“Yes, Dad, it’s me.”
“Where are you?” His dad’s voice cracked now too. He sounded desperate.
“Mexico.” He read the address from the card he’d been given by the woman at the front desk. “I don’t know if we should go to the police. I don’t know if it’s safe.”
He heard the shower turn on and then the sound of the clips sliding on the bar as she pulled the curtain aside.
His dad swore, and there was much movement in the background, as though his dad was hurrying somewhere as he spoke. “Stay there,” his dad said. “I’ll pay for the room, so no one should come knocking. Lock the door and stay put. Don’t let anyone in. I can be there in four hours.”
“Four hours?” It seemed like a lifetime. Too long to endure. But what other choice did they have? Were the people who’d taken them looking? Hunting them down? Evan’s eyes flew around the room, looking for potential weapons. An iron on the shelf in the open closet, a chair leg . . .
“Thank you, Dad.” His voice was fading.
“I love you, son. I love you. I’ll be there soon. Don’t let anyone in. Not anyone, you hear?”
Evan dropped the phone back in the base on the nightstand and then pulled himself to his feet. He began dragging the larger items of furniture in front of the door, grunting with the effort. He heard the squeak of the pipes as the water turned off in the bathroom.
A moment later, Noelle emerged, a towel wrapped around her body and her hair hanging, partially wet. She’d been slender before, but now there was nothing to her. She looked dead on her feet, but he understood why she’d stayed conscious long enough to cleanse her body. “Help is coming,” he said.
“I need to call my dad,” she slurred.
He picked up the receiver, going through the same process he’d just gone through to call his own father. She gave him her father’s number, and when it began to ring, he handed her the receiver. She held it to her ear, a small sob emerging as he heard it go to voice mail, and the call was disconnected.
“You can call him from my dad’s cell phone as soon as he gets here,” Evan said. There was pain on her face, but she gave a woozy nod, shuffled to the bed, brought the quilt back, and got under it, still wearing nothing but her towel.
Evan opened his mouth to ask her if she was okay, but before he could, he realized she’d fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. He watched her for a second, her chest rising and falling, mouth open as she slept.
He looked at the mountain of furniture he’d somehow piled in front of the door, then he checked the lock on the window again, peering out quickly onto the sunlit street. People ambled by; a woman with a baby strapped to her back called out to a toddler running ahead, and a skinny dog lay in the shade of a building.
Evan turned, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for an hour, just one, but before he did that, he turned to the bathroom, headed inside, and shed the clothes he’d first put on in another life entirely.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noelle woke to the light streaming around the edges of a curtain. For the briefest of moments, she thought she’d awoken in her own home, having fallen asleep on the couch. She’d had a terrible, traumatic dream. The boy from school, handsome, popular Evan Sinclair, had been in it. How odd. How vivid.
But then she smelled the smoke. Her eyes opened wider, and she blinked around, everything coming back to her in a horrid rush.
The cage.
The hunger.
The dreadful loneliness and fear.
The men, their breath hot on her face as they tore at her body from the inside. Taking.
Evan, smashing the bones of his hand.
The escape.
The fire.
The chase.
The ice pick.
The desert.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
It felt like a crushing weight, bearing down. She didn’t trust her freedom. She was flailing inside. She couldn’t accept it. It would be taken from her. This was a dream or a wish or a prayer, and in a moment, it would burst and she’d wake behind bars. Trapped like an animal.
A sound met her ears. It was her. Moaning. The whimpers were coming from her. She couldn’t stop them.
A hand, reaching, fingers linking with her own. Her breath released in a whoosh, her lungs expanding with air. She could breathe. In. Out. She took in gulping breaths until her heart slowed.
“You’re okay,” he said. His voice was groggy. “We’re free. It’s real.”
A sob was welling in her chest. She clutched his fingers with one hand and gripped the sheet beneath her with the other, holding on. He was solid, and the sheet was soft, so very soft. Outside she heard the distant sounds of children playing, a dog barking. Life. People. The world moving around them. They were part of it again. They’d risen from the depths of hell.