Alison Stone - High-Risk Homecoming

“Thank you, but you really don’t need to help.”

“I don’t mind.”

Ellie was about to say something then decided to let it rest. Even though a million thoughts ping-ponged around her head, she didn’t need to share them all with Johnny.

A crash sounded from the back of the store and Ellie jumped, splashing the contents of the punch bowl up and over the edge. Her mind flashed to last night: the man slamming her body against the utility sink; his calloused hand against her mouth. She gasped, a cold fear washing over her.

Johnny moved toward her, a concerned look on his face. He held out his hand, indicating she stay put.

Ellie swallowed hard as she watched him disappear into the storage room, her pulse beating erratically in her ears. A few minutes later he returned with a piece of paper. He locked gazes with Ellie.

Her stomach dropped.

“This was stuffed in the hole of a brick.” He pointed with his thumb toward the back door. “There’s a nice dent in the middle of the exterior door where he threw the brick.”

Tiny stars danced in Ellie’s line of vision. “What does it say?” The words rasped out of her dry throat.

She read over his shoulder. In angry black letters, the wrinkled note read, “Stop playing games or you die.”

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