Think of happy things, Olivia.
My parents. My mom.
My room.
Madison.
I can only imagine what Madison must be thinking right now. She warned me. She warned me and I didn’t listen.
I’ve got to get out of here. I got to see my family again.
I take a deep breath and get back up on the mound. My left ankle touches the ground and it’s agony, but I don’t allow myself to collapse again. I stand up straight, lifting a long bone in my hand over my head. It scrapes against the roof of my enclosure.
I did it! I can reach the top!
I bang on it with the bone, and I hear metal. The trap door is locked.
Of course.
I shouldn’t be surprised, because I heard the lock turning the last time he came, but my whole body sags with disappointment. I thought I was going to get out of here. I thought this was it. I’d escape and be home within the hour.
This is just a setback. Don’t give up.
I take a deep breath, pushing away a wave of dizziness. This isn’t hopeless. After all, it’s just wood above me. If I can break through the wood, I can get out of here. I’ve got all the time in the world to pound against the wood until it breaks.
Here goes nothing…
Chapter 47
Erika
By the morning, the papers are all reporting an arrest has been made in the disappearance of Olivia Mercer. It’s not just local news, but the national papers have picked up the story as well. They can’t print Liam’s name, because he’s only sixteen, but it doesn’t matter. They can’t keep people from saying his name in the online comments.
I sit in bed, reluctant to get up and face the world, reading through the comments until I can’t bear it anymore. Overwhelmingly, the general public thinks Liam is guilty.
I don’t care if this kid is sixteen. He deserves the electric chair. Some people are too sick to live.
I heard he has a long history of mental problems. Parents deserve to go to jail too for not making sure he got the help he deserves.
Lock this kid up and throw away the key!
Tragic and horrible! This is what lethal injections are for!
But the worst are the comments from people who obviously know Liam in real life. It looks like the majority of the town has decided he’s guilty. Or at least, the ones who are posting online.
I’ve known Liam Cass since grade school. He’s nuts! I could totally see him murdering someone. He’s definitely guilty!
Liam used to play with my son, but I told him Liam wasn’t welcome anymore. I knew that kid was trouble.
Olivia was a beautiful girl. She was stupid to go out with Liam Cass, just because she thought he was good-looking. Now she’s paying the price.
The family has been hiding Liam’s mental problems for years. He’s a psychopath but they’ll do anything to protect him!
The kid was kicked out of kindergarten for raping a girl. That says it all!
Great. Now the Internet has convicted him of rape when he was five years old. It’s hard to read all these comments, but somehow I can’t look away. There are a few positive ones at least, intermingled with the awful ones.
OMG, Liam is in my Spanish class and he is sooooo nice. He would never do this! I don’t believe it’s true!
Liam is one of the best students I’ve ever had in all my years as a teacher. I may not know all the evidence, but it’s hard to imagine such a fine young man could be capable of this.
Liam is a great teammate and great guy! This is bullshit! Someone must be framing him!
I finally put down my phone and stop reading when Jason appears at the doorway to the bedroom. We haven’t spoken since our conversation last night, and I wonder if he’s still angry with me. He doesn’t look angry though. He looks pale. “I don’t want you to freak out, Erika…”
“Then don’t start a sentence with those words.” I sit up straight in bed, clutching the covers in my fingers. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“Somebody spray-painted something on our front door.”
I can only imagine what somebody’s written on our house. Right in front of our all our neighbors, who I’m sure saw nothing. I have been doing my best to keep the tears back, but now they threaten to spill over.
“Erika…” He sits down next to me at the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m taking care of it. Just stay inside the house.”
But this is about a hell of a lot more than some words spray painted on our door. That can be painted over. The bigger problem isn’t as easily fixed. I wipe my eyes, trying to get control of my tears but I can’t.