jimmy was actually in front of her. “He was watching us. He came out of the bushes and started calling Fletch a faggot.”

“I’m sorry, Avy, but—”

“Listen! He held Fletcher up by his shirt, like this”—Avery demonstrated on her own nightshirt—“and he told Fletcher that he should have died. Dad, he said that Fletcher was supposed to die in the woods too.”

Chief Templeton straightened. “Are you sure? That’s exactly what he said?”

Avery nodded. “And something else. There was a car. When it drove by, Jimmy let go of Fletch and we took off running. But when we got back here, there was blood on Fletcher’s shirt. Right where Jimmy had grabbed him. Dad, Jimmy Jerold had blood on his hands. He came out of the bushes at the edge of the forest. I think maybe he killed Adam.”