Anguish Unfolds Page 3

  Thunder roars in the distance. The sky darkens with each passing minute. And our only protection is the towering evergreen we stand beneath.

  “We need to find somewhere to go!” I plead. “We can’t just stay out here.” Again, I’m transported back to the car accident that ended my parents’ lives. The rain. The smashing, crashing, crunching cars. I can’t be out here in this.

  “Jim’ll be back any minute. We need to wait. He’ll never find us if we move.”

  That thought provides a momentary distraction. I wouldn’t exactly call that a bad thing.

  “We’ll be fine.” Dan’s tone confirms it’s the end of the discussion.

  The humid air enveloping my body does nothing to stop my chattering teeth. I stare at the clouds above in wonder and horror. They tumble and jostle as if waging war against each other. Dark streaks mar their formations, like sword slashes. Just how much longer do we have until they touch down?

  A few minutes later, Jim rolls up. He balances on the bike, steering with one hand while grasping a small red gas can with the other.

  “Get that bike upright! Let’s fill it up and get the hell outta here,” he shouts over the howling wind.

  While the guys fumble with the bikes, I cautiously eye the sky. It’s literally falling. Fuming clouds drift ever closer to the ground.

  “Done!” Jim shouts, pulling me back to the scene. I dash over to Jim’s bike, casting wary glances skyward. I’m ready to get out of here. I hop on the back and both bikes zoom away from our temporary shelter.

  We race down the highway, swaying from one side to the other as wind gusts attempt to knock us off balance. When the first fat drops of rain pelt my skin, I know I’m at my breaking point.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on forcing calmness through every muscle in my body, all the way to my trembling limbs, but it doesn’t work.

  Wind whips around me, plastering drenched tendrils of hair to my ears and neck. I don’t dare let go of Jim to push them away.

  Between the blustering wind, a sky that grows darker by the second, and the sheets of rain that plummet to the ground, we’re completely exposed. How can Jim see to drive in this stuff? What if we slide? It’s not like we have doors to protect our legs from the pavement.

  “Jim!” I clutch his shirt, pulling it tight against his chest. “I. Can’t. Stay. Out. Here.” My searing voice implores him to understand. The last time I saw rain like this was when our car crashed, killing my parents. Anxiety courses through my veins, energizing each drop of blood in my body.

  Without a response or even acknowledgement that he heard me, Jim’s eyes remain fixed on the road ahead. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on filling my lungs with the thick humid air, holding it for just a moment before pushing it out one tiny breath at a time.

  A frustrated screech claws at the bottom of my throat, hungering to escape. Just as I clench my teeth in an attempt to quell the inevitable outburst, the bike decelerates. The breath I was holding rushes past my lips. My tense eyes relax into a squint.

  With a swift hand motion, Jim gestures toward a clearing of trees.

  I can barely make out a structure in the distance.

  Dan pulls up alongside us, raising an arm in question.

  Jim just repeats the gesture, wordlessly conveying our change in plans. Slowing the bike down to a crawl, Jim veers right off the highway.

  As usual, Dan follows obediently.

  We approach a white motorhome. The pouring rain blurs its red and gray decal swirls. The bikes slow; the engine sounds overpowered by sheets of precipitation.

  Although we’re just yards from the highway, the area feels remote. Other than the small dirt road we follow, green and brown blurs surround us. I’m not sure if it’s because I can barely see anything in the torrential downpour or if we’ve happened upon a cluster of trees and shrubs. I’m just praying it’s not a mirage my mind conjured in one last grasp for sanity.

  The vibrating engine sputters and stills. I scramble to keep up as Jim hops off the bike and runs to the RV’s door.

  Seconds later, Dan joins him, pushing past me. Their muffled voices sound angry as they try to wrestle the locked door open.

  Lightning shrieks across the sky, closely followed by erupting thunder. My eyes land on the smooth white side of the locked camper. Scrolling letters proudly designate this vehicle: The Land Stormer.

  Before I realize what’s happening, Jim seizes my arm and pushes me toward Dan, who rushes through the open door.

