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It was hard. Like wading through thick cement poured up to her ankles. Painful even, as if a part of her hated leaving.He told us to wait, it cried mournfully.We need to wait for him in the car.
Sheer willpower pushed her to ignore it. A few more steps, and she was paces from the trees separating the farm from her father’s neighborhood.
Just a little more, she urged her aching limbs, as if distance were the cure to the strange compulsion. Maybe it was. The farther she got from that house, the freer each step felt until…
Snap!
Like a breaking leash, the strange hold over her shattered, and Loren took off for the woods like a bat out of hell. She couldn’t stop running. The need to move felt instinctive, and she had learned a long time ago to trust her intuition above all else.It told her to leave.Now.Before he found out, because if he did—
A shout rang out like a rumble of thunder, and she realized it was too late.
“LOREN!”
She winced and stumbled over her own feet. It was as if an invisible hook sank into her chest, pulling her back.Draggingher back.
No, she couldn’t go back.She couldn’t!Fear was a buffer, smothering everything but the need to escape.Run!Desperate, she raced toward the stream and blindly waded through the shallow end. The chill stole the air from her lungs, cutting her down to the very bone. Her shoes were a mess, the duct tape long since torn off, but the discomfort didn’t faze her.
Couldn’t faze her. If she stopped for even a second, all hell would break loose. She could feel it in the air—dangerous tension.
Luckily, she made it to the sleepy neighborhood beyond Baker farm without incident. Even so, she was shaking by the time she reached her father’s backyard. She could barely mount the porch steps and wrestle open the door.
She didn’t even make it over the threshold before she was struck in the face by an unseen force.Wham!
As pain seared through her cheek, Loren went limp like a rag doll, guarding her face with her hands. Tense with anticipation, she braced for the next hit. The next kick. The angrily growled “Care to explain?”
Instead, only the cool kiss of rainwater greeted her as the door creaked lazily on its hinges. When she finally peeked through her fingers, the porch light revealed her attacker—the handle of a broom that had fallen by her feet. Otherwise, the kitchen was empty, utterly dark.
With a sigh of relief, she crept inside, hoping the noise didn’t wake her father. There was no sign of him downstairs, at least. The television was off, as were all the lights. The sole illumination came from a flickering red indicator on the answering machine.
The deceptively innocent device presented a new wealth of danger. Who could it be? Naomi Tanner’s furious parents, demanding retribution for their daughter’s injuries? The school calling to report her absence?
Feeling sick, Loren pressed the play button before fear could steal her nerve.
“Girl,” the message began, rough with static. “Don’t wait up. I’ve got some business to take care of over in Weller.”
Click.End of story.
She played the message two more times before it finally sank in. Her father was gone, and the relief nearly knocked her over. She was safe for now…but for how long?
Unwilling to test her luck, she hobbled up the stairs to her room. After stripping off her soaked, filthy clothing, she ran the shower until the stall filled with steam, and she lost herself beneath the rush of hot water.
As inevitable as the sun rising and setting, she knew that this brief reprieve wouldn’t last.
Regardless, she enjoyed the peace for as long as she could.
6
“—the hell do you want?” The shout snapped Loren from a painful, dreamless sleep. Alarmed, she tried to make sense of the shadows blanketing her room.
Her father wasn’t in view, though she certainly recognized his voice. Her bedroom door was still closed. He was in the house, but further away. Downstairs? The slam of the front door cemented that suspicion.
He wasn’t alone.
Whoever replied to him spoke so softly only a few words caught her ears. “Here…about Loren...”
Shit!At the sound of her name, she shrugged off her cheap comforter and braced her feet against the floor. She knew of only one man with a voice that deep. What did she intend to do about it, though? The only available course of action was to listen.
“What about her?” Her father’s voice was a hostile hiss in comparison. It was obvious he had been drinking.
