Hideaway Page 12

  Not that I was seen much, anyway.

  But I did like to watch other people. Kind of like Kai did.

  A long time ago, I watched him from a distance, part of me wanting him so much. I thought he was good.

  Loyal. Beautiful.

  But he could be scarier than Damon.

  And my brother, Damon Torrance, had been a nightmare since the first time I met him. An exquisite nightmare.

  “Pull up your sock,” my mom orders as she slams the passenger side door.

  I bend over and pull up my dingy knee-high, both of us standing next to our car parked outside a big, black gate. It’s open, and cars have been streaming in steadily. Mom said there was a party going on today. It was a good time to see him.

  “Remember what I told you.” She pulls me up, buttoning the top button of my cardigan and straightening my blouse underneath. I look away, impatient. I’m twelve, and she has me dressed like a five-year-old.

  “If he starts being mean,” she continues, her voice shaking as much as her hands, “you need to help me, okay? Tell him we need money. If we don’t get help, Nik, you’re going to have to leave the apartment, your bedroom, and all your stuff. You’ll be sleeping in strangers’ houses. And they could take you away from me.” She grasps my shoulders, breathing hard. “You want to go home tonight, right?”

  I nod.

  “Then smile pretty,” Jake, her boyfriend, yells out at me from the driver’s seat through the open window.

  Yeah, smile pretty. Be nice to someone who’s never been nice to me. Who’s never wanted to meet me. My stomach keeps churning, and I can’t fist my fingers. I feel weak.

  “Hurry up, Luce,” he says to my mom.

  I know why he wants us to hurry up and what he wanted money for. Both of them. Of course, if we were lucky enough to get anything, I’d get fed and maybe some used clothes and shoes. My socks were so old they didn’t fit right, and I’d been washing my hair with bar soap for a month now.

  But they’ll just party with the rest. Every time we have any money, it’s gone before we’ve had a chance to exhale.

  My mother takes my hand, and I follow her through the gates and down the long driveway. Looking around, my heart instantly aches. It’s so beautiful here. Acres of green on both sides of the black drive, trees and bushes and the smell of flowers…God, what would it be like to just go out there and run? To do cartwheels and climb the red oaks and have picnics in the rain?

  Looking ahead, I spot the house, the white stone stunning against the blue sky. Cars circle the driveway, and splashes of red lie around the house, which I guess must be rose bushes, though I’m not yet close enough to see.

  But the closer we get, the more unnerved I become. I want to dig in my heels and stop. I want to turn around and say, “I’ll rip off food from the Shop-and-Go down the street from our apartment if I have to.” I’ve done it before. We needed milk and cereal, and my mom asked me to get it. If I got caught shoplifting, as a minor I wouldn’t get in as much trouble as she would.

  We head up to the house, and she stops me just before we get to the door. She squats down, her long coat the only nice thing she has to cover up her cheap clothes.

  She holds my shoulders and looks up at me, her eyes sad. “I’m sorry,” she says. “These are things kids shouldn’t have to go through. I know that.” She looks around, tearing up and looking desperate. “I wish you knew how much I want you to have everything. You deserve everything, you know that, right?”

  I just stare at her, my eyes starting to water. My mom is a mess, she doesn’t always put me first, and I hate the positions I’m put in sometimes, but…I know she loves me. Not that it always feels like enough, but I know she tries.

  “I wish I could take you away and buy us a house like this,” she says wistfully, “and all you would ever do is smile.” She stands up, brushing the wrinkles out of her coat. “It kills me that his little shit of a son gets everything he wants and you get nothing.”

  Damon. My father’s son. The only child he claimed.

  She’d only mentioned him a few times, not that she’d ever met him. He had just been born when my mom got pregnant with me, but we’d heard enough over time. He’s supposed to be kind of trouble.

  She takes my hand again and leads me to the front door where a servant is holding it open, greeting guests as they enter.

  A woman in a sparkly dress looks down at me, narrowing her eyes and taking in my clothes. I quickly look away.

