I force myself up to a standing position. “Listen,” I say quietly, my voice shaking.
He leans in, expecting me to finish the statement. And as he does, I press my hands against his chest and shove with all my might.
It shouldn’t work. I weigh nothing compared to him, but the movement must catch him off guard, and he steps backwards onto a piece of uneven ground, sending him lilting to the side.
I take my chance and run, throwing my backpack off my arm once I realize it’s only slowing me down.
I hear him swear behind me, a rustle against the ground as he gets up. I don’t bother turning to look.
I run faster than I ever have in my life.
Ten seconds pass, then fifteen, but he’s still not on me. I can’t hear anything over the quick rush of my breathing, but I still refuse to turn around. I just need to get to the Inn. Once I’m there, I can get help. I can figure everything out.
But despite my speed, the distance I’ve traveled, I still don’t see the outline of the familiar building, its dark walls rising out of the earth.
Am I going in the right direction? Without the compass, there’s no way to tell. And then I see an object ahead. Not big enough to be the Inn, but I recognize it regardless. It’s the copse of bushland lining the hike up the huge mountain, Big Beulah. This is the trailhead, the Inn just on the other side of the hill.
I’m so close.
And then I hear movement behind me. The sound of footsteps,of harsh breathing. Before I can think otherwise, I dart onto the trail and, just as quickly, off it into the brush. Scraggly branches prick my skin, dragging against my face, but I refuse to cry out. Instead, I stop and press my body against the ground, trying to ignore the sharp twigs cutting into my flesh. I don’t move. I stay as silent as possible until I hear his footsteps.
And I know, more than I’ve ever known anything before, that it’s over. I’m trapped here. Despite my efforts to hide, my body is easily visible from the trail. He’s going to find me.
I could stay silent, hope against all hope that he’ll give up, turn around, and go back to living his life. But my brother would never let this go. And I know Josh won’t either. He’s going to kill me.
My heart breaks. Thoughts of what my life could be—of what the life inside of me could be—cut against me at all sides, digging into my consciousness.
I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn’t how I want to spend what could be the last few minutes of my life.
I want to use it to help someone for once. To ensure that no one else is hurt by the evil that is Josh McBride.
So, I force the emotions aside and pull my phone out from where I’ve kept it in my front pocket. I fumble with shaking fingers to bring up the camera app, stabbing at the keypad to turn it to video mode, and turn it to face me just as I hear the footsteps slow.
“I’m leaving this video for you, Claire,” I whisper. I know this isn’t the message she expected to receive from me, but she needs to know. I try to make the message as succinct as I can, finishing it with a clear warning.
I manage to save it and attach it as a text message, my fingers fumbling to type Claire’s name in the top of the message box. I’m just about to hit send when I sense someone behind me. I turn to look at him. I’m about to open my mouth to tell him exactly what I think of him, or maybe to challenge him. But before the words can come out, I feel something rush through the air towards my head.
And then it makes contact.
46
Claire
Now
“Ready to go?” Josh’s question hits my back, a note of impatience in his voice.
The shock of Phoebe’s video radiates through me. “Just a minute,” I say without turning around, hoping Josh doesn’t recognize the spasms of fear in my voice.
I pretend to casually peruse the store’s limited beverage options, while fumbling to free Phoebe’s phone from the charger. I shove it in my pocket as I bend down, ostensibly to grab a drink from the bottom shelf, and drop the charging cord to the floor, kicking it lightly in the hope that Josh won’t see it.
“Got us water and a Coke,” I explain, as I finally turn to face him, holding up the bottle and can. “Figured we could share.”
I know there’s no possible way his features could have changed in the few minutes since I left him in the parking lot, but when Itake him in now, he looks like a different person, someone I don’t know. Dark circles line his eyes, which seem more narrowed than usual. The fine lines I’ve barely noticed in all the times our faces have been pressed together are now deep, craven, lending his face a worn, villainous quality. When his lips lift upwards, the result is closer to a grimace than a smile.
“Great. Well, we should probably hit the road,” he says. I nod, clenching both hands tightly around the drinks to hide my nerves as I follow him to the front counter.
The cashier looks at me as I place the purchases in front of me, a slight glint in his eyes as if we’re sharing an inside joke, and I cringe. If he decides to say anything, to mention the charger, I’ll have no explanation for Josh. He’ll know instantly what I’m up to. To guess what I know.