  Chapter 8

  Close on our heels, Jim sprints through the open door, slamming it shut behind him. We land in a slippery heap at the threshold. The chorus of our heavy breathing fills the otherwise empty motorhome.

  Jim sits back on his haunches, raising a hand along the wall. A click sounds just before a soft glow illuminates the space. The lights work! I don’t know how electricity works in an RV and I don’t care—I’m just thrilled that we have some.

  I sigh with relief as I contemplate the safety this RV promises. I’ve pushed through more emotions in the last seventeen days than I have in the last seventeen years.

  We collect ourselves and stand, surveying our newfound shelter. It takes a few minutes for my lungs to step off the speed train, but once they do, I breathe a temporary sigh of relief. This place is pretty nice.

  Plaid bucket seats await a driver and passenger at the front end. A large embroidered maroon “S” adorns the back of the driver’s seat while a “J” in the same style labels the passenger’s seat. A console juts up between the two, holding matching stainless-steel tumblers that sit in wait for their owners to return.

  Toward the center of the interior, a tiny kitchen boasts wooden cupboards with a microwave built into them. A brown-and-white checkered towel dangles over the rim of the sink, nestled between a compact stove and fridge.

  When Jim cautiously steps toward the driver’s seat, I turn in the other direction. My muddied shoes imprint a trail along the tan vinyl floor as I mosey toward the back of the RV. It’s a little late, but I notice a mat perched just past the door’s threshold. I should probably wipe my shoes on it.

  The brown mat features a black-outlined camper with a red heart on its door. Happy Campers is scrawled above the image and two names are scrawled below it: Steve & Jamie. It conveys the sense of happiness this place must bring them. I hope I can feel happiness again sometime soon.

  I slowly open a narrow door that appears to lead to a closet. Instead, I’m greeted by a low-sitting toilet facing a rectangular shower stall. They’re so close that I could probably wash my knees while doing my business. Not that I’d do that.

  I spy a towel and soap by the tiny sink. Good to know we have options to improve our personal hygiene here.

  Stepping out of the bathroom that’s smaller than my closet back home, I explore a nook. Twin bunk beds offer a relaxing escape from the storm raging outside. In one fluid motion, I pull the moss green blanket down to reveal the sheets. Green and blue striped RVs dance along the tan background. I narrow my eyes at the words Happy Camper scrawled amongst the images.

  We get it, Steve and Jamie, but I’m not here to camp and I’m not happy. Turning away from the ridiculous sheets, I search the small living room, which is really just the space between the kitchen and the bedroom. A worn blue loveseat sits across from a small television. Counting that, we technically have enough places to sleep if this storm holds up. There’s no way I’m going back outside in this.

  I return to the guys’ conversation just as a gust of wind rocks the whole vehicle. My nerves tingle with remnants of the storm-induced adrenaline rush.

  “It’s good we found this place,” Jim admits. “It’s getting worse out there.” He jabs a thumb toward the door. “Let’s just hunker down here for the night. We can wake up early tomorrow and get back on the road.”

  That’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard Jim say. We’ve stopped, so at least I’m not moving farther away from my sister. And maybe
sometime before tomorrow morning I can slip out of here.

  Retreating to the bathroom, I hold my breath and turn the shower knob. Glorious water springs from it. I don’t know how RVs work, but this one has running water, and I’m taking full advantage of it while I can.

  After a long shower, I’m forced to put my grungy clothes back on. There’s no way I’m walking out of this room wearing just a towel. I make a mental note to check the closets. Maybe Jamie has a spare shirt and shorts I can borrow? Okay, I probably won’t be able to ever return any clothing I find, but it makes me feel better to pretend I will.

  When I emerge from the bathroom, the guys are snooping through every closet, cupboard, and drawer they find. It’s one thing to use this place for temporary shelter, but it feels wrong for them to be digging through someone else’s belongings.

  Dan notices me first. “Well, you look a lot better, Riley. A lot cleaner,” he emphasizes.

  Jim smacks his arm.

  “Why don’t you try and get some rest,” Jim says, attempting to offer comfort.

