I reached the boardwalk and sharply turned the corner. My stomach dropped. Lucky Warehouse 13 was closed. The door was padlocked and the lights were out. A ship wasn’t even docked at the pier.
I had to make a quick decision. Peter was either to my right or to my left—Pier 12 or Pier 14. If I made the wrong choice, it was highly likely that this situation would turn really bad.
The two men rounded the corner and made the decision for me. I could no longer make it to Pier 14 because I’d have to run by them. That was not an option.
A sneer spread across the face of the man with the shaved head. “Looks like someone’s lost,” he said to his greasy friend.
“Maybe we should show her the way.”
I took a few steps back. This was bad. Really bad.
“Leave me alone.” My voice came out in a weak whisper.
They laughed.
I turned on my heel and ran. I prayed with all my might that Peter, or someone, anyone, was at Pier 12. Their footsteps thudded behind me, the snow crunching under their boots.
Pier 12 loomed ahead in the distance. I couldn’t believe my eyes—it was abandoned, too. Where the heck was everybody? I made a split decision to turn down the alley next to Pier12. My impromptu plan was to run down the alley, cut the corner and run back to the parking lot behind Warehouse 13. I had to get to the safety of the car.
Their footsteps grew louder. My boots slipped on the icy boardwalk and I tumbled forward onto my knees. The snow-covered ground softened the impact of my fall. My hands were frozen from touching the snow, but I was too riled to care. I sprang to my feet and faced my assailants.
The two men strategically spread apart. They were cornering me against the warehouse. My chance of escaping to the parking lot dwindled with each passing second. They literally had me with my back against the wall.
“Not so fast there, doll,” Shaved Head said.
Shaved Head blocked the way to the parking lot. I scanned the route back to the boardwalk. Greasy had that covered. I was trapped.
“I asked you a question before, pretty lady. What are you doing out here all alone?” Shaved Head asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Let’s see what you got in the bag.” Greasy snatched my purse.
I tried to yank it back, but he tore the bag from my hands.
“Feisty. I like that.”
I had a fleeting hope that they were only going to rob me. They’d take my purse and steal the Rolls. I could live with that. Then I saw the look in Shaved Head’s eyes. My splinter of hope vanished. He was going to hurt me and then kill me.
Shaved Head stepped closer as Greasy rummaged through my belongings. Greasy poured the contents of my bag onto the ground and picked up my wallet and the car keys.
Shaved Head was inches away. I had no choice but to try to dart past him. It was my only chance. I sprang forward, pushing my weight into his shoulder, hoping to knock him off balance.
He caught me by the throat. He took two quick steps and slammed me against the warehouse. The back of my head smashed against the wall. I would’ve collapsed to the ground, but his grip around my neck kept me from sliding down. The back of my head throbbed from the blow.
“We’re not done.” Shaved Head smiled and displayed a row of crooked yellow teeth.
“Looks like a hundred and seven dollars and a couple of credit cards,” Greasy said, as he pawed through my wallet.
“You got the keys to that ride?” Shaved Head asked Greasy over his shoulder.
Greasy dangled the keys in the air.
Shaved Head had me against the wall by my throat. His fingers crushed against my neck, but he wasn’t choking me. Not yet.
His head was crudely shaven. A large scar fissured down the side of his face, from his hairline—through his eye—to his chin. The word “sinner” was tattooed in cursive on the side of his neck. He looked like a career criminal. And I probably looked like a naïve little rich girl walking alone in a dark alley.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Well, I wasn’t going down without a fight. I clawed at the hand around my throat. I thrashed against the wall. I tried to scream, but he clenched my throat with a threatening squeeze.
Shaved Head smiled. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The emotion that coursed through my body was, surprisingly, not panic or fear. It was anger. I was furious at these two lowlife thugs.
Shaved Head brought his face inches from mine. The stench of his foul breath was almost unbearable. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself. Bad things happen in the dark.”
Once he was within range, I spit in his face.
Saliva rolled down his cheek. I couldn’t help but grin. Peter would’ve been proud of my aim.
