Tess Sharpe - Far From You

“It’ll just take a few minutes. Get away from the edge, Soph.”

“I’m feet away from the edge.” Okay, maybe only about a foot, but still, plenty. “What is so important about this story? Amber’s going to be pissed that we’re late.”

“I’ll tell you later. After I figure…After I write it. Seriously, get away from there. I just got you back from your aunt; I’m not gonna let you fall off a cliff. Come over here.”

She snaps her fingers, and I stick my tongue out but walk away from the edge so I’m closer to the car. “You should at least entertain me until your Deep Throat or whoever shows up.”

“I’m so proud of you for that reference.” Mina places a hand against her chest dramatically, wiping away pretend tears with the other.

I kick dirt at her and she squeals, scrambling farther up the hood until she’s pressed up against the windshield. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says solemnly. “But you have to promise not to breathe a word.” She looks to her left, then her right, before leaning forward and hissing: “Alien takeover is imminent.”

“Oh no! The little green men are coming!” I fake a gasp, and she beams at me for playing along.

I hear the crunch of footsteps before she does, in that last brief moment when everything is still okay.

Mina’s sitting on the hood, so her back’s to him. I’m facing him, and at first, it’s too dark to see something’s wrong.

Then he steps into the beam of the headlights, and I realize two things in quick succession: the person—a man—coming toward us is wearing a ski mask.

And he has a gun pointed at Mina.

“Mina.” I choke on her name. I have no air; it’s all been sucked out of my lungs. I grab her arm, drag her off the hood of the car.

We have to get away, but I can’t run—I won’t be fast enough. He’ll get me. She needs to leave me behind. She needs to run and not look back, but I don’t know how to tell her this; I’ve forgotten how to speak. I almost fall as her shoulders knock into mine. Our hands grasp as her mouth drops into an O , her eyes fixed on the man as he advances on us.

This is happening. This is actually happening.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He stops just a few feet away, saying nothing. But he points to me and gestures with the gun, his meaning clear: Get away from her.

Mina’s nails dig into my skin. My leg shakes; I lean against her, and she takes some of my weight.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Mina whispers between quick, staccato breaths.

“There’s cash in our purses.” I falter over the words. “Keys are in the car. Just take it. Please.”

He stabs the gun at me again, quick and angry.

When I don’t move, he strides forward. He seems impossibly huge in that moment, coming toward us. Terror seizes me so quickly, so harshly, so unlike anything I’ve ever known, that if I could, I’d shrivel beneath the weight of it. Mina whimpers and we stumble back, still clinging to each other, but he’s too fast. I’ve been so distracted by the gun that I don’t see what he has in his other hand before it’s too late.

The rebar connects with my bad leg, smacking the twisted bone. I yell, a wretched, cut-off sound, and I collapse belly-first onto the dirt. My fingers scrabble at the ground, dig in. I need to get up.…I need…

“Sophie!” Mina starts toward me, and then she screams as the rebar swings into my line of sight and glances off my forehead. My vision blurs, my skin splits open. Pain, white-hot, stabs through my skull, wetness trickles down my face, and the last thing I see, hear, feel, is him raising that gun, speaking muffled words behind a mask, then the sound of two shots, fired one after the other, and a warm splatter: her blood. It’s her blood on my arm.

Then there’s nothing. No shooter. No blood. No Mina.

Just dark.

NOW (JUNE)

My eyes are heavy. It takes a huge effort to open them. I blink, trying to focus on the gray blur in front of me.

Upholstery.

We’re driving.

Adam’s driving. Speeding down the twisting road that goes around the lake.

Adam killed Mina.

And he’s going to kill me.

I have to stay awake. I blink rapidly, struggling to sit up.

Everything tilts crazily, making me dizzy, but maybe if I get upright, I won’t feel like puking.

Ten months. Five days.

Ten months. Five days.

I can do this. I’m a drug addict. I’m supposed to be good at this. I just have to fight the high. This is nothing.

It has to be nothing. I have to think—I need to get out alive. They’ll never know it was him, they’ll never catch him, if I don’t.

“Come on ,” says Adam angrily.

Breathing quietly, I sneak a peek at the front seat. Sweat’s pouring off his forehead as he punches Send over and over on his phone. No one’s answering, and the third time, he finally leaves a voice mail: “I need you to come, okay? Just no questions. Meet me at Pioneer Rock. Now. Please.”

Who’s he talking to? Who’s going to come? Matt. They’re in it together.

I swing my legs so my feet touch down on the floor mat. I’m starting to feel less dizzy now that I know I’m messed up—whatever he dosed me with is starting to lose its edge already. I didn’t drink enough.

Adam’s focused on the road, and I scoot until I’m sitting up, close to the door. I can’t tell how far we’ve gone from the beach; the lake is miles long, nestled in hundreds of acres of dense forest.

They could dump my body anywhere. No one would find it.

How long had it been? Surely Rachel’s missed me by now.

He turns a curve too sharply, and the car jerks, tires skidding against the road, throwing me painfully against the door. We pass a sign that says PIONEER ROCK VISTA POINT (3 MILES).

Shit. We’re already on the other side of the lake.

I can’t jump out. The door’s unlocked, but he’s going too fast. I’d be dead the second I hit the road—but my phone’s still in my pocket. I can feel it, and I slide my butt down until it edges out, falling behind my back.

“What are you doing?” Adam snaps, and I freeze, our eyes meeting in the rearview mirror. I can feel nausea rising in the back of my throat, and I push it down. My eyes skitter to the door, then back to the mirror.

“Don’t even think about it,” Adam says. He raises the hand that isn’t clutching the wheel. The hand that’s holding the gun. “Sit still,” he commands.

I sag against the backseat, nudging my phone to the side with my hip.

He lowers the hand holding the gun to his lap, the other hand on the wheel. His attention is only half on the road, but it’s better than nothing.

I inch my bound hands to the side, brushing against the cell phone screen. It brightens, and I sigh in relief, unlocking it with a swipe, one eye still on Adam. My shoulder keeps knocking into the window because he’s taking the turns so fast.

I swipe the screen again, selecting the last person I texted: Trev.

Adam’s phone rings. My fingers skate across my cell’s screen. He startles, swears, and then yells into his phone. “Why weren’t you answering?” He flinches. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just—” He stops, listens. He’s completely focused on the conversation.

I seize the opportunity; it’s the only one I’ll get. I tap it out, awkward with tied hands: addam pionerock 911 . I press Send and return my hands to my lap.

“You have to come!” Adam pleads into the phone. “Just meet me at the rock. I need your help.”

If I lean to the right, I can see the gun resting in his lap, just lying there. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way right now.” He pauses, his gaze skittering to me in the backseat. “I’ll explain then.”