Page 8 of Tied

“Debarked?” Nelson reads my words out loud, confusion on his face.

I shift in my chair and scribble some more.

It’s when a dog’s vocal cords are severed so it can’t bark.

Nelson raises a suspicious eyebrow. “And you know this… how?”

I read a lot.

The detective tilts his head to the side and smirks at me. “Maybe you’re the one who took the girl. Maybe the guy who’s dead is the one who was trying to save her. That’s what everyone is thinking.”

A demonic laugh comes out of me, and while not deliberate, it’s fitting.

Stop fucking with me. I didn’t do anything.

“We don’t like you, Tyler,” Britton states coldly. “We don’t like your creepy ass living in the woods, and we don’t like your fucked-up face riding that piece-of-shit motorcycle through town in the middle of the night and annoying the good people of this nice, quiet town.”

I lean back and chew the inside of my cheek, then grab the pen again.

There’s no law against being ugly, living in the woods, or riding a motorcycle at night.

Nelson scoffs. “Thereisa law against murdering people, though.”

It was self-defense. He pulled a knife on me. He had that girl in a hole. Ask her. Check the evidence. You guys know how to do that, right?

“Well, that’s the funny thing,” Nelson drawls. “Maybe what you have is contagious because the girl won’t talk.”

I don’t blame her. Most conversations aren’t worth having.

Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to two assholes.

Nelson looks up from my writing and glares at me. “Watch yourself, buddy. Why were you chasing her when the officersfound you? Why was she screaming ‘get him’? Care to explain that?”

I wasn’t chasing her. We were chasing her dog that was running away.

“Nobody saw a dog,” Britton says, his voice rising. “What we have is a dead man who left a widow and two kids, a junkie who strangled him with his bare hands, and a scared shitless girl running through the woods that was supposedly found in a hole in the ground after being missing for eleven years.”

Fuck off. I’m clean. I want a lawyer.

I snap the pen in half and throw it at them. I’m done with this bullshit.

It’s then that I recognize Nelson as a guy I went to high school with. The years haven’t been so good to him, taking most of his hair and the muscular build he had when we were on the lacrosse team together. He hauls me up out of my chair, and the next thing I know, I’m thrown in a cell, where I pace like an animal until my older brother, Toren, can get a lawyer to come fix this mess for me. As I walk the perimeter of the small cell, my thoughts wander back to the girl in the woods. The terrified look in her eyes and the way she held on to that dog will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I can’t shake this eerie feeling in my gut that I’ve seen those eyes before.

CHAPTER 4

Holly

My parents are picking me up from the hospital today, after two weeks of being questioned, stuck with needles, examined endlessly, bathed, and given IV fluids, medications, supplements, and food several times per day. It’s been exhausting and frightening. I went from living a life where I would go weeks at a time with no human interaction at all to having people practically on top of me all day long. Several times I’ve found myself wishing I was back in the dark, cold room with Poppy, my books, and the television. My time there was easier.

Most of the time, that is. When I was alone.

It feels strange wearing the jeans, sweater, and shoes that Mommy brought for me a few days ago. The clothes I had on when the man took me were all I had until they no longer fit and became too thin, torn, and dirty to wear anymore. After that, I was given an old white shirt to wear and a pair of his sweatpants. Nothing else. Now I’m hyperaware of the texture of the denim against my legs, the boots squeezing my feet, and the tag of the sweater scratching the back of my neck. I wish I could take it all off.

I nod and awkwardly shake hands with the hospital staff and police officers who have all come to say goodbye and wish me well. I try to smile at them and parrot back what I know they expect me to say in response. I’ve learned a lot from watchingthem these past couple weeks. They mean well, but I know I’m just a project to most of them and an object of curiosity for the rest. Everything has felt stressful and surreal. Like being wheeled out of the hospital right now in a wheelchair, which the doctor insisted on.Is this real?I glance around when the hospital lobby doors magically open, and a whole new world is revealed to me like a huge television screen. So much is here. Colors, sounds, smells. All of it rushes back to me as if screaming,Remember me?My eyes catch on everything: cars, buildings, more people, and movement everywhere I look. Fear and panic grip me with each moment, but I allow my father to push me—he and my mother unaware of the silent scream inside me.

Nearing the car, my parents try to take my backpack away. I get out of the wheelchair and stomp my feet and cry until they back away from me and agree to let me keep it. They smile awkwardly at people staring at us in the parking lot. I’ll never let my backpack and my books go. Why can’t they understand I need the books, and I have to read them every day to stay safe? Besides, it’s the only way I can see the prince until he comes back again. I’ve told them this many times, but they refuse to listen and just shake their heads at me and tell me to calm down. I don’t care if they say my backpack and my books are old and dirty. They’re mine.

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