  With nothing else to do, I nod. I’m certainly not sleeping on the loveseat while they’re still out there. I turn toward the closest bedroom and stride to the bunkbeds. Though lingering guilt slows my steps, I tiptoe toward the small chest of drawers. I was just thinking how bad it was for Dan and Jim to snoop through the RV, but I really want clean clothes.

  Slowly pulling the top drawer open, I spy pastel-colored clothing. That’s a good sign. The first folded shirt in the stack is a pale yellow. I carefully pull it from its place and hold it up as if I’m at a store trying to gauge if it’ll fit without trying it on.

  My smile collapses as gravity straightens the shirt in my hands. Oh, Jamie, why couldn’t we be even somewhat close to the same size? The yellow shirt would make a better blanket on me. Quinn and I were always naturally thin, but the past week-and-a-half did anything but widen my frame.

  When we were stranded at our Aunt Grace’s trailer, we only ate when we remembered to. And, having spent most of each day hiding out in the trailer, we weren’t burning much energy to work up any sort of appetite.

  As I fold the too-large shirt and carefully return it to the drawer, I wonder where Quinn is right now. Maybe she’s already in Pennsylvania. If she can just get home and get to our Aunt Robin, I know she’ll be okay.

  Even though I should be with Quinn right now, I pause for just one moment to marvel at our luck. We found shelter for the night. The last thing I want to do is hop on the back of Jim’s bike just to get knocked around by the wind or drenched by the rain. I hope Quinn found some shelter, too.

  In a strategic move, I take the lower bunk. If I can stay awake and the guys fall asleep, maybe I can tiptoe right out of here and never look back.

  Chapter 9

  Moments after I crawl into the lumpy bunk bed, my eyes drift closed while my mind wanders to places I can visit only in memories. Standing on the stage of my high school auditorium, the blinding spotlights blur my vision. When the music fades and the house lights surge to life, I scan the audience. A smile bursts across my face when I find my parents clapping wildly in the front row.

  Confusion mars my features for a moment when I notice an empty seat next to my mom. Where’s Quinn? She wouldn’t miss one of my school plays. Mom and Dad would never let her skip it.

  My best friend Stacy squeezes my hand, reminding me to bow in unison with our Footloose cast mates. Plastering a smile across my face, I follow the expected motions. After a round of applause, the curtains drift across the stage, encasing us in darkness for a moment.

  As the stage lights slightly brighten, Stacy tugs me sideways. “Riley, what is up with you? Come on!” She guides me backstage. The usually bustling space is dim and deserted. Narrowing my eyes, I swivel my head back and forth, searching for costumed classmates.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask. The only response is eerie silence. Turning in circles like a dog chasing its tail, I search for Stacy. But I’m alone. Completely alone.

  Pushing past the navy-blue curtains, I rush through the auditorium door behind the stage. My legs stumble as my mind tries to comprehend why I’m surrounded by wood paneled walls.

  Struggling to fill my lungs with air, I search my surroundings. I’d know this place anywhere. It’s Aunt Grace’s trailer. The place my family has visited for as many summers as I can remember. But no warm memories flash through my mind.

  Instead, a tingling sensation races along my spine. My body propels forward, as if floating, down the short hallway. When I reach the open bedroom door, my mouth drops open in a silent scream.

  Jim stands in the bedroom, shoulders hunched, face downcast. A shiny blade dangles from his left hand. Fresh crimson drops plop to the carpet as gravity guides them down. I catch his dark eyes just before mine land on the body curled up in a fetal position at his feet.

  My knees crash to the floor, landing just out of reach of Quinn’s lifeless form.

  A heart-wrenching cry yanks me from the scene before I can reach my sister. My raw throat confirms that the scream must have clawed its way out of me. Turning my head side to side, I try to process the unfamiliar surroundings.

  As my eyes adjust to the dark, the tan happy camper sheet zooms into focus. The words mock me. I’m stuck in this RV with Dan and Jim and I’m anything but happy.