Shaved Head wiped his chin with the back of his hand. A sneer spread across his ugly face. He still had me pinned by the throat with one hand, but he raised his free hand in the air and wiggled his fingers so I’d be sure to see it. Then he slapped me hard across the face.
I was more shocked that he’d hit me, than by the actual slap. I’d never been struck before. My cheek stung from the blow, but I refused to show him that I was in pain. I glared at him with such hatred and rage that he looked momentarily dumbfounded by my reaction.
“You do have a little bit of fight in you. We’ll see if you have that look on your face when I’m done with you.” Shaved Head raised his hand again and slowly closed it into a fist.
Greasy appeared behind Shaved Head. He seemed interested in me now that he was done rummaging through my purse. I glanced back and forth between the two men. They were going to kill me. I took a deep breath. Then another. I blew the air out from my nostrils. I took another quick breath. In and out. In and out.
Shaved Head pulled his arm back to deliver the blow.
My attention shifted between Shaved Head and Greasy. I hated them with such an intense fury. My hands balled into fists. An explosion of rage rumbled from deep inside of me. My eyelids fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings.
The street lamp on the boardwalk exploded with a loud boom.
Glass rained down to the ground, making it difficult to differentiate between it and the snow falling from the dark sky. Two seconds later, the adjacent street lamp shattered. Its pieces cascaded down onto the snowy boardwalk.
The next one exploded.
Followed by the fourth street lamp.
“What the…?” Another loud crash interrupted Shaved Head.
This crash didn’t sound like a shattering street lamp. It was more of a crack than a shatter. And then there was a thud. Shaved Head twisted around in time to see Greasy falling to the ground in an unconscious heap.
Peter stood behind him with one hand firmly gripping his hockey stick. “Get your filthy hands off of her.”
Shaved Head unclenched his fingers from my throat. Coldness filled my lungs as I sucked in gulps of air. My knees buckled and I slumped down against the wall. I was exhausted. It was an effort just to hold my head up.
Shaved Head cracked his knuckles.
Oh God. I had to get up. I had to help Peter.
Shaved Head balled his hands into tight fists. Peter wrapped his hands around the handle of his hockey stick. They circled each other, each trying to get a better angle of attack. Peter swung, but Shaved Head ducked and missed the blow.
Shaved Head reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small knife. “You better hope you don’t miss again, kid.”
“Oh no,” I whispered. My throat was too raw to project my voice.
Shaved Head sauntered forward and swiped at Peter.
Peter jumped back. “I won’t. You’re going to be curled up next to your buddy in no time.”
I used the wall as leverage to stand myself upright. I had to help Peter. I looked around for something to use as a weapon. Trash. My purse. A dumpster. Nothing. Only snow.
So I reached down and scooped up a handful of it. I packed the white powder into a tight ball and fired it at
the back of his head. The snow exploded upon impact.
Surprise attack from the rear.
Shaved Head stumbled forward. He snapped his head around. Clumps of snow were stuck in his collar. “Did you just hit me with a snowball? You stupid b—”
Peter whacked Shaved Head over his back with the hockey stick. He doubled over and fell to his knees.
As soon as he went down, Peter ran to me. “Lex, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Watch out! He’s getting up.”
“Stay behind me.” Peter crouched into a defensive position. He squeezed the handle of the hockey stick, waiting for Shaved Head to advance.
I reached down and grabbed another fistful of snow. It was my only weapon.
“You’re really pissing me off, kid.” Shaved Head stood upright and stretched his back. “Now, I’m going to slice both of you up.” He twirled the knife in his hand.
He took a step to his right. Peter countered to his left. Shaved Head lunged forward, but Peter sidestepped the blow and swung. The blade of the hockey stick struck Shaved Head on the side of his neck. Right on his stupid tattoo.
