Twisted by Hannah Jayne(57)

She hit the number seven.

“Sent at seven-oh-one p.m.…”

There was another sound like someone walking, a footfall on the heavy earth, crushing the wadded pieces of garbage. The hollow, echoing sounds under the bleachers gave Bex the creeps, and she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see another abandoned cup rolling along the dirt.

There was nothing.

“Hey, Bex, it’s me, Detective Lieutenant Schuster. Can you give me a call when you get this message? It’s kind of important. Uh, thanks.”

The crowd up above let out a muffled roar as Bex erased the message and moved on to the second one.

“Uh, Bex, Schuster again. Look, I really need you to give me a call the second you get this message, okay? It’s urgent. It’s Detective Schuster.”

Bex kicked at the dirt while she erased the second message.

She started when she thought she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She slowly turned, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, trying to study every corner and crevice.

“Stop being a paranoid freak,” she mumbled to herself. “Probably just some kids making out…”

She hit the button to play the third and final message.

“Bex, you need to call me. Jeez. Look…”

“And it’s another touchdown for your Kill Devil Hills Red Devils!”

The structure all around her throbbed with cheers and foot-stomping fans. The ground seemed to shake. The clang of hundreds of pairs of shoes thunking against metal, hands clapping, cheers, and the din of the announcers seemed to engulf her. It rattled around her.

“Beth…”

She blinked at the phone, pressing it hard against her ear. Did Detective Schuster call her Beth?

“Hey—”

There were fingertips on her bare arm, someone reaching out for her.

“…Could go all the way!”

Another raucous surge: “Go, go, go!”

Bex whirled but no one was there. She stepped toward the light at the end of the bleachers and pressed the phone against her ear. “Hello?”

“…you need to call me right away.”

“The Devils are closing in, folks!”

Bex was sure that someone was under the bleachers with her. Even with the crowd raging above, her consciousness picked up a slight movement, a light sound. She took another step and squinted in the darkness. It looked like someone was pressed up against one of the pillars, trying to remain motionless under the bleachers.

“If you’d like to erase this message, press eight. To save…”

Bex pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed seven to repeat Detective Shuster’s message.

“Bex, you need to give me a call. Jeez. Look…” There was a labored sigh. “It’s your dad.”

The crowd noise died down. Bex’s heartbeat sped up. Everything around her dropped into a deafening silence, as if the entire world, every single person in the stands, had ceased to exist. She heard the sound of a match head being dragged slowly across concrete. The desperate breath of a flame catching air. He was behind her, taller than she remembered, his hand cupping the throbbing orange-red flame as it singed, then caught on his cigarette. Bex watched the way the flame swallowed the pure-white edge, burning the paper.

Detective Schuster’s message continued to play on the phone. “He’s here, Bex. Your father is in Kill Devil Hills.”





Thirty


Bex wasn’t sure what happened first.

The Red Devils held off a Fighting Mustangs play that brought the crowd to its feet, whooping and hollering and stomping and cheering.

A rough hand closed on Bex’s upper arm.

She screamed. Deep and loud, ripping from the pit of her soul.

The crowd roared.

The hand around her arm tightened.

She gripped the cement pillar in front of her with her free arm, her hand wrapping around, fingers clutching at the rough concrete.

“Please!” Bex shrieked.

“Please,” came the gruff voice.

She almost recognized the eyes in the darkness. Were they his?

“Dad?” Bex’s voice was a choked whisper.

“Bex?”

Bex blinked, feeling like a wild animal caught between hunters.

Finally, Trevor chuckled and touched her softly on the shoulder before pulling her in to him.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You were gone for a long time and I thought—are you okay?”

Bex realized that her mouth was hanging open, her body stiff even as Trevor’s fingers trailed up her arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

She forced herself to pump her head, her eyes scanning the space.

“Did you see someone else here just a minute ago? A man?”

“A man? I saw Rod Delveccio giving Tabitha Collins a hell of a mouth check back there, but I wouldn’t say he was a real man about it.”

“No,” she said. “A guy, a man. Right here”—she patted the air—“by me. He had his hand on my arm.”

He cocked his head, gave an eyebrows-up frown. “There was no one else down here that I saw. What do you mean, he had his hand on your arm? Are you okay? Did some guy try to hurt you?”

Trevor seemed to puff up in the chest, his cheeks flushing a hint of crimson as he whipped around, looking for some imaginary Lothario.