  A groggy voice from above asks, “Riley, was that you? Is everything okay?” I shakily answer, “It’s just me, Dan. Sorry if I woke you.” He must be in the top bunk. He grunts a wordless reply and settles back into his bed. Within minutes a gentle snoring reverberates through the space. Jim must be sleeping on the loveseat in the living room.

  Wrapping myself in a tight hug, I let my thoughts drift to Quinn. I hope she’s okay. She must have panicked when she woke up to find me gone. I wonder if she made it back home or if she went to the Dover base so she could be with Benny. I hope she’s not wasting time looking for me.

  I’ve got to get away from here. I can’t believe this is even happening. Dan and Jim had no right to take me away from the only family I have left. But they made sure I understood that it was me or the others—and I couldn’t let them hurt Quinn, or even Aidan, Jeff, Jasmine or Wes.

  Determined to evade the path my thoughts are traveling down, I clench my eyes shut and will myself to stay awake. Once again, I’ve woken Dan, so I just need to wait until he falls back asleep. Then maybe I can get myself out of here.

  Chapter 10

  Of course, my ability to stay awake for more than a few minutes fails once more. So much for sneaking out under the cover of night.

  When my body decides it’s had enough sleep, my senses return in full force. A clanking sound echoes from the kitchenette. Dan yanks open each drawer and cabinet with the precision of Godzilla. Forks meet the floor faster than rain plummets to the ground lately.

  Rising from the ruffled bed, I stretch, distancing myself from the happy camper sheets. When I wander toward the kitchen area, Dan greets me.

  “Hey, Riley! I’m just taking inventory of our new supplies.” He runs a calloused hand along the miniature kitchen cabinets. I nod in acknowledgement.

  “How about some breakfast?” he asks cheerfully. It’s just another day for him. Another day with his brother while I dangle in a continued loop of uncertainty. I don’t even know if my sister is safe.

  I flash a weak smile. “Find anything good?” I ask. Dan looks pleased with himself.

  “Sure did! Jim, get in here and let’s eat some breakfast. I found these big pouches of breakfast hash and scrambled eggs. You just add water and breakfast is ready.”

  “Sounds delicious,” I say unenthusiastically. Dan shows off a small carton of orange juice before plopping three plastic cups on the counter and filling them.

  We settle at the small table, eating in silence. The dehydrated food is surprisingly tasty. I feel like a prisoner who’s eating her last meal. Gloom hangs heavy in the air. After swigging down the last drop of juice, Jim f
orcefully slams his cup on the table.

  “What is it, Riley? I’m not spending this whole trip with you all moody.” Oh really? Well, I didn’t mean to upset him by letting my feelings show. Fine, if he wants to know, I’ll tell him.

  Unable to raise my head, I mutter. “Why, Jim? Why would you take me away from the only family I have left?” My voice cracks on the word family.

  He huffs out a sharp breath in frustration. “You think you’d be better off with Quinn?” he barks.

  “I’m her older sister, I should be taking care of her, making sure she’s okay. Making sure she gets home.” My words are soft but steady.

  “She’ll be just fine,” he counters. “Quinn only cares about herself. People like that, they make it. They always find a way.”

  With those words, I level my eyes to meet his. I let them exude what I’m not brave enough to say. Are you talking about Quinn right now? Or are you talking about yourself?

  Squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the hot tears threatening to fall, I mutter under my breath, “Then I guess you’ll be just fine.”

  He either reads my mind or hears my utterance because fury swells in the air around us. Pressing both hands to his temples and clamping his eyes shut, he roars, “Because I never would have seen you again! I had to get outta there, and if you didn’t come with me…” His eyes fly open in realization. He never meant for those words to be said.

  Rescuing us both from the awkwardness, Dan stands and cautiously places a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go blow off some steam?” Looking dazed, Jim shrugs off Dan’s hand and strides out the door.

  Once Jim’s gone, Dan slowly sits down next to me. He stares into the distance for a few minutes before speaking.

  “Riley, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done this,” Dan says quietly, slowly shaking his head. “You’re no safer with us than you were with them. And Jim…he’s not the same. It’s just a matter of time before he snaps…again.”