  People enter the house, and we follow, but the man at the door puts his hand on my mother’s shoulder. “Excuse me. Who are you?”

  “I need to see Gabriel.”

  The man, who’s wearing a white waistcoat, moves in front of her, blocking her way.

  I peek around him, seeing all the fancy people in suits and dresses walking through a door to the back of the house.

  “Mr. Torrance is entertaining guests right now,” he tells her.

  My mother puts her arm around me, replying flatly, “This is his kid, and if I don’t see him now, I’m going to run through your quaint little village here in Thunder Bay and shout it to the world.”

  The man purses his lips, and I notice a few people around us turn to look. I cringe on the inside. Would Gabriel even care if she did that?

  The servant nods to the man standing next to the wall, and he walks over. My heart races, watching him pat my mother down.

  But then the burly guard finishes with her and steps over to me, running his hands down my arms. I jerk, and my mother pulls me away.

  “Keep your hands off her,” she demands.

  I shake and move into her, hiding as much as possible.

  “Follow me,” the servant who’d opened the door says. He leads my mother and me through the house, and I look around, noticing a library, a den, and some kind of sitting room. Everything is dark, and nearly everything is made of wood: the stairs, the furniture, some of the walls…. We pass by the staircase, and my eye catches a figure standing at the top. I look up.

  A boy stands there, leaning on the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest. He stares at us, his eyes following me as I pass by. He has dark hair like mine, but his eyes are darker, narrow and calm. But something in his look makes me shrink. Is that him?

  “Wait here,” the man says.

  My mother and I stop outside a door, while the older man rounds a corner.

  My mom takes my hand and holds it with both hands. She did the same thing a couple years ago when CPS came to our house and also on the rare occasion I had a pushy teacher who went the extra mile to convince her to come to parent-teacher conferences. She’s nervous.

  I hear hard footsteps hit the floor. My heart starts beating in my throat, and I stop breathing for a moment.

  A shadow falls on the ground, and I look up, seeing a tall, well-dressed man charge around the corner.

  Graying black hair, beautiful black suit and shirt, shiny shoes…I stare up at him wide-eyed, my breath caught in my throat at his strong scent, a mixture of cologne and tobacco.

  He gets in my mom’s face, his voice sounding so mean that my hands start to shake.

  “You know what’s more tragic than a poor junkie whore?” he bites out at her. “A dead, poor junkie whore.”

  And then he looks down at me. “Sit,” he orders. “Now.”

  I take a shallow breath—it’s all I can force in—and drop to the bench, fidgeting with my hands. He pushes my mother through the door, and I see a desk and some books before he closes it.

  Oh, God. What the hell? He’s so mean. Why? I know my mom can be trouble, and she’s embarrassing, even to me sometimes, but I haven’t done anything.

  I blink away the tears that spring up all of a sudden. I don’t want to be here. These people are awful. My mom said my dad owns a media company and sits on the boards of others—whatever that means—but there’s also other things he does. She had worked for him, but she wouldn’t tell me what she did.

  I just want to
leave. I don’t want anything to do with him, and I don’t want to know anything more.

  Movement catches my eye, and I look up to see the dark-eyed boy coming down the hallway. He looks relaxed, holding a green bottle by the neck and stopping at the entryway, leaning on the wall as he stares at me.

  I lick my lips, feeling every hair on my arms stand up. I avert my eyes, embarrassed, but they keep coming back to him.

  His black pants and leather shoes look like someone tried to dress him up, but his white shirt is partially untucked, and his sleeves are rolled up. His hair is combed, though, and I notice how thin his gaze is on me, as well as the striking arch of his dark eyebrows. I have the same arches, and my mom says they make the green of my eyes so piercing, but it does the same for his dark ones, too.

  He takes a swig from the bottle—some kind of beer, I think, but he doesn’t look much older than me.

  I hear a muffled argument from behind the door and look over at him again. My father seemed to know who I am. Does this boy?

