No Escape

“They might be friends of Wyatt,” offered Isabelle. “If he thought he could get Dale back by taking us out of the picture, he would.”



“Did you see Wyatt tonight?” asked Brooks.



“No.”



“Have you seen him since last night?”



“No.”



“Has Dale?”



“If he has, he said nothing.”



Brooks nodded. “Okay, you folks sit tight and we’ll have a paramedic look you over. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”



Cold wind blew over them, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as Grant’s silence. He was stiff, brittle with tension.



They watched as the two attackers were loaded into ambulances. They still hadn’t regained consciousness.



A paramedic came over to them and said to Grant, “I’d like to check you out.”



“Her first.”



The young woman balked at his hard, cold tone but didn’t offer any resistance. “Okay. Ma’am, if you’d come with me.”



Isabelle didn’t want to leave Grant, but he urged her forward with the arm around her body, so she went.



Maybe he just wanted to be alone.



The paramedic sat her in the back of the ambulance. She was a pretty girl, maybe twenty-five, with a pair of deep dimples that never seemed to go away, even when she wasn’t smiling.



“Are you hurt anywhere?”



“I scraped my back when I fell, but it’s fine.”



“Can I look?”



Isabelle lifted the back of her jacket and shirt and showed the woman. There were a few dots of blood on her shirt, but no more than she’d have from a skinned knee.



The paramedic gave a sympathetic, “Ouch. That’s gotta sting. I should probably take you to the hospital for some x-rays, just to be sure nothing’s broken.”



“Nothing’s broken. I’d know.”



“Not always. Adrenaline can mask pain.”



A sharp sting radiated out from the small of her back where the concrete had scraped away a patch of skin, but it wasn’t that bad. “I’m not even really bleeding. I’ll patch it up when I get home, and if I start to hurt, I’ll go see my doctor.”



“Are you refusing to let me take you in?”



“Yes.”



Her dimples disappeared with her frown of disappointment. “Guess I’ll check out your boyfriend, then.”



“He’s not my boyfriend.”



“Oh yeah? Then why is he looking at me like he’d kill me with his bare hands if I so much as make you wince?” asked the paramedic.



Isabelle glanced over at Grant and her breath stilled in her lungs. He was staring at her, his jaw hard, his eyes narrow and glittering with anger. His body was tense, and his fists were balled up tight as he stared across the parking lot, giving the paramedic a warning glare.



“That’s just his way. He’s protective.”



“Well, hon, I’d suggest you hold on to him with both hands, then, ’cause guys as hot as that that care as much about you as he clearly does are few and far between.”



The paramedic was clearly too young to know the truth. It didn’t really matter how much a man cared. They always walked away in the end.



Everett packed quickly, taking only a few changes of clothes with him, a few pictures of Isabelle. He’d always been a neat person, so gathering his things hadn’t taken long. He called his boss’s work phone and left a message, claiming he had to leave town for a family emergency.



No one at work knew he didn’t have a family, so the lie would work fine. He’d learned a long time ago that people saw him differently—as an outsider—when they knew he was an orphan. As it was, they thought it was odd that he hadn’t married, but Everett wasn’t interested in anyone but Isabelle, and she wasn’t interested in him.



He accepted it and went on with his life, loving her from a distance, which might not have seemed like much of a life to others, but it was important to him. There was no way he was going to stay here in town with the possibility of a murderer on the loose. If only he’d had the courage to ask Isabelle to come with him. He wouldn’t have minded leaving town at all with her by his side.



Everett had just zipped his suitcase shut when he saw a movement on the far side of his bedroom. He looked up and, reflected in the mirror, he saw a large man covered from head to toe in black, standing in his hallway, right outside the bedroom door.



Panic struck Everett statue still, and a pathetic squeak squeezed past his tight vocal cords.



“Don’t fight me and this will be a lot easier on you,” said the man.



Somewhere in the back of his brain Everett found the voice familiar, but a detail like that didn’t matter right now. He had to run. Get away.



The only way out was past the masked intruder, so Everett made a run for it, hoping his momentum would carry him through.



The man stepped aside as if to let him pass, but just as Everett got near him, he lifted something that looked like a small can of Mace and sprayed it in Everett’s face.



The medicinal smell assaulted his nose and burned his eyes. Almost instantly, his legs went numb and he started to fall. The man caught him before he could slam into the doorframe. “Easy,” he said in a mockery of concern. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”



Everett tried to move but couldn’t. He couldn’t even speak. Nothing worked, though his brain screamed at his body to obey.



The man picked him up easily, which scared Everett more than not being able to move. Even if he could move, there was no way he’d be able to defend himself against a man so strong.



