Page 90 of Queen of Nothing

That sob finally breaks free from Serena.

She drops to the floor, crouched, and a horrible wailing sound rips out of her.

15

They are all waiting for me.

Mr Younge stands on the street at the mouth of the lane, and as the car rolls by him, he follows behind.

I drive into the carpark, and spot James loitering near the bins. He doesn’t look up at me.

My hands are fisted on the steering wheel, so tightly that my knuckles are blotched white, and I pull into the parking spot.

Father stands back.

The nose of the car almost grazes him, but he doesn’t retreat, not even a step.

I avoid looking at him, but I feel his stare burning into me through the window.

The thickness of my throat chokes me.

I focus on the direction of the car—until the sole of my canvas shoe comes down on the break and I wrangle the stick into park.

My breaths shudder out of me as I unbuckle the seatbelt.

Then I flinch.

Because at the exact same moment that the seatbelt whizzes by me, the car door whips open.

I cringe, my wide eyes swerving to the suited figure in the doorway.

Mr Younge.

Without a word, he reaches into the car and takes the keys out of the ignition. Then he swipes the phone from the dash and pockets it.

My breath is pinned to my chest. I hold it, as though to breathe will ignite a spark, a blast, and rage will suddenly storm around me.

But the tension holds.

Silence pulls taut over the carpark.

I step out.

My limbs move slowly, like the dread has turned my bones to lead. Yet there’s a wobbliness to my legs. As I stand, and the late afternoon sun glares at me without its warmth, my legs are turning to jelly.

The sun is setting over the building, but rays of its light are angled right at me.

Turning my cheek to it, I squint against the glare—and my gaze locks with Father’s.

His face is stone. But not unreadable.

The charge of fury brightens his eyes into emerald daggers. His mouth is tight, on the verge of pursing, and his grip is too firm around the edges of his cell phone.

I wonder if he texted Mother…

The thought of her reading a text that I’ve been captured and will be home soon, and the sobs that will wrack her, surges a wretched sensation through me, like my insides have been carved out.

I turn my cheek to Father.