“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
I walk in and stop beside the bed. Santana looks up at me, her eyes desperate. “Please,” she croaks. “It hurts.”
I lift the cloth sitting in the bowl of water beside the mattress and wring it out, then I wipe her face. “You’re goin’ to be just fine.”
“Please!” she screams.
Her entire body jerks as she tries to get out of her binds. After a few minutes, she slumps down with a ragged whimper.
“Where’s my sister?”
I open my mouth to answer her, but stop. She looks over to me, and she must see something on my face, something bad, because she starts to scream. “No, Pippi! No! No! No!”
A lump lodges itself in my throat as she screams for her sibling.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? No!” she wails. “No!”
I can’t move. I can’t confirm or deny her thoughts, I just stand there, fucking mute, with nothing to say. She gasps for air and then blacks out. I stare at her, tilting my head to the side as I reach down and check her pulse. It's there, and it’s pounding.
God, the poor, poor girl.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
2014 – Santana
The first gunshot that’s fired hits the car tires, sending the driver into a panic. He speaks very little English and starts rambling in a language I don’t understand, but thankfully he doesn’t stop when I scream. I throw myself onto the floor, jerking my phone out of my jeans. God, I’m such an idiot.
I try Maddox’s number. No answer.
Shit.
Another shot rings out, causing the car to swerve and slam into an oncoming truck. A loud crunch and a jerk sends my phone soaring out of my hand. A scream rips from my throat as half of the car is crushed in. The blaring sounds of horns and screaming fill the small space. I have to get out of here; they’re going to kill me if I don’t.
I lift my head just enough to see we’re near some alleys. If I get out and run . . . I don’t think, I just do. I unbuckle my seatbelt and throw the door open, hitting the pavement with a thump. Pain rips up my body as I roll towards the sidewalk. Another shot rings out, missing me through the chaos. I have seconds to get out of sight.
Skin is torn off my legs as I shove my body up and run towards the alley. I disappear down the dark space, crying out as I trip and stumble over unknown objects. I run as hard and as fast as I can, my sneakers pounding, my body aching, and my heart racing.
Cars screech at the end of the alley, and I hear shouted voices. God, they’re so close. I run harder, ducking out onto the next street and running towards the closest thing I can. Our local store. It’s huge, kind of like Wal-Mart, so I know I can hide well enough in, near, or around it. I decide to go with around it, being that the most obvious choice would be for me to go inside.
I duck around the back, only giving a quick glance behind me. I can’t see anyone, but I can still hear shouted voices. They’ll appear only seconds after me, of that I don’t doubt. I rush through the parking lot and around the back of the building. I see a heap of old bins, but decide to go with the thick bushes surrounding the building.
I shove myself into one, crying in pain as the branches damage my skin even further. My knees and hands are burning in ways I’ve never felt them burn before. I push right to the back of the bushes and press myself against the wall, ducking as low as I can. Then I pray, I pray because I know if these men get hold of me, I’m dead.
Voices fill my silent space only two or three minutes later. I press my hands over my mouth to steady out my breathing in an attempt to quieten it down as I’m panting from my run. I close my eyes and stay as still as I can, not wanting to rustle one leaf. The sound of boots crunching over the pavement gets closer and closer, until I can clearly hear voices.
“She go inside?” one of them barks.
“I think she did, man,” another says.
A snort. “Bet she’s in the fuckin’ bins.”
Breathe. In and out. Don’t make a sound. Please don’t let them find me, oh God, please . . . don’t let them find me.
“She ain’t in the bins. I’m sure she went inside. If she was fuckin’ smart she would have, probably callin’ the cops. We need to get outta here.”
“Kent will be fuckin’ pissed if we don’t come back with her.”
“She’s fuckin’ gone; the bitch can run fast. If the cops show up, we’re fucked. We’re meant to kill her, not get ourselves locked up.”
“Fine, but you’re fuckin’ breakin’ the news that the bitch missed our bullets once again.”
“Yeah, fuckin’ yeah.”
My bottom lip trembles in relief as they disappear. God, they sound so like the Jokers’ in the way they speak and act, it’s scary. To others, is that how Maddox and the guys look?
I sit in the bushes for an hour, my body seizing, my heart aching with fear. I stand slowly, waiting, just waiting for them to pop out with their guns trained on me. They’re not there, though. I manage to get out of the bushes with no harm. I peer around the side of the building, and there aren’t a lot of cars left, being the hour of night it is.
I decide to stick to the back road running behind the store, walking down the dark stretch until I find a main drag far enough away that I feel safe. My legs and hands are aching, and when I pass streetlights, I see the bloody mess I’ve made of them. When I reach a line of cabs, I rush over quickly and jump into one, waiting with fear to see if bullets ring out.
