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“I fell asleep. Otto woke me. He was upset and put me on edge. When I checked around my place, I noticed something outside.” Quivers of fear shook her voice. “I think it’s rope.”
“Go inside and lock the door. Call the police. Now.”
She shook her head. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be inside by myself.”
Not wanting to waste time arguing, he said, “Fine. Stay close. But call the cops.”
He pounded down the steps, the drizzle of rain spraying him, and marched straight to the tree. His heart raced. Sweat collected on the back of his neck and the scars on his wrists burned, as if he’d just burst from the ropes that once bound him. As he got closer, the thick, corded material became undeniable. A handful of separate strands of rope dangled from different heights, dancing in the wind. Mocking him.
“This is Mia Tulley. I need an officer out at my place immediately.”
Mia might be close to his back, but she sounded so far away. Apprehension pressed down on his chest like a weight, stealing his breath. His lungs burned. Black dots flickered in his vision, giving the dangling ropes an animated quality as if they were flying at him. Coming for him.
“Someone was here,” Mia continued. “They tied ropes in the tree. I…I think it might be some kind of a threat.”
Chet crouched on the lawn, the ground squishing beneath his feet. The stars peeking through the shifting clouds blurred. His body swaying along with the physical reminders of the constraints that had once held him. Had kept him from saving his family.
Had kept his family from freeing themselves from the monster who’d stolen their lives.
A soft touch on his shoulder tensed his muscles.
“Police are on their way. Let’s go inside.” Mia spoke gently, as if trying to coax a shy child.
He couldn’t move—his limbs frozen and gaze glued to the haunting scene before him.
“Whoever did this might still be out here. It’s not safe,” Mia said. She cupped her palm under his elbow to help him stand.
He leaned on her, accepting her assistance but making sure not to put too much weight on her tiny frame. She slid her arm around his back and led him to her apartment. He went willingly—numbly, unable to make sense of what was happening. Or why. He welcomed the blankness of his mind. The dark fuzz of nothing was better than all the questions with no answers.
“You’re all wet. I’m going to grab a towel. You sit here with Otto.” She steered him to a two person-table in the corner of her kitchen. He sat and hunched over, his forearms resting on his knees.
Mia returned with a thick, white towel and draped it over his shoulder. “Do you want some tea? It will warm us both up, and I need to keep my hands busy.”
She rambled on, a trait of hers he’d come to enjoy as she grabbed a silver kettle from her stovetop and filled it with water before placing it on the flickering flames under the burner. Otto sat beside him, his head rested in his lap. Chet concentrated on the subtle hum of Mia’s voice, the words not registering but not really mattering. He understood that she talked and prepared a warm drink he hadn’t asked for to soothe her nerves as much as his.
So he let her speak, and the too-quick cadence of her gentle tone loosened something inside him. Melted his tension and released the mounting pressure in his chest until he could finally inhale a deep breath.
She set a dainty white cup with a tiny chip on the lip in front of him. “Milk or sugar?”
He shook his head, straightening to watch her fill her own teacup and bring it to the table.
“I should have known that.” She offered him a timid smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You always drink your coffee black. Usually that’s the same with tea.”
“Thanks.”
Silence weaved between them, but for once, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. But the unspoken questions were as loud as the heavy panting from Otto’s open mouth.
Mia chewed her bottom lip, her hands wrapped around her cup. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes,” he said on a heavy sigh. Just like before, he knew what she wanted to know and dreaded discussing it. But she was a part of whatever the hell was happening and deserved to know everything.
“Why ropes?”
Propping his elbows on the table, he exposed his wrists. “He knocked me out when I came home. When I woke, he’d bound my wrists and ankles with rope. And now he’s back, using the same material that bit into my skin—that I still feel wrapped around my hands—to torture me in a completely different way.”
8
The yellow crime scene tape weaving between the tree trunks in the front yard was like a shining beacon, announcing to anyone nearby that Mia’s sense of security had been breached. She shut the gauzy curtains across the living room window, the taillights of Cruz’s police car still visible through the thin material.
