“Gotcha. You seemed preoccupied. Just checking. It was nice seeing you.”
“Of course, you too,” I respond, sliding into my car. Pushing the encounter out of my head, I crank the heat full blast, giving it a minute or two to warm up. The weather is calling for snow in the next day or two, and I’m honestly not mad about it. Being snowed in with Noah seems like a fun way to spend the next few days.
Reversing out of the spot, I exit the parking lot and head for home. Hopefully Matt can get the new lock installed soon.
There’s not much traffic this time of day, which works in my favor. I have just enough time to drop some gifts at home and then head to school to pick up Noah.Stopping at atraffic light, I debate on just taking an early vacation somewhere. Maybe I’ll take Noah to the beach or something.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t see the light turn green. Someone behind me starts beeping their horn and as I push on the gas, I wave an apology at them in my mirror. Everyone’s always in a hurry.
When I turn onto the last street before my neighborhood, my car starts to sputter and jerk. The gas light is flashing, but that can’t be right. Mr. Morgan has been telling me to bring it in for a look over, but I’ve been avoiding it.Shit.
Pulling over to the shoulder, I pop the hood and hop out. Looking at the engine, I don’t see anything that would cause an issue. Patting my pockets for my phone, I realize it’s in my purse.
Hoping Mr. Morgan can arrange for someone to tow it, I pull my phone out of my bag and unlock the screen. Finding his contact, I get ready to hit the call button when something heavy hits the back of my head. Pain radiates through my skull as I hit the ground. I know it’s too cold to lie here, and I need to get up, but my body won’t cooperate.
My vision is swimming, but the last thing I see before it completely goes out is a pair of dark sneakers.
Waking up, I slowly open my eyes. My head is throbbing, and it hurts to move.What the hell happened?The last thing I remember is my car breaking down and going to call Mr. Morgan.Did I get hit by a car or something?
I’m lying on a mattress in what I’m assuming is someone’s basement. There are no blinding fluorescent lights, so I know I’m not atthe hospital. Looking around the room, I take in the musty odor and notice boxes stacked along one side. It seems like there’s a window, but it’s small and too high up. I’m not sure what time it is, but there’s still plenty of sunshine. Over in the far corner, there’s a set of wooden stairs that lead up to who knows where, or what.
Gingerly sitting up, I ignore the ache in my body and check my pockets for my phone.Damn it, of course it’s missing.I’m in just my sweater and jeans, and the air is cold as hell. I don’t get what’s happening.Where am I?
Rotating my body to an upright position, I lean back against the wall. Pulling my leg closer to me to stand, I hear a rattle and notice for the first time it’s chained to a nearby pipe.What the actual fuck?Fear spreads through me, but I refuse to panic.
A metal cuff digs into my ankle when I try to tug on it. I guess it’s stronger than I thought.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice calls from the stairs. I can’t quite see who it is, but as they reach for a lightbulb string and turn the light on, my fear turns to anger.
“Let me go, Bea. What the hell is your problem?” I snap.
My sorry excuse for a grandmother hobbles down the last of the stairs and pulls a chair over to sit across from me. Smirking, she looks me up and down. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”
Shaking my head in disgust, I glare at her in return. “I’m still better than you, old woman. Go ahead and undo this cuff. I can show you. How could you do this to your own blood?”
“I’m not.” She smiles an evil, toothy grin at me.
“I didn’t realize you had dementia already, Bea. There are facilities for that, you know.”
“I’ve got my faculties about me; don’t you worry about that.”
“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” I shout at her. I’m tired of her games. She’s been nothing but a thorn in my side for years.
She slams her wooden cane against my leg, and I cry out. “Watchhow you talk to me. Why he decided to raise you, I’ll never understand.”
Pulling my legs as close to me as I can, I refuse to cry. My head aches, and that hurts like a bitch. “Then what are you going on about? Why wouldn’t he have raised me?”
“Because you weren’t his!” she shouts with venom. “Your whore mother trapped him. He was a good boy until she came along.”
My heart freezes in my chest. So, does that mean that the bastard who raised me isn’t my father? “You’re lying.”
“No need to. Did you ever wonder why you favored your mother and didn’t look like my Samuel? It’s because you aren’t his.”
“But Noah?—”
“Oh, but he is. She already had him trapped, but as soon as you were getting old enough to leave, she saw her chance and took it.”
“So, if he’s not my father, then who is?” I ask, hating myself for being curious. Noah and I may not even share the same parents.
