The Inmate (75)

“I think you know, Brooke.”

I get outside the front door of the farmhouse. I squint into the woods, in the direction Shane and Josh disappeared. I can’t see anything—just blinding white. Where did they go?

“Could we please talk about this at home?” I beg him. “I understand how you’re feeling, but we can work this out. I just want to be a family again.” I reach into my coat pocket for the keys to my Toyota. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come pick you guys up.”

I’m going to drive along the road until I see them. I’m going to find them if it’s the last thing I do.

Except where are my keys?

“I think it will be hard for you to pick us up,” Shane says, “since I have the keys to the Toyota.”

“But…” I keep checking my pockets, certain he’s got to be wrong. All I can find are balled-up tissues. “Why?”

“I think you know why, Brooke.”

This can’t be happening. I can’t be the one responsible for having unleashed this monster and letting him wander into the woods with my son. This is going to be another one of those dreams that I’ll wake up from in a cold sweat.

Wake up, Brooke!

I race down the steps to the front door and slip on the last one. My legs slide out from under me, and a sharp pain jabs my right ankle. My phone has fallen out of my hands and is lying beside me in the snow. I snatch it up.

“Shane,” I gasp. “Please… let’s talk about this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be back eventually.” Before I have a second to feel relieved, he adds, “After all, I need to make sure you suffer for what you did.”

“Shane…”

“I wonder,” he says, “if you’ll scream louder than Tracy Gifford did.”

My mouth drops open. I try to speak but no words come out.

“Goodbye, Brooke.” I can almost hear him smiling on the other line. “Or should I say, see you later.”

Through the phone, I can hear my son’s voice. His laughter. I might never hear him laugh again.

“Shane!” I cry. “Please—”

But it’s too late. The line is dead.

I try calling him back, but it immediately goes to voicemail. Shane isn’t bringing Josh back. I don’t know where he is, but he knows I have figured out his game. I have lost my advantage. And even if he comes back eventually to try to hurt me, he’ll be smart about it. He’s going to wait a long time—until the heat is off.

For some reason, the thought of facing off against Shane doesn’t scare me. What scares me is what’s going to happen to my son. I can’t let that monster get away with this.

I grab onto the railing of the stairs to haul myself to my feet. The second I try to put weight on my right ankle, it screams in pain. It’s definitely sprained, possibly broken. I’m afraid to pull off my boots to assess the damage, and it won’t do any good, anyway. It won’t help me find Shane and Josh.

I type 911 into my phone with shaking fingers. He won’t get away with taking Josh. There will be an amber alert, they will find him, and Shane will go back to prison. He doesn’t even have a car—he may have taken my keys, but the Toyota is still right here. The police will find them. I’m sure of it.

Except when I try to connect the call, it won’t go through. I squint down at the screen of my phone.

No service.

It’s almost too much of a coincidence that my service cut off just when Shane hung up with me. Does he have some sort of blocker to prevent cell phones from working? Is that what he and Tim did that night eleven years ago, to ensure none of us could call for help?

What am I going to do? If I have no cell service and no vehicle, my best bet is to walk to the main road. But I’m not sure I can even put weight on my ankle.

I have no choice though. Even if I’m walking on a broken ankle, it doesn’t matter. I have to do this for Josh. I can’t let that monster steal him and do God knows what to him.

I put some weight on my right ankle. The pain is almost blinding, but I push through it. For Josh. I’m doing this for Josh.

I limp down the road, every step like a knife stabbing me in the ankle. I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but I’m going to do it. I’m not going to stop moving until I get to the main road, and then I’m going to flag down a car.

But to my shock and relief, I see a car coming down the road, right toward me. It’s a green SUV, like the one Margie drives. Oh, thank God. I don’t have to keep walking on my possibly broken ankle. I wave my hands in the air like I did that night eleven years ago. The SUV skids to a halt.

“Help me!” I scream. “My son has been kidnapped! Please help! Please!”

The driver’s side door opens up. To my utter shock, Margie gets out of the car, her gray eyebrows knitted together. “Brooke!” she cries. “Are you okay?”

What a strange coincidence that Margie would happen to be coming down this road right now. But I can’t dwell on that. There’s no time.

“Josh has been kidnapped!” I manage as I limp toward her. “He’s in the woods somewhere. We need to call the police. He’s in terrible danger.”

Margie’s eyes drop to my feet. “What happened? You’re limping.”