“I don’t know.”
I walk in and stop beside the bed. Santana looks up at me, her eyes desperate. “Please,” she croaks. “It hurts.”
I lift the cloth sitting in the bowl of water beside the mattress and wring it out, then I wipe her face. “You’re goin’ to be just fine.”
“Please!” she screams.
Her entire body jerks as she tries to get out of her binds. After a few minutes, she slumps down with a ragged whimper.
“Where’s my sister?”
I open my mouth to answer her, but stop. She looks over to me, and she must see something on my face, something bad, because she starts to scream. “No, Pippi! No! No! No!”
A lump lodges itself in my throat as she screams for her sibling.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? No!” she wails. “No!”
I can’t move. I can’t confirm or deny her thoughts, I just stand there, fucking mute, with nothing to say. She gasps for air and then blacks out. I stare at her, tilting my head to the side as I reach down and check her pulse. It's there, and it’s pounding.
God, the poor, poor girl.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
2014 – Santana
The first gunshot that’s fired hits the car tires, sending the driver into a panic. He speaks very little English and starts rambling in a language I don’t understand, but thankfully he doesn’t stop when I scream. I throw myself onto the floor, jerking my phone out of my jeans. God, I’m such an idiot.
I try Maddox’s number. No answer.
Shit.
Another shot rings out, causing the car to swerve and slam into an oncoming truck. A loud crunch and a jerk sends my phone soaring out of my hand. A scream rips from my throat as half of the car is crushed in. The blaring sounds of horns and screaming fill the small space. I have to get out of here; they’re going to kill me if I don’t.
I lift my head just enough to see we’re near some alleys. If I get out and run . . . I don’t think, I just do. I unbuckle my seatbelt and throw the door open, hitting the pavement with a thump. Pain rips up my body as I roll towards the sidewalk. Another shot rings out, missing me through the chaos. I have seconds to get out of sight.
Skin is torn off my legs as I shove my body up and run towards the alley. I disappear down the dark space, crying out as I trip and stumble over unknown objects. I run as hard and as fast as I can, my sneakers pounding, my body aching, and my heart racing.
Cars screech at the end of the alley, and I hear shouted voices. God, they’re so close. I run harder, ducking out onto the next street and running towards the closest thing I can. Our local store. It’s huge, kind of like Wal-Mart, so I know I can hide well enough in, near, or around it. I decide to go with around it, being that the most obvious choice would be for me to go inside.
I duck around the back, only giving a quick glance behind me. I can’t see anyone, but I can still hear shouted voices. They’ll appear only seconds after me, of that I don’t doubt. I rush through the parking lot and around the back of the building. I see a heap of old bins, but decide to go with the thick bushes surrounding the building.
I shove myself into one, crying in pain as the branches damage my skin even further. My knees and hands are burning in ways I’ve never felt them burn before. I push right to the back of the bushes and press myself against the wall, ducking as low as I can. Then I pray, I pray because I know if these men get hold of me, I’m dead.
Voices fill my silent space only two or three minutes later. I press my hands over my mouth to steady out my breathing in an attempt to quieten it down as I’m panting from my run. I close my eyes and stay as still as I can, not wanting to rustle one leaf. The sound of boots crunching over the pavement gets closer and closer, until I can clearly hear voices.
“She go inside?” one of them barks.
“I think she did, man,” another says.
A snort. “Bet she’s in the fuckin’ bins.”
Breathe. In and out. Don’t make a sound. Please don’t let them find me, oh God, please . . . don’t let them find me.
“She ain’t in the bins. I’m sure she went inside. If she was fuckin’ smart she would have, probably callin’ the cops. We need to get outta here.”
“Kent will be fuckin’ pissed if we don’t come back with her.”
“She’s fuckin’ gone; the bitch can run fast. If the cops show up, we’re fucked. We’re meant to kill her, not get ourselves locked up.”
“Fine, but you’re fuckin’ breakin’ the news that the bitch missed our bullets once again.”
“Yeah, fuckin’ yeah.”
My bottom lip trembles in relief as they disappear. God, they sound so like the Jokers’ in the way they speak and act, it’s scary. To others, is that how Maddox and the guys look?
I sit in the bushes for an hour, my body seizing, my heart aching with fear. I stand slowly, waiting, just waiting for them to pop out with their guns trained on me. They’re not there, though. I manage to get out of the bushes with no harm. I peer around the side of the building, and there aren’t a lot of cars left, being the hour of night it is.
I decide to stick to the back road running behind the store, walking down the dark stretch until I find a main drag far enough away that I feel safe. My legs and hands are aching, and when I pass streetlights, I see the bloody mess I’ve made of them. When I reach a line of cabs, I rush over quickly and jump into one, waiting with fear to see if bullets ring out.