Peter hit him again in the stomach on his way down. He crumbled to the ground next to Greasy, just as Peter had promised.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or adrenaline or surprise, but I couldn’t move a muscle. Peter rushed to me. He brushed the snow out of my hands and pulled me close, crushing me against him.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
Peter examined my neck. I didn’t want to think about the nasty bruises that I’d have in the morning. The area was already tender. He lifted my chin and the light from the remaining street lamp fell on my face. He squinted and tilted my head to the side. His blue eyes flashed. “He hit you?”
My cheek must’ve been red.
Peter turned back to the two men, but they were motionless on the ground. His face relaxed when he realized there was nothing more he could do. His finger grazed the spot where Shaved Head struck me. I winced. It, too, was tender from the blow. I was going to be covered in bruises in the morning.
“If it makes you feel any better, I spit in his face,” I said.
Peter grinned. “Actually, that does. Pretty good aim with the snowball, too.”
“What should we do?” Snow covered the two thugs sprawled on the ground.
Peter tossed my scattered belongings back into my purse. “Let’s get out of here. They won’t be out for long.”
“Should we call the cops?”
“They haven’t been too helpful lately.”
It was true. They hadn’t been helpful at all. Besides (and I know this was a petty thought), but if the police came, Victor would know I stole the Rolls. The cops probably wouldn’t believe my story anyway—they didn’t believe me about the hit-and-run or that Bradley was murdered. Come to think of it, calling the Hazel Cove Police Department was the last thing I wanted to do.
“No, let’s go,” I said.
Easier said than done. I was too afraid to walk past the men. All my toughness and anger had depleted. I felt shaky and scared. My energy was drained and I wanted to collapse. Today had been a long, horrible, awful day. There was a very good possibility that I was on the verge of losing it. I strained to hold back tears. And I absolutely didn’t want to walk by Shaved Head and Greasy. Villains always grabbed at you that one last time in horror movies.
“Hey, are you okay?” Peter reached for me. “Let’s get out of here.” He shielded me with his body from the men on the ground.
Once we cleared them, we ran hand in hand to the parking lot. We didn’t look back. Peter unlocked the door and placed me in the passenger seat. He dashed around the front of the car, slid in the driver’s seat and started the engine.
I tried not to cry as we sped through the streets of Hazel Cove.
“Please say something.” Peter’s eyes were focused on me and not on the road.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“One of the guys came into the warehouse talking about this ‘sweet Rolls Royce’ parked in the lot behind 13, so I knew you were here. I ran out to find you, but you weren’t there.” Peter noticed my chattering teeth and turned the heat up. “I started getting nervous. My battery died, so I borrowed Mark’s cell phone, but you didn’t answer.”
I pointed to the dish in the console between us. My cell phone blinked red.
“I couldn’t find you. I went to my truck, got my hockey stick and went looking for you.” Peter shook his head. “I was almost too late.”
“You weren’t late. You saved my life.” I reached for his hand, intertwined our fingers and placed them on my lap. “Thank you.”
“Why did you come down here?”
“My visit with Grandma Claudia didn’t go well. She bombarded me with all this ridiculous stuff and I couldn’t wait to tell you. I’m sorry.”
“Victor let you take the Rolls?”
“No, he’s out of town, but I know where he keeps the keys.”
“No more Grand Theft Auto games for you,” Peter said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. What happened at Grandma Claudia’s?”
The weight of the entire day—learning about Ethan, my crazy conversation with Grandma Claudia and the attack at the docks—hit me at once. Tears spilled over and silently rolled down my face.
We stopped at the light and Peter saw me crying. “Hey, hey. Don’t cry. It’s all over.”
“What about your truck? We left it at the docks.” I sobbed.
He laughed. “After what just happened you’re worried about my old truck?”
It was stupid, I know. But I didn’t want to think about my bigger problems. More tears flooded down my face.
“Don’t worry about the truck, Lex. I’ll get it later. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Did you see those street lamps explode on the boardwalk, one right after the other? I’ve never seen anything like it. It was like they were synchronized. I wonder what caused it,” Peter said.
Another thing I didn’t want to think about. I was almost certain that, somehow, I made the street lamps shatter