As soon as I turn around, something hits me in the side of the head.
I come out of a groggy stupor, being dragged across the ground. I writhe and fight to get my feet under me. I try to stand. I scream, but it's useless.
No one is anywhere around here. No one will hear me. Just like no one heard Cristela. No one heard any of them.
Jake says nothing as he pulls me back through the woods. He has me in a tight, complicated grip that keeps me from getting loose. My back aches from the angle it's bent at as he drags me, but when I loosen up completely, I feel like I'm choking.
Finally, we're back to the house, and he pulls me up to my feet but doesn't release me. I'm standing with my back to him, my arms twisted around behind me. He tucks one hand around the front of my throat and kisses my cheek.
“You're not going anywhere, Emma. Like I said, you could have been my future. We could have had such an incredible life together. If you had only just done what you were supposed to do.”
“If you already knew who I am, why did you let it go this far? Why didn't you just confront me before? Why did you keep going with this ridiculous plan?”
“There was a part of me that still hoped so much it could happen. You might suspect me and were catching on to me, but if I could prove it was LaRoche like you had believed all along, all that would go away. Just like with every other lie you lived before it was me, you could put it behind you. If I could prove to you that you were right all along, and someone else was responsible, I could keep you, and we could have such a beautiful life. But you came here. You didn't come here looking for me because you thought I was still alive out of some miracle. You came here looking for me because you knew. I was not convincing you of anything else.”
“I told you. I came because I was worried about you.”
“Please don't lie to me, Emma. It's going to make it so much harder for me to come up with a beautiful memory of us if those are the last words I hear from you.”
“A memory?”
“Yes. I'll create a wonderful memory for us to have. I just don't know what it will be yet. I think that we should enjoy some special bonding time together first. I want to get to know you a little better before I really decide what to create with you. Come on. There's something I want to show you.”
Jake forces me up the steps and into one of the rooms on the top floor of the farmhouse. Unlike the other rooms, this one looks well maintained and taken care of. Like it's been used regularly for years. It's clean and is furnished with modern furniture, candles strewn across the top of the windowsill and the surface of the table. Heavy drape hanging from the window and elaborate bedding accentuates a massive bed in the middle of the room.
“This is my room,” he says. “It was my parents’ room when I was growing up. Which, of course, means it was my mother's room most of the time. We were never allowed in here. And now it's mine. Do you like it?”
I don't answer him, and he shuts the door, locking it. He moves around the room, lighting all the candles like he's trying to create a romantic atmosphere for us. He tells me to make myself comfortable, and I choose one of the overstuffed chairs positioned across from the bed.
I sit there for the next few hours, listening to Jake tell me actual stories of his childhood. Time stretches forever. My panic rises as he replaces each of the lies he’s told me with a real recollection. Actual glimpse into what he dealt with. He starts by pacing around the room, then sits across from me, almost close enough that our knees touch. Every so often, he gestures, and I jump, and he reaches forward to touch my leg and soothe me.
After a while, he suddenly jumps up and goes to the bureau, pulling out a bottle of liquor. He doesn't sit down in between drinks, and soon he's slurring, his movements slowed. The more he drinks, the more animated his stories become, and the deeper he delves into the horrors he experienced.
Finally, the bottle is almost empty, and it seems so is he. Jake's head falls back against the chair, and his eyes droop, then close. I watch him sleep for a few minutes, hoping beyond hope that he is actually unconscious. When I'm finally assured, I stand and cross the room as quickly as I can.
I get to the door and try the handle before I remember he locked it. I tiptoe back to the chairs, trying to reach into his pocket and pull out the key. He starts and grabs my wrist, glaring at me with reddened eyes filled with fury.
“Maybe I don't actually have time to get to know you,” he growls at me. “You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?”
I don't have any more time to waste. I have to do something, or I won't survive to get out of here. I'm not going to be able to get through the door, which means there's only one option left. I need something to distract him and get him to release me. I compulsively grab the bottle of liquor from the floor and splash what's left across the heavy curtains hanging on the window just beside the chairs. His hand loosens from my wrist in a startled response to my move. I take advantage of the opportunity and lunge for the candles on a nearby table. I toss them onto the curtains, and they immediately ignite.
Flames eat through the tapestries in a matter of seconds and crawl up to the ceiling and walls. Flecks of paint from the ceiling and droplets of fire come down, igniting the bed. Within just a few breaths, the room fills with thick, acrid smoke.
I can barely see through the red and orange. Jake is screaming, stumbling for the curtain to try to pull the fragments down. I dart toward him, shoving him with both hands. His body smashes through the glass and drops through the window. The air from outside creates a backdraft, and the flames roar around me. Pain licks up my back. I have only a fraction of a second to climb through the window. Outside is a steeply pitched roof. Digging my feet down onto the shingles, I move sideways as fast as I can, headed for the flat roof over the front porch.
Suddenly Jake's head appears out of the side of the roof. He caught himself when I pushed him, and now he scrambles back up onto the roof to confront me. He runs toward me, and we clash, clutching at each other. The struggle quickly brings us down. I feel the burn of melted tar on my skin and a scrape of the gutter on my back as we both tumble off the roof and onto the ground. Our eyes lock on one another as we fall, and then everything goes dark.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I don’t know how long passes before I wake up. The lights are so bright I cringe, and somewhere around me, a voice hisses at someone to turn the lights down.
I know that voice. It's Bellamy.
It takes a few seconds for me to process the beeps, sharp smells, and cold air. When I do, I realize I'm in a hospital bed. Everything hurts. My entire body aches, and it feels like if I lift my head up off the pillow, it might split in half. But at least I still have a body to hurt. At least I'm still alive to feel that pain.
I stop myself for a long moment. Am I dead? Is this the light flashing before my eyes before it’s snuffed out? My mind is a fog. I don’t know what’s going on.
Bellamy takes my hand. The fog clears. And when I finally get my eyes all the way open, I see her smiling down at me. Tracks of tears mark her makeup, but she's still beautiful.
“You're the only person I know who can look so good when they're crying,” I tell her.
I know my voice sounds weak and scratchy, but she still laughs through the new tears falling from her eyes.
“You do, too,” she says.
“No, I don't. My mascara comes off, and I look like I'm melting,” I say. I can’t believe it. I’m alive. I’m not dead in a basement. Not burned in a house fire. I’m safe and joking with Bellamy right now.