AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Amanda is always nice to me, but I hear her crying at night, and I’ve found her mumbling to herself on more than one occasion. I think she has some serious issues, ones I dare not ask about. I still don’t know why I’m here or where the real Cora is. All I can do is bide my time until I get a chance to escape.
The first few weeks I was here, I cried a lot. Matt hated it. I soon learned the less emotion I showed, the less angry he became. I saved all my tears for when I was alone at night in my room, and I cried them silently, not wanting to wake Matt. I still cry sometimes, but I’ve learned tears get me nowhere.
The sound of Matt cutting the grass brings me back to the present, and as I watch him, I struggle to work him out, even after being here for six months. It’s like he’s got a split personality or something. One day, he’s laughing and joking with Amanda, the next he’s moody and sullen. I learned early on to stay out of his way when he was having one of his bad days. All it took was a broken dish when I was clearing away one night, and his true colors emerged as he flew at me, pushing me roughly against the counter. His temper is scary. There’s no way I want to be on the end of it again. I don’t think he would ever hurt Amanda, but I can’t say the same for me.
It’s my birthday next week, and I’ll be fourteen. Not that Amanda and Matt are aware. Cora’s birthday was a few weeks ago, and I was forced to play along, eating pizza and ice cream. I did find out Cora, wherever she is, would have turned fifteen—a year older than me. I wish I knew where she was or what happened to her.
Despite being here under duress, Amanda is kind to me, truly believing I’m Cora. When we’re alone, I try and ask questions, pretending I’ve forgotten the answers I should know if I were Cora. Sometimes she answers me, but other times she gets angry, and I quickly change the subject, not wanting Matt to hear her upset.
Matt’s finished cutting the grass, and I realize I’ve zoned out. I don’t sleep much at night, and I’m constantly tired. Snapping from my daze, I turn back to the garden and continue to weed, making it look like I’m not watching him. He walks past without saying a word and climbs the porch steps.
“Cora! Get in here,” Matt yells, and even from outside, I can hear the panic in his voice.
Scrambling to my feet, I hesitantly make my way up the steps, unsure of what I’m going to encounter when I get into the house. As I push open the door, I gasp. Amanda is curled up on the floor in the entryway. She’s whimpering in pain, her arms wrapped around her waist. Matt kneels next to her, brushing her hair from her face.
“She’s burning up. I need to get her to the ER.” He stands up and grabs my arm, pulling me toward the stairs. “I need you to go to your room.” Before I know what’s happening, we’re halfway up the stairs. I pull back on his arm, and he stops, looking over his shoulder at me.
“You don’t need to lock me in my room. I won’t go anywhere.”
He lets out a sarcastic laugh and continues to pull me up the stairs. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. You’re going to your room.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he cuts me off, his grip tightening on my arm.
“You’re hurting me,” I cry, wriggling to free myself from him.
“Don’t piss me off, Hallie,” he warns, his voice low.
“You know my name,” I whisper, taken aback.
We reach the door to my bedroom, and he swings it open. “Of course, I know your name,” he growls. “Stay here. Don’t even think about trying to escape. Iwillfind you.”
His eyes are cold and dark again, and I walk backward into the room, not wanting those eyes directed at me. He closes the door, and I hear the key turn in the lock. Rushing across the room, I press my nose to the window. A minute or so later, Matt walks across the lawn with Amanda in his arms. He somehow manages to open the door to the van, setting her on the passenger side. I watch as he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. My heart is pounding, and I jump as the tires squeal on the loose gravel of the dirt track, spraying dust behind them. A few seconds later, the van is out of sight, and silence descends. I have no idea how far away the hospital is, but if the house is as isolated as Matt told me it is, they’ll be gone for at least a few hours.
This is my chance to escape.
The first chance I’ve had since I arrived, and I’m not going to let it pass me by.
Throwing on a sweater and some sneakers, I look around the room for something I can use to break the glass in the window. Deciding on the desk chair, I pick it up. Adrenaline is surging through my body, and I’m easily able to hold it at shoulder height. Taking a deep breath, I throw it as hard as I can against the window. The noise is deafening, and I close my eyes, wincing as the sound of shattering glass pierces the silence. When I open my eyes, I’m relieved to see most of the glass is gone from the frame. There are a few jagged pieces jutting upward, impeding my escape, and I rush into the bathroom, snatching up a towel from the laundry basket. Wrapping it around my hand, I knock out as much glass as I can before laying the towel over the frame. Peering out of the now-smashed window, the desk chair and broken glass litter the bushes bordering the house. I will need to be careful to avoid landing on any of it when I jump down. The last thing I need is to break my ankle.
Deciding to use the comforter to soften my fall, I toss it out the window, watching as it falls over the top of the bushes. It won’t provide much of a cushion, but I guess it’s better than nothing. Taking one last look around the room I’ve been trapped in for the past six months, I suddenly can’t wait to get out of here.
Excitement bubbles in my stomach at the thought of going home and seeing my parents again. I can only imagine the hell they’ve been through these past months, not knowing what happened to me.
Moving toward the window, I slowly climb onto the frame. Suddenly, my foot slips on the towel, and in a panic, I move my hand to steady myself. Pain tears through my palm as a shard of glass pierces my skin. I stifle a scream as blood trickles down my arm. Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths as I wait for the pain to subside. When it does, I take my chance and jump, not wanting to lose my footing again. The comforter does a good job of breaking my fall, and by some miracle, I miss any glass.
“Shit,” I whisper to myself as I sit on the ground, leaning back against the bushes surrounding me. I can barely believe I’ve jumped from a second-floor window. My heart thunders in my chest. My hand is bleeding heavily, and I need to wrap something around it to stem the bleeding. I take my sweater off and wrap it around my hand, hugging my bandaged arm against my chest.
I stand and walk quickly across the yard. My eyes dart everywhere as I make for the dirt track leading to the road. Logically, I know Amanda and Matt have gone, but part of me still expects to see them barreling toward me. I stay close to the edge of the track, ready to hide in the surrounding woodland should I hear a car or truck approaching. Of course, this doesn’t happen. No one has visited in the six months I’ve been here, not even a mailman.
I’ve been walking for about ten minutes, and I’m still on the track. I always wondered if Matt had exaggerated about how isolated the house was to keep me from trying to run away. It seems he hadn’t lied about it, and I can’t help but shiver, thinking if he hadn’t lied about the location of the house, he probably hadn’t lied about causing me harm if I chose to run. I try not to think about it as I continue to walk quickly. My hand is throbbing with each step, but I think I’ve managed to stop the bleeding. I don’t want to unravel my sweater to check, but there doesn’t seem to be any new blood soaking into the material.
My senses come alive when a car horn blares in the distance. I dart into the trees at the side of the track and wait for a few seconds. My stomach churns with nerves, and I wait in the shadows of the trees, listening for any approaching vehicle. When nothing comes, I eventually venture back onto the track and run as best I can with an injured arm.
Slowly, I hear more traffic noise, and tears fall down my cheeks as I realize how close I am to safety.
Suddenly, the track becomes wider, and cars, trucks, and motorcycles race along a busy interstate. Coming to a stop, I drop to my knees at the edge of where the dirt track meets the road. The tears are still falling, and I can only imagine what I look like, bloodied and crying on the side of the road. A minivan passes me, slowing to a stop a hundred yards or so up the interstate. Scrambling to my feet, I frantically look around, slowly walking backward away from the car. I suddenly realize I haven’t thought this through. Who’s to say someone stopping to help me isn’t as bad as Matt? How do I know who I can trust? I don’t have time to think about it when a woman walks toward me.