  “Are you my brother?” I ask.

  His lips lift in slight amusement, and he doesn’t look the least bit shocked at my question.

  Walking over to me, he stops, his legs hitting mine as he tips the bottle back, downing the rest of the drink. I watch the lump go up and down in his throat before he turns it over, stabbing the neck into the soil of the potted plant on the table.

  He leans down, one hand planted on the wall above my head and the other one caressing my face. I rear back, but I have nowhere to go.

  The beer on his breath hits my nose as he gets closer, and I feel a cool sweat break out on my neck. Is he going to kiss me?

  His mouth hovers inches from mine, and he looks into my eyes. “Do you like snakes?”

  Snakes? What?

  I shake my head.

  A spark of something flashes in his eyes, and he suddenly stands up, taking my hand. “Come on.”

  He pulls me off the bench, and I stumble after him.

  “No, wait,” I say. “I think I’m supposed to wait for my mom. I don’t want her to be mad.”

  But he just keeps going, dragging me up the stairs, and I don’t fight. If I do, he might be mad, too. And if I make him mad, it could make my father madder.

  He pulls me after him, his hold on my wrist making the skin burn a little as he rushes us around the bannister at the top of the stairs. Heading toward the end of the hall, he opens a door and pulls me through. I’m suddenly in darkness with only a small glow above. My heart is beating so hard I feel nauseous. Where are we?

  The boy pulls me, and I follow, but my foot catches on something, and I stumble. I grab the back of his shirt to keep myself from falling, and I realize I’m on stairs. He continues up, and I grab the wall, trying to steady myself as I scale the steep incline. There’s a third floor to the house?

  We come up to the top, and he opens another door, shoving me through. Chills spread down my skin, and I whimper under my breath, suddenly scared. What if my mom can’t find me? What if my father makes her leave, even without me? Why am I up here?

  Will he let me leave?

  I pull my sleeves down over my hands, fidgeting again, and glance around quickly. The messy room has a large, unmade bed, posters all over the walls, and some heavy metal song about wanting to “go to hell” playing on speakers I can’t see.

  I inhale through my nose and catch the subtle odor of cigarettes.

  As he heads over to his computer and turns down the music, I’m unable to stop the fear, but I also feel a sliver of admiration. Damon’s only supposed to be thirteen, and he’s drinking and smoking? He can do whatever he wants. Like an adult.

  He turns around and crooks his finger at me, and despite how worried I am, I don’t dare refuse.

  He takes my hand and leads me over to a long, wooden dresser, and I notice two fish tanks on top. One has sand with a large branch and a water pool, and in the other one there’s mulch with leaves and more branches. In the left one, I see a red, black, and yellow striped snake.

  My heart skips a beat. That’s why he brought me up here.

  “This is Volos,” he says. “And this is Kore.” He points out the white snake in the other tank, hidden inside a burrowed log. I look hesitantly, seeing the red splotches on its skin.

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, worried that he’s going to remove them from their cages.

  “Do they…bite?” I ask.

  He looks down at me. “All animals bite when they’re provoked.”

  I lean down, looking through the glass. Hopefully, if I show interest, he won’t want to try to scare me by taking them out.

  Their tanks are large, lots of room to move, and they look clean. The snakes lie still.

  “Wouldn’t they like to be together?”

  “They’re not puppies,” he retorts. “They’re wild animals. They don’t play well with others, and they don’t like company. They don’t make friends.”

  He removes the top of the cage on the left, and I immediately take a step back. No.

  “If one of them gets aggravated or stressed,” he says, reaching in and picking up the red, black, and yellow one, “it’ll eat the other one.”

  Damon pulls out both hands, the snake coiled through his fingers, and he turns to me, the snake inches from my body.

  I scurry back, and he walks toward me, laughing. “How could you think I’m your brother? Look how scared you are.”

  He shoves the snake in my face, and I scream, my back hitting the wall.

