“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I seethed as I doused him with gasoline, using up the entire canister. I wanted to make sure he burned. One flick of the match, and he was up in flames.
Outside, I repacked my items, putting them in Calvin’s truck, and looked out at the woods, deciding whether or not I should check on the missing girl. Was she even alive? Was it worth the risk?
Sliding on a pair of Chanel sunglasses, I headed toward the apiary with my new knife in hand. The horses neighed and the ducks quacked as I passed them. The dry grass crunched under my tennis shoes. As I got closer, I could hear a low hum of buzzing from the bees. I entered the woods, pushing aside branches and stepping over fallen trees. Just as Calvin had said, a small wooden shed sat around forty yards back. In death, he had finally told the truth. The windows were boarded up and a large padlock was on the front door. I pulled a bobby pin from my hair and went to work on the lock.
“Hello,” a voice called from inside the shed.
I didn’t respond. The lock clicked, and I threw open the door. Light flooded the dark room, revealing the woman I had seen in the police photo. She had lost her vibrancy. Her skin was dull and dry and covered in dirt. Her greasy hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. A rope bound her wrists together. One of her legs was tied to a post, giving her about four feet of room to roam. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at me.
Her face crumbled, and she seemed to laugh and cry at the same time. “Are you Grace?” Her voice croaked.
I tilted my head. “Yeah. How did you know that?”
She let out a howl of a cry, a mix of relief and sadness. “Calvin told me about you. You were going to replace me just like I replaced the last girl.”
I glanced around the shed. A couple of empty cans of Coca-Cola and a bowl of rotten brussels sprouts sat near her. Calvin had been keeping her alive out here like she was one of his ranch animals. Of course, he was feeding her my brussels sprouts.
Her eyes darted all around me. “Where is he?” she panicked.
“He’s dead.”
A relieved smile spread across her face, revealing the dimples I had noticed in her photo.
“Please help me,” she said, holding up her bound wrists.
I hesitated for a moment. Holding out the knife, I nodded and walked toward the bound girl. Her bottom lip trembled, and she cried harder.
“Don’t worry, Bri. You’re safe now.”
50.
Grace
Briana rubbed at her wrists, walking beside me through the pasture. They were covered in rope burns, angry red and raw skin. She was wobbly on her feet—thanks to being bound for at least ten days—and she struggled to keep up. But I wasn’t slowing down. I needed to get out of here.
“How did he die?” she asked.
“Slowly,” I said as I continued toward the truck.
Her mouth dropped open but she quickly closed it and eyed me cautiously.
“Did you call the police?”
I stopped and turned, facing her suddenly. Her reflexes were slow, and she nearly fell backward. “No, and I’m leaving.”
The whites of her eyes shined. “Can I come with you?”
Up close I could see fingerprint-shaped bruises around her neck and popped blood vessels surrounding her eyes. Her lips were dried and cracked, peeling in several places. She was obviously dehydrated. I turned from her and kept marching forward.
“No,” I said over my shoulder.
I pulled open the driver’s side door and hopped into the truck. Bri sprinted toward me, but it was more like fast stumbling. She was so weak.
“Wait, you’re just going to leave me?” she said in disbelief, thrusting her hand in front of the door. “You can’t leave me.”
I let out a sigh. Where was my thank-you? I rescued her, and she doesn’t even have the courtesy to express her gratitude. She would have been dead by nightfall if it weren’t for me.
I brought my foot up and kicked her square in the chest. “Yes, I can.” She gasped, reeling backward and landing on her ass. Bri let out a painful moan.
“You’re welcome.” I slammed the door, turned the ignition, and pulled out of the driveway.
Glancing back in the mirror, I watched her slowly get to her feet and dust herself off.
She’d be fine, thanks to me.
51.
Grace There it was. Gunslinger 66, the same gas station I had stopped at ten days prior. It was still Ope, not Open. I pulled the truck up to the side of the pump and got out of the vehicle. Once again, I was the only customer—nothing in both directions for miles and miles. I already knew it was cash only, so I started across the parking lot. I tied my long brown hair back into a low ponytail and entered the station. The door squeaked as I pulled it open. That same fan buzzed in the corner, oscillating the smell of beef jerky and gasoline throughout. The man with the lazy eye stood at the counter. I could tell he recognized me right away because he raised his brows, deepening the lines across his forehead.
“Back again, I see.” The words came out slow.
I nodded. “Can I get eighty on pump one?”
He punched a couple of keys on his register and grabbed the four twenties I held out, placing them in the drawer.
“I like the hair.” He smiled.
I was surprised he had even noticed the change. I must have been the only customer he’s had in the last ten days.
“Thanks.” I nodded, turning toward the door.
“Avery,” he called out.
The word made me freeze instantly, stopping me dead in my tracks. I swallowed hard and tightened my jaw. I couldn’t have heard that right.
“What was that?” I turned back toward him. Calvin must have knocked something loose in my head because that wasn’t possible.
The old man twisted his wiry beard. “Avery Adams.”
My shoulders tensed, and I took a deep breath.
He slid out a drawer underneath the register and flipped through a stack of papers. The old man held out his hand, extending a driver’s license. “You dropped it when you were in here. Tried to tell ya, but you sped off like a bat out of hell, so I’ve just been holding it for you. In case you came back.” He smiled, revealing cracked yellow teeth.
I closed the distance, retrieving the ID from him. “Thank you.” I smiled. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course. Safe travels,” he said with a wave of his hand.
52.
Avery