CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BROOK

I give up on trying to escape. They’ve given me water and no food. My stomach’s growling and it’s cold and damp down here. The moldy smell isn’t helping, either. It may be one reason my head is pounding so terribly.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Karen has done this. I sit down and think about it some more. There has to be a reason.

A thought finally occurs to me. Maybe she wants or needs something only I can give her? That’s it. It has to be. But what? I have nothing.

The lock on the door slides.

Looks like I’m about to find out.

Karen comes down first, followed by Uncle John and the lawyer.

“How do you like your accommodations?”

She’s holding a sheet of paper and a pen.

“What is it you want from me, Karen?”

“You used to call me Aunt Karen. What happened?”

I don’t answer.

She steps toward me and stops. Blinking rapidly, she fans her nose. “Whew . . . smells like an outhouse down here. How can you stand it?”

My cheeks flush. I’ve had to use the porta potty more than once.

“No matter,” she says and holds out the pen and paper. “I need you to sign this and then you can go.”

“What is it?”

She slaps me on the nose with the paper. “Sign it.”

I take the paper from her and scan over it. It’s a bunch of complicated jargon that I’m not supposed to understand. But I can understand enough of it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say and toss the paper back at her. “There’s no way I’m signing this.”

From what I could understand of what’s written on the paper, my parents didn’t leave Aunt Karen anything in their will. They left her nothing. This whole thing was a scam that must have backfired. Now she wants me to sign everything my parents owned over to her. I don’t see how it could be possible—or even legal—but that’s what she’s asking.

“If you don’t want to live down here the rest of your life, you’d better sign it.”

“I won’t do it.”

Karen slaps my face. “You will sign. And if you don’t . . .” She points at the lawyer. “I’ll let Ted have his way with you. He likes pretty young girls like you.”

I bite my lip. She can’t mean that.

“We’re going upstairs now to have our supper, and when we’re through, Ted will be back down here. If your signature is not on that paper, then you know what will happen? Ted will take you over and over again and I may call his friends to watch. They might even like to participate. Would that please you?”

I feel a chill. She has to be making this up. But what if she’s not?

Where are you, Zac?

“Let’s go,” Karen says to her crew.

Karen lingers while Uncle John and Ted go up the stairs.

She says, “I’m guessing supper will take about an hour, so you at least have that long. And just so you know, Ted’s not a nice person when he drinks and there’s a bottle of whiskey upstairs. I’ll make sure he has his fill before he comes down to retrieve that paper. God help you if it’s not signed.” She claps her hands once and leaves.

I grab the paper and go sit against the wall and study it. Dropping it, I pull my knees to my chest and rock back and forth. They won’t let me leave here alive. They can’t. So if I’m going to die, I’m going to do it fighting.

I rip the paper up that she wants me to sign. That’s not happening. Then I close my eyes to think. I’ve watched enough Netflix to come up with something. And I do, I think. Thank you, Jason Bourne.

Ted is going to be coming down here drunk. Karen’s already told me that. So his reflexes should be slow. His vision may be impaired as well, depending on how much alcohol he consumes.

That should give me an advantage if he comes down here by himself. If he doesn’t, the first one close enough to me dies. They’ll have to find me first, though.

I go over to the bucket they left me and dump the water out. Then I throw the bucket at the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Now it’s pitch black down here and I’m having second thoughts. Too late now. I have to go with it.

I crawl to the stairs on my hands and knees, and brace myself beside it. I grip the pen in my hand that Karen gave me to sign the contract. Now all I have to do is wait. I replay the Jason Bourne pen fight scene over and over in my head, telling myself I can do this. It’s him or me and it’s going to be me. Ted won’t live to see tomorrow.

* * *

I hear activity above me and the sound of something hitting the floor. Ted must be coming. I get to my feet and press my back against the wall, so when the door opens and the light shines down, Ted won’t be able to see me. I hold the pen in my hand like Jason.

The lock on the door slides and the door cracks. A sliver of light shines through. My hand shakes violently and I feel nauseous. I don’t know if I can do this, but I have to. I don’t want to die.

I readjust my grip on the pen and the door opens further. More light shines down into the basement. I hear the step creak. This is it. Ted is here. And I have the element of surprise on my side.

You can do this, Brook!

He steps off the bottom stair. My eyes are misting. I’m so afraid. And Ted looks much bigger in the dark. I scream and run toward him, striking out with the pen. God, I hope this works.

The pen doesn’t make contact because a hand snatches my forearm. “Brook?”

“Zac?” I drop the pen and start slapping his chest. “Why didn’t you call my name on your way down here? Jesus. Jesus.”

“Cause I didn’t know if anyone else was down here.” The tears flow and he takes me in his arms. “It’ll be okay. You’re safe now.”

“What about Karen and Uncle John?”

“We’re watching them. Police are on the way.”

“She wanted me to sign a paper giving her . . .”

He puts a finger to my lips. “Shh. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re safe and that’s all that counts.”

I sniffle. “Karen was going to have Ted rape me. I wasn’t going to let him.”

He strokes the back of my head. “I don’t believe you would have.”

“Everything all right down there?” a voice says from the top of the stairs.

“Is that Caleb?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re fine.” Zac picks me up. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He carries me up the stairs and through the living room. Karen, Uncle John, and Ted are sitting on the couch. Chris is shining a light in my aunt’s eyes.

“I think she has a concussion,” he says.

I look at Zac. “She fought us.”

“Oh.”

“Chris,” Zac says. “You want to look her over before we leave?”

“Yeah.” He grabs his medic bag and comes over. “Put her down on that chair.”

Zac sets me down.

Chris squats beside me. “Now let’s see here . . .”