Page 99 of Haven't Killed in Years
When I transitioned from feeling like I was fighting back to feeling stupid, I returned my feet to the floor of the van and he climbedin and threw a bag over my head. It seemed like overkill at first, but as he got close, reaching behind me to unhook the seat belt, I felt the sudden urge to bite him. Hence the bag. I opened my mouth and got a face full of canvas, rough and a little salty on my lips.
He hooked his arms through mine and yanked me from the van. I couldn’t see anything and I dropped until my feet hit the driveway. My knees almost gave out, but he hoisted me up, his hands under my armpits, until I was steady. Then he was dragging me. I shuffled to keep pace, nervous to take normal steps when I couldn’t see anything in front of me.
We stopped and he separated from me, leaving only his hand resting on my forearm. I heard the grinding of rusty metal, then he jostled my body as his force lunged elsewhere and I heard what I assumed to be the door separating from the swollen frame. The hinges wailed like all the WD-40 in the world couldn’t save them.
Jake guided me up a step and through the doorway. The hinges cried bloody murder again as he shut the door behind us. I knew we were inside now, but it didn’t feel like it. I expected the sensation of being sealed in, but I still felt the breeze, I still heard the trees rustling.
He yanked the bag off my head and I saw why. Most of the windows inside were smashed, sharp triangles of glass ready to slice the veins of any trespassers. Dirt and leaves had made their way into the house and blown into the corners of the room. Branches from a fallen tree poked through a window to the left. It was a little like being in an abandoned Rainforest Cafe.
His phone beeped and he took it out of his pocket to check. While he typed a message, I heard the noises—inconsistent banging coming from deeper inside the house.
I looked to Jake for some kind of explanation. “Go on,” he said, glancing up from his phone, encouraging me to investigate. I couldtell from his pompous face that he knew very well where the noises were coming from and what was causing them.
I walked across the wood floor toward the sounds. A swinging door separated me from the next room. I reached the door, my hands still together behind my back, and leaned my shoulder into it, pushing it open.
I stepped into what used to be the kitchen. The banging stopped and in its place were voices trying to form words around rags tied across their mouths. They were on the floor, tied down—one around a supporting beam in the center of the room, the other around a thick pipe that ran through the exposed foundation.
Dominic and Porter stared at me, their eyes the same—hope for rescue rapidly fading with the realization that my hands were bound too.
I ran to Porter first, dropping to my knees with a thud, unable to brace myself.
“It’s okay,” I said, wishing I could reach out.
He tried to say something but it was indecipherable.
I rotated around; maybe if I could put my cuffed hands near his, I would be able to do something. It was an unrealistic dream, but when I heard the front door open again, it was motivation. Jake had stepped outside. If I could just get Porter untied…
Dominic said something and I turned to him, my hands still moving feverishly behind my back to try to get to Porter’s ropes. If I held eye contact, maybe he would forgive me for going to Porter first. He was saying the same thing over and over. Eventually it became clear.
“Run!” Dominic was yelling, and he was right. I had to leave them. I had to go for help.
I rolled back around to my knees. Porter was shaking his head, begging me not to abandon him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll be back.” I stood to run, but before I could get anywhere, I heard the front door open.
“C’mon,” Jake said. He was back and he wasn’t alone.
It should have lit a fire under me to run, but instead I stayed. Too curious to know who was with him.
Dominic yelled again for me to go, but it was white noise to me now.
“Don’t run,” Jake shouted, his voice much closer to the kitchen door. “I have one more surprise.”
“What’s going on?” his companion asked. It was Elyse.
I stared at the door. I watched it swing open.
Jake walked through first, a shit-eating grin across his face. She followed him, seemingly oblivious to the situation, but in a split second she registered my hands behind my back, then Dominic and Porter tied up on the floor.
Her focus went immediately to her brother. “What did you do?”
He held out his hands, trying to defuse the visual, wanting her to hear him out. “I did it, Elyse. I found her. I found Marin Haggerty.”
“It was you?” she asked him, not getting that he meant me and not Natalie. “Youwere the one who killed her?”
He shook his head. “No, that girl wasn’t her. See—”
“Stop!” I shouted, stepping toward Jake, pleading with him not to tell Elyse. Not now. It wasn’t the right time. “Please…”
