Page 76 of Stranger in the Lake

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I come to on the floor, and for a moment I do nothing. I just lie there, trying to get my bearings, waiting until my head stops throbbing. The air is cool, and so is the ground under me, a smooth, hard concrete. I fill my lungs, catch a whiff of rain and petroleum.

A garage. I’m in Micah’s garage.

I crack an eye and there he is, gathering up equipment at a far wall of the garage. A mask, his flippers, a tank.

I lurch to a sit, scooting backward on my ass across the concrete. I’m not fast. I’m nightmarishly slow, but there’s nowhere for me to go anyway, not in a room with four solid walls and Micah standing between me and the button to lift the garage door. My back hits a cold wall and that’s it, that’s as much air as I can put between us.

“Ah, you’re awake. Sorry about the force of my backhand in there. I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

I press a cheek to my jaw, still on fire where he hit me, the skin by my right ear tight and tingly like a sunburn. I scan the walls for an exit, but they’re solid sheets of drywall without a single window. There are only two doors—the double garage door to my left, and the door leading into the kitchen. The button that lifts and lowers the garage door is just inside.

I’m trapped. There’s no other way out.

He leans over and checks the gauge on the tank, and my pulse ignites. He’s going to drown me like he did Katherine.

Full-beam headlights flash on the windows, a series of rectangular sheets of glass high across the top of the garage door. Micah scowls over his shoulder, taking in the car coming down the driveway and me, watching from the floor.

“That’s Chet.” Micah stalks across the garage, stepping over the puddle his truck has dripped onto the ground. He reaches into his waistband, pulls out a gun and leans down, both hands propped on his knees. “Okay, so here’s the deal. You make any noise, I shoot your brother. You open that garage door or break out a window, I shoot your brother. You do anything that makes him even look at me funny, and I shoot your brother. Are we clear?”

A car door slams, and footsteps sound on the concrete right outside. A swishing noise as my brother jogs up the steps.

“I said, are we clear?”

My gaze lands on the gun and I nod, my heart knocking against my ribs. Clear as crystal.

The doorbell rings, and Micah presses a finger to his lips, then disappears inside the house. I hear thethwunkof the dead bolt sliding into place, then a big stretch of silence before his voice worms its way through the wall.

No, not the wall, the pressed wood of the garage door. The voices are coming from right outside. I picture Micah’s front porch, the steps leading down the side to the patch of concrete. Fifteen feet at most, separated by a thin sheet of wood shavings and glass.

“Hey, Chet, what can I do for you?”

“I’m here for Charlie. I’ve been trying to call her, but she’s not picking up.”

Too late I realize my mistake. I missed my chance to have said something, called for help and told Chet to play it cool in those precious seconds of dead air when Micah was in the house, but I wasn’t thinking. I run to the truck, clearing the wet glass with a hand. No key, of course there’s not. Micah took it with him when he went inside.

Think, Charlie, think.

“I took her home a half hour ago at least,” Micah is saying, and he’s good; I’ll give him that. His voice is relaxed and casual with only the slightest smidge of worry. And Chet’s always been too trusting. He’ll never know Micah’s playing him. “Did you try there?”

I whirl around, spotting a toolbox on a bottom shelf, and I race over and root through it for the sharpest, most dangerous tool—a box cutter. One of the cheap, snap-off models, but there’s a few good inches of blade left. I slide it into my waistband and listen.

A pause. “I thought she was avoiding Paul.”

I look at the glass panels across the top of the garage doors. Too high for me to look out, but if I jump up I can reach the bottom. Maybe I could wave my hands around, hope that Chet sees them when he’s driving away. Or no—maybe I can hang something in them, a sign. I look around for paper, for anything to write on.

“I talked some sense into her,” Micah says. “Told her the only way to work things out is to communicate. She went home so they could talk through whatever it was they were fighting about.”

“But my phone says she’s here. I just checked the app, and she’s here.”

I freeze, my heart kicking against my ribs, and I don’t know whether to cheer or cry; I’m so scared he’ll hurt Chet. I hold my breath and listen for what comes next.

“She must have forgotten her cell phone. Stay here, and I’ll run and grab it for you.”

Micah’s footsteps fade into the house, and I know I don’t have much time. I run to the far end of the garage, press my mouth to the crack and shout-whisper as loud as I dare.

“Chet, listen to me. I need you to leave right now. Call Sam, tell him to get over here and to hurry. But play it cool. Act normal, and don’t say anything that’ll tip Micah off.” I pause, waiting for a response or maybe the sound of his footsteps racing to the car, but all I hear is rain and a sudden gust of wind that shakes the trees. “Chet, did you hear me?Leave.”

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