A tiny flicker of something like hope rose in Riley’s chest as Tim left the room, leaving the door open. She rushed to it, wracking her brain, trying to remember what Tim said last night. Her bedroom was the second door from the bathroom, and the bathroom was right off the hall. She could make it to the living room. She could make it out the front door.
Riley crept to the doorway and swept the hall, relief crashing over her when she didn’t see Tim. She took the first step, her sneaker brushing over the threshold, her eyes focused on the open bedroom door at the end of the hall. She turned, silent as a mouse, and ran directly into Tim.
He held a big yellow towel out to her. “The bathroom is right there. I’ll wait here for you to finish.” He pointed to a spot right outside the door.
“Can I close the door at least? I would feel uncomfortable…”
Tim pumped his head. “That’s OK. I’ll still wait here.”
Riley slipped into the bathroom, closing the door on Tim. She was grateful to find an old-style slide lock, and she slipped it into place. She didn’t know if it would hold, but just seeing a locked door—locked on her side, not his—made her feel safer. Riley surveyed the decent-sized bathroom. It was surprisingly cleaner than the rest of the house. The tile floor was cracked and dated, but it was free of the garbage and broken wood that littered everywhere else. The toilet was hideous with a cracked seat and bits of rust, but it seemed to actually flush. There was no shower curtain on the bar above the tub, but there was a fresh bar of soap by the sink.
Riley checked the door a second time then checked every inch of the bathroom, looking for a weapon, a cell phone, a key—anything that would help her, anything that would fan the flame of hope struggling inside her.
But there was nothing.
The small window to the left of the toilet was a good six inches above Riley’s head, and even when she stood on the toilet, she could see that the heavy, swirled glass was rusted into place. Even if she could open it, there was no way her body would fit through.
She didn’t want to shower. If she was going to die here with her psychopath of a brother, there really wasn’t any point. But her skin was beginning to itch from the dirt and dried sweat, and she forced herself to turn on the tap, to strip off the foreign clothes.
She stood under the chintzy flow of lukewarm water and rubbed her hands over the soap. Tears started to fall as the clean, spicy smell of the suds filled the bathroom. It was the same way her father smelled—the same soap he used.
“I’m going to get out of here,” Riley muttered under the clattering sound of running water. “I’m going to get out of here no matter what it takes.”
She rinsed her body and her hair as best she could under the weak stream then wrapped the thin towel around herself. She shoved her bare feet into the sneakers and opened the door. True to his word, Tim was there in the hall, sitting on the floor. He was eating a donut, the pink box propped in front of him. “You want one?”
Riley was starving. Her stomach let out an embarrassing growl and she nodded. Tim handed the box to her and she picked a donut out, eating the whole thing in two bites right there in the hallway. He shook the box again and she snatched another one, vaguely wondering if they were drugged but not caring as the thick, doughy thing hit her stomach. Her mouth was coated in sugar but she took a third donut anyway, eating this one more slowly as her stomach caught up to her brain.
“You were hungry. Maybe we should go somewhere for lunch.”
Riley stiffened. “Go out?”
“Yeah.”
Riley’s heart started to pound, and suddenly she felt light and airy, even with a quarter pound of donuts weighing her down. If she could get out of this house and into civilization, she could get away.
She nodded. “I need to get dressed first.”
“We’ll go in a little bit.”
She took a tentative step. Then, “Where are my clothes?”
“They’re in your closet.”
“No.” She shook her head. “My clothes from before.”
“You don’t need them anymore. You don’t need anything from before anymore. You have new clothes. And a new house, and a new life!” Tim smiled. “A new old life.” He shooed her away. “Go inside and change.”
Riley went into her makeshift bedroom and pulled the packages of underclothes from the bag. She slid the bra and panties on and shimmied into the jeans—they were stiff and a little baggy, but they would do. She pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head and put her feet properly in the sneakers.
Then she pressed her ear against the door.
She could hear Tim whistling to himself in the other room. Then she heard him flick on a radio, settling on a news station. She turned then was sucked back to the door when she heard the radio lady start, “Still no word on the Crescent City girl who went missing yesterday morning. Police are still holding a school friend of the girl’s, but he hasn’t been charged yet.”
Riley’s throat tightened. She felt a nagging pain for JD then remembered the broken charm, the way he chased after her, screaming her name.