Page 36 of Treasured By Them
A few pages later, I come to an image of my cabin’s interior. I have no idea why I would’ve taken this photo. Documenting the experience, I guess. I was such a messy kid. All of my things are strewn over the top of my bed. One item catches my eye—my math journal. It’s the same one I have now, although much cleaner. If I remember correctly, my mom bought it the night before I left for camp. She wanted me to record my memories. I ended up scrawling lines and lines of nonsense numbers instead.
There aren’t any clues about Britney in my cabin, so I keep flipping pages. I’m about to take a sip from my coffee mug when I notice a hush surrounding me. Immediately, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I slowly lift my head. Caleb hurries toward me, silent on the lawn, an intense look in his brown eyes. He motions for me to duck down.
Confused, I set down my mug and lower myself to the deck. He runs over toward me, keeping low to the ground.
“What—what is it?” I whisper.
“Shh.” He shakes his head, pulls a gun from his pants.
“You have a gun?”
He backs me toward the sliding glass door. “Quiet. Please. Someone’s here.”
13
Danica
I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. Fear has me locked in place, cowering behind Caleb.
Rustling comes from the bushes at the side, like someone is trying to peer in the windows of the house. Are they looking for me? Would Tate have followed me all the way here from San Esteban? I can picture his eyes, staring into mine, chillingly empty of all emotion.
“I’m armed,” Caleb shouts. “Come around to the back of the house, hands up. Move slow, motherfucker, or I’ll blow your brains out.”
Oh god, oh god. Please. My heart isn’t pounding—it has all but stopped in my chest. I thought I was scared in Vice, when Tate grabbed me. But this is so much worse.
“Holy shit,” a man exclaims. “Don’t shoot.”
Wait. I know that voice. And it isn’t Tate’s.
The man continues, “My girlfriend is here, too. We’re unarmed. We have money. Take whatever the hell you want. We won’t even call the police, just let us go.”
A woman adds, “Please don’t hurt us.”
I know the second voice, too.
“Malcolm? Zora?” I stand up from my crouch behind Caleb. “We won’t hurt you.”
They shuffle around the corner of the cabin, terrified looks on their faces. They both have their hands in the air, but Malcolm lowers his when he sees me. “Danica? What’s going on?”
“Um, nothing.” I nudge Caleb. “Put the gun away—they’re friends. They’re family.”
He frowns, looking between us. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve known Malcolm my whole life.” If I weren’t so scared of guns, I’d yank the weapon from his hand and smack him upside the head with it. “Put the gun away. I don’t want to see it again.”
Caleb’s frown deepens, but he pushes a button on the gun and shoves it into his pocket. Storing it there seems profoundly dangerous to me, but what do I know?
Now that we’re—mostly—not in danger of getting blown to bits, I hurry forward and pull Malcolm and Zora into a big hug. “I’m so sorry. Things were a little iffy in San Esteban, so Edmund sent me here with a bodyguard.”
“Iffy?” Malcolm asks, sounding stern and protective.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and look meaningfully at Caleb. “You can go now, Caleb. Family’s here.”
“I thought your family wasn’t coming until tomorrow.” He side-eyes Malcolm and Zora.
“We thought we’d get here early for some extra vacation.” Malcolm gives me a tight smile.