  “No, I don’t like—”

  “Shut your mouth,” he growls, grabbing for my hands with his free one.

  I struggle, trying to get away from him, but his body pins me to the wall as he holds the snake with one hand and gets my wrists in a lock with the other. Pushing them over my head, he pins my hands to the wall, and I start tearing up, my chest filling with dread.

  “No, no, please…”

  “Shut up.”

  I twist my head back and forth, squeezing my eyes shut as he holds me there.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asks.

  My breathing shakes, and I don’t want to open my eyes. Then, something touches my cheek, and I jerk.

  “Stay still or he’ll bite.”

  I pant, instantly stilling every muscle.

  “Please,” I whisper, begging.

  But I don’t move. The touch comes back, and it’s smooth, like water. Oh, God. Please.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  My lungs empty, and I hesitate. But slowly, I peel my eyes open.

  I see a red, black, and yellow blur in front of me, and shake with a cry. He’s holding it to my face. I feel its tongue flit over my skin, and I start breathing fast, my chest racing up and down faster than my heart.

  “Shhh…” Damon says soothingly.

  I force myself to raise my eyes to him, and all of a sudden…my breathing starts to slow. He’s piercing me with his eyes—which I see now are more black than brown—and I’m locked in.

  “Look at them out there,” he tells me, turning his head toward the window to my left.

  I follow his gaze, slowly turning my head away from the snake to see men in black skulking on the lawn, two valets in white waistcoats, and a man and woman exiting a shiny black car.

  “When I come on the scene, they all fucking look away,” he whispers, staring outside. “When I speak to them, their voices shake. They don’t even let their wives, girlfriends, or daughters come around if they know I’m home.”

  I pinch my eyebrows together in confusion. Who’s he talking about? The servants? Or the guests?

  “I know everything, everyone does what I want, and everyone is afraid of me,” he continues, and then turns his eyes on me, “and money doesn’t buy that. Money and power don’t go hand in hand. Power comes from having the guts to do what others won’t.”

  He drags the snake’s body over my mouth, and I gasp, jerking away again.

  “You’r
e nothing like me,” he snarls in a low voice. “A dirty, little nothing. A mistake.”

  He releases me and steps back, and I quickly wipe away the tears that spilled over my lids.

  He turns around and sits down in a deep, cushioned chair, petting his snake. “Don’t let your mom come back here again, you understand?” he orders, pinning me with a look. “Or I’ll lock you in a closet with Volos.”

  I run for the door and grab the handle, but my hand shakes so hard I can’t turn it. “It’s not my fault,” I blurt out, turning my head toward him. “That my mom had me. Why would you want to hurt me?”

  “You’re not special.” He raises Volos and looks at him, acting like I’m not even here. “There are lots of people I want to hurt. And maybe I will someday…when I figure out the best way to get rid of a body.”

  He gives a half-grin, acting like he’s joking, but I’m not sure he is.

  “I am special,” I say. “My teacher says I’m the smartest in my class.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “In five years, you’ll be riding dicks in the backseat for twenty dollars just like your mom.”

  My stomach retches, and I nearly choke on a cough. What? How could he say something like that?

  “Damon?” A voice rings out.

  It’s coming from the speaker system on the wall, next to the door.

  “Damon, your mother wants you,” the woman’s voice says, not waiting for him to answer. “She’s in her room.”

  I turn my head and look at him, pinching my eyebrows together when I notice blood trailing down his finger. The snake suddenly strikes him again, and I suck in a little breath. He’s squeezing it too hard. Why’s he doing that?

  But he just stares ahead, his eyes heavy like he’s lost in thought. Did he even hear the woman on the intercom?

  “Damon?” I say. That snake isn’t dangerous, right? He wouldn’t keep a venomous animal here.

  What’s wrong with him?

  He finally raises his eyes. “Get out.”

  Jesus. What a jerk. I whip open the door and take a step. But then I stop and spin around once more.

  “A cemetery,” I say. “That’s how I’d get rid of a dead body.”