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“My name is Alana Meyer, and my friend and I were abducted. The man’s name is Darien… He’s dead.”
“What is the address of the emergency?” the operator asks.
“We’re in an old house. I don’t know the exact address, but we’re in the country near—” she begins.
The operator senses her panic. “That’s okay. I can trace your location from our phone call. Just stay on the line with me. You said the man who took you is dead?”
“Yes,” Alana mumbles. “How long until someone is here? We’re stuck in the house. He murdered his mother. She’s upstairs.”
She’s rambling, so I guide the phone from her hand and listen as the operator assures us there are police on the way. We stay on the line and walk into the living room to wait for emergency services. Alana sits on the edge of one couch, her hands shaking as she hugs her knees close to her chest. I take a seat in a recliner near the fireplace, my mind reeling. The operator’s voice fades into the background, and I grunt out answers to her questions as we wait for the cops to find us.
Soon, the blare of sirens and racing vehicles sounds from the front of the farmhouse. Alana and I make eye contact, and tears fall down her face as she realizes our nightmare is over.
57
Chapter Fifty Seven
Alana
The hospital is in a state of controlled pandemonium. Nurses rush past me, their scrubs a blur against the fluorescent lighting. I sit alone in a chair in the hallway, and all I can see when I close my eyes is Darien’s dead body being brought out of that fucking house. The unzipped bag showed his body. His eyes, wide open and lifeless, stared straight up at the starry night sky.
But amid the thrum and hum of voices and machines, I hear my mother call my name. “Alana?” Her voice is soft yet strong, a beacon guiding me home.
“Mom?!” I yell out, my head snapping toward where the voice came from.
Her normally vibrant eyes are dull and bloodshot, and her tear-stained cheeks showcase the worry she’s dealt with over the last few days. The tightness around her mouth reveals exhaustion. I can tell she hasn’t slept for days, and the thought makes me nauseous.
“God, Alana,” she cries out as she grabs me and wraps me up in her arms, “I was so scared I’d never see you again.”
I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of my mom’s perfume. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“Shh, sweetie. You have nothing to be sorry for,” she soothes, stroking my hair.
“I should have been more careful. You and Dad have probably been so worried. Where is Dad?” I ramble from the overwhelming guilt and emotion that feels like it’s going to suffocate me.
“Alana, you can’t blame yourself for this. You did everything you could to protect yourself. You’re a survivor,” she reassures me as she kisses my forehead. “Dad is parking the car. We left as soon as we got the call that they found you. How is the man who was there with you?”
Andreas…
“He’s okay. He’s alive but in surgery. His hand was pretty brutally broken, and they’re trying to set the breaks. They told me I could see him when he gets out,” I say, my voice hoarse. My throat feels dry, and I could use some water. “I just feel so guilty, Mom. I put him in danger, and now he’s hurt because of me.”
“Alana, stop it. You didn’t put him in danger. You were both victims of a terrible situation,” my mom says firmly, pulling away from me so she can look me in the eye. “You can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Her words bring tears to my eyes, and I bury my head in her shoulder. “Can we walk to the cafeteria and wait on Dad? I’m so thirsty.”
“Of course,” she says as she guides me toward the closest elevator.
As we step into the elevator, my mom holds me close, and I hear her heart beating in her chest. It’s a sound that brings me comfort, and I calm down. For the first time since Darien took me, I feel like things might be okay.
The door dings, and together, we walk toward the wall of vending machines to our left. Just as my mom slides her card into the reader, we hear a commotion.
“Oh, God,” my dad chokes out and runs across the lobby of the hospital. He stumbles over his feet as he stops in front of me, tears spilling over his reddened cheeks. His arms tremble as he wraps his arms around me in a strong hug.
“Oh, thank God. You’re safe,” he whispers repeatedly while kissing my head.
The weight of the past weeks suddenly feels like a ton of bricks, and my numbness fades away. Tears stream down my face as I sob uncontrollably in the hospital cafeteria. My dad’s arms stay wrapped around me tightly as he rocks me back and forth gently.
I’m safe. It’s over.