A sick feeling of helplessness crawled around inside him, taunting him to give up and let go as he’d learned to do as a child. He couldn’t do anything to save himself. Whatever the man wanted to do to him was going to happen. Better to accept it like a wounded animal than make things worse by fighting. Prolonging the inevitable.



At least that’s what he tried to tell himself so the panic wouldn’t eat him alive.



“That’s better,” said the man as he settled him on the bed, arranging his limbs to a comfortable position.



Recognition sparked again at the sound of his voice, but who he was wasn’t nearly as important as what he was going to do.



When he had Everett arranged to his liking, he went about unpacking his suitcase, item by item, putting everything back in its place as if he’d lived here for years.



Maybe he’d been watching Everett. Maybe he’d been in the house before. Both of those thoughts sent new waves of terror streaking through him. A sour sweat broke out over Everett’s body.



Slowly, feeling started to return in some of Everett’s extremities, but he still couldn’t move. “Please,” he managed to slur out.



The man stopped unpacking and came to the bedside. “It’s wearing off already, huh? Well, I guess I’ll have to finish straightening up after.”



Everett didn’t have to ask after what. He already knew the man intended to kill him, just as he had the others who had lived with Lavine. “Please don’t.” It was hard to understand the garbled words, but the man seemed to hear him clearly.



Then again, he’d done this before.



The man leaned down so he was only inches from Everett. Blue eyes. His killer had blue eyes. Familiar, bright blue eyes.



Dear God. He did know the man.



It was Keith Elders.



Everett’s brain ground to a halt as he tried to assimilate this new data. It didn’t make any sense. They’d known each other for years. They’d played together as children. Cried together, too. How could he do this?



“Why?” managed Everett.



Keith gently stroked Everett’s hair with a gloved hand. “Because you need my help to escape. We’re brothers. I won’t let you suffer anymore.”



Suffer? Everett had no idea he was talking about. He tried to say it, but his mouth barely worked. He was too panicked, and his throat just clamped down, refusing to let out any air.



Everett told himself to be calm. Relax so he could speak. He could figure a way out of this, maybe convince Keith to let him go. “Not suffering.”



Keith frowned. Everett saw his cheekbones shift under the thin black mask—not a ski mask—something else that was smooth and lightweight, covering everything but his eyes. “You’ve been suffering so long you don’t even realize it anymore. But I know. I was there.” He leaned down close enough that Everett could see tears welling in Keith’s eyes. “I should have helped you escape before. I’m sorry about that, but I was too afraid. I didn’t want to get caught before I could finish helping all of you.” He swallowed and blinked back tears. “I’m not a coward anymore, Everett. I’ve learned a lot from the criminals I defend. I know how to not get caught now, and I’m going to take care of you.”



Keith was insane. Everett had no idea what he meant by all of that except for the fact that it made him certifiable. He stopped wasting valuable energy trying to talk and screamed instead, hoping a neighbor would hear him.



Keith clamped his hand over Everett’s mouth, but not hard. “Shhh. Be still. There can’t be any bruises. I’ll spray you again if I have to,” he warned. “I can stay as long as it takes.”



As long as it takes. That was possibly the most frightening thing Everett ever heard. No one would look for him for days. Weeks, maybe. The thought of dying was horrible, but not nearly as bad as dying slowly, painfully.



He couldn’t let that happen.



Everett screamed until he was out of breath, and Keith’s hand over his face made it even harder to breathe. Soon he was dizzy and on the verge of passing out. He was panting when Keith moved his hand from Everett’s face. “Are you done now? Or should I get the spray?”



Everett said nothing but stayed quiet. He didn’t want another dose of that stuff, not when the first one was finally wearing off. If he couldn’t move, he had no chance of getting out of this.



“Good,” said the man. “You lie still and I’ll be back in a minute.”



He disappeared into the bathroom, and Everett heard him going through the medicine cabinet. From the bathroom, he said, “I would have taken you for the antidepressants type, Everett. You surprise me.” He came out and stood in the doorway with the belt to Everett’s robe hanging from his gloved hands. “Don’t worry. I know how to improvise. You won’t suffer much longer. I know how hard it is to wake up to the nightmares every night. To feel the weight of his body holding you down again. Hurting you. To smell his excited sweat and feel his breath hot on your skin as he pants like a dog.”



Everett knew what he was talking about now. The images Keith painted were all too familiar. Edgar Lavine must have molested Keith, too, only it had apparently driven Keith over the edge.



Everett’s mouth was starting to cooperate, though his speech was slurred. “I got help, Keith. The nightmares are gone. I’m better now. You can be, too. Let me help you.”



Keith’s eyes welled with tears. “There is no help for me yet. Not until all the others are free.”