She doesn’t share.
But Scarlett isn’t violent. She isn’t malicious or immoral. She most certainly would never harm someone simply to get something she wants. No, Scarlett had nothing to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance. It was all her husband, I’m sure of it.
Etta isn’t on the same page as I am about it, denying it vehemently.
“Noah, listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you may have to face the fact that that girl sleeping in the other roomisn’t our daughter…” Sighing, she lets the tears fall again. “I don’t know who she is, but that isn’t the girl I raised…”
No! I won’t hear it! I refuse to believe my baby could do something so horrible… so wicked.
Regardless of the facts in Etta’s statement, I respond with false confidence. “No, Scarlett had nothing to do with this. I’m sure of it.”
Liar.
Scarlett Dane
CHAPTER XXXVIII
I’m here.
Throwing the blankets off my all-black outfit, I shoot out of bed, listening for the sounds of the sleeping house before moving an inch.
I waited until the walls shook from my father’s snoring before texting Theodore to meet me around the corner. Earlier this evening, when they banished me to my room, I snuck into their master and tampered with their water bottles.
Every morning, Mom will place two bottles of water on their his and hers dressers, setting up for their nightly routine. Knowing they each pop one sleeping pill before bed, I cracked another in their drinks, ensuring they’ll be knocked unconscious when I sneak out.
Listening to their heavy breathing, I creep into my bathroom, shutting the door softly before climbing into the bathtub. Right above my head is a double-hung window large enough for me to crawl through.
I hoist myself up as quietly as possible, using one hand to push up the glass while the other holds me in place. Finally, after a bit of a struggle, I get it open. The backpack I had packed and ready goes flying out of the window before a new dilemma springs to mind. What’s the best way to escape? Feet first, probably, but there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to accomplish that. Not silently, at least. My only option is to jump through with my arms pulling me forward.
Shit! I should focus more on my upper body when I work out.
I’m sweating by the time I squeeze my torso out. Then, with my arms extended, I take hold of the branch from the tree outside and grab it with all my might.
My shoulders threaten to rip from their sockets as I swing my body out of the window, but thankfully I don’t need to hold on for so long.
Once my legs are free, I drop to the floor, choking down my cry of pain, when my ankle rolls violently on its side. But I can’t let it stop me. We’re limited on time as it is.
Swinging the backpack on my back, I hobble across the yard, beelining for the blacked-out car down the street. Occasionally, I have to hold my hood in place, so my face remains concealed in the shadows.
“Scar, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Theodore asks once I jump in the car, noticing how I baby my ankle.
“Just go!” I hiss, putting pressure on the rapidly swelling joint. I don’t think it’s sprained, but it’s undoubtedly going to bruise badly. Probably similar to how Theodore’s face looks now. The aggressive purple markings on his jaw and under his eyes make me wince.
“I’m so sorry my dad did this to you,” I apologize, gently brushing away the tiny specks of blood still dotting his upper lip. I may not have any broken bones, but Theodore does, if his crooked nose is any indication.
“You have to get that fixed.”
Bobbing, he only says one word. “After.”
Tapping my fingers on the scratched plastic door handle, I take in all the differences of the car. There’re no leather or polished dashboards. It doesn’t smell like fresh, crisp pine, but musty, stale dust.
“Who’s car is this?”
“Oh, this is my first car. I had it in a storage container outside of town. Figured now would be a good time to bring her out.”
Not only is Theodore attractive, but brilliant. And there's nothing sexier than an intelligent man.
The train tracks are haunting enough, but they're borderline terrifying in the dead of night. With the ghostly lights barely illuminating the wooden planks and the clouds of smoke drifting into the air from children who know better than to hang out on the tracks, I can’t help but feel watched…
