The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(45)

I miss him.





24


Malcolm, twenty-five years ago

The man was going to kill Rowan. Malcolm knew it.

He’d broken her leg.

Who does that to a little girl?

He does.

Malcolm shouldn’t have felt surprised. Everything the man had put them through was evil.

She’s going to die, and I’ll have to watch.

He pulled her closer as she slept, trying not to bump her leg. He’d hit it accidentally a few times, and it’d made her cry out in her sleep. It had been three days since he broke her leg. She couldn’t walk. Malcolm had helped her pee in the bucket, and it’d embarrassed her and she’d hated it. She’d tried to stop drinking, so she’d pee less, but he knew that wasn’t healthy.

He made her drink.

At least the man had fed them that night. And he’d left more food than usual. Maybe he felt guilty for what he’d done. Rowan hadn’t wanted to eat. Malcolm had had to beg her to do it. She’d said she wasn’t hungry anymore.

How can that be? She has to be starving.

Malcolm wiped his nose with the back of his hand. It kept running because he couldn’t stop crying. Everything was such a mess, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

I don’t know what to do.

He hated him. Malcolm didn’t understand why the man had thought it would be funny to tell him he would send Rowan home and then take it back. He thought the man had lied about his parents moving away, but then why hadn’t anyone found them?

What if he’s right? What if we’re here forever?

Rowan needed to see a doctor. She needed a cast on her leg. Malcolm didn’t know how she would ever walk again if no one fixed it.

I can’t carry her around forever.

He suddenly wished his sister would die, and his tears flowed faster. “I’m sorry, God, I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “I really, really didn’t mean it.”

He was a horrible person. Malcolm should be the one with the broken leg. Rowan would never think bad things about him as he just had about her.

The locks on the door clanked. Malcolm panicked and scrambled for their blindfolds.

He didn’t warn us!

At least the man didn’t make Rowan get in her corner anymore since she couldn’t get around very well. Rowan didn’t wake at the noise of the locks or when he lifted her head to place her blindfold. It was dark, and his fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the ties.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

He was still tying her blindfold when the door creaked open. He hunched over her, hiding his face, petrified to look toward the door, waiting for him to yell.

Silence.

After a few seconds he risked a look and squinted in the dark.

The silhouette was wrong.

The man was thin. Not big and bulky.

Someone is here to save us!

Malcolm lunged to his feet and then froze as he realized it was the other man. The silent friend.

He’ll tell him we weren’t blindfolded. We’ll be punished.

But the man just stood there.

“What do you want?” Malcolm whispered.

The man stepped back, motioned them out of the shed, and then pointed at the woods. “Go.”

His brain didn’t understand. “Go where?”

“Just go. Get out of here. Take her.”

Is he setting us free?

“Is this another trick?” Malcolm whispered. His heart was pounding, and he wondered if the man could hear it.

“No trick. Get the fuck out of here.”

Malcolm stared at him for another moment and then bent over and shook Rowan’s shoulder, pulling away her blindfold. “Rowan. Wake up. Wake up.” His voice quivered.

She swung a hand to bat him away and nestled her face into the blanket.

He leaned close to her ear. “We can leave now.” He spoke softly, but deep inside he wanted to yell. This was it. This was the moment they’d been hoping for.

“What?” She lifted her head.

“He’s letting us go. But we’ve got to go now.”

“What?” Rowan repeated. She spotted the man at the door and froze. “He’s rescuing us?”

“No. He’s letting us go. We need to go as fast as possible, but I’ll carry you.”

“You can’t—”

He put his arms under her shoulders and knees and lifted.

She’s so light.

Rowan whimpered as he jostled her leg, but she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Sorry about that.” Malcolm turned to the door. The man took another step back, leaving them plenty of room to get by. Malcolm moved out of the shed, Rowan in his arms.

“Get moving,” the man told them.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” the man said gruffly.

Malcolm looked around in the faint moonlight. There were tall, dark trees in every direction. He didn’t see a road or path. They were in a forest. “Which way do I go?” He had no idea where they were.

“Doesn’t matter. Go that way. Don’t stop.” He pointed toward a clump of trees.

Malcolm took a breath and started walking. Then he moved faster, feeling as if he were being watched.

Is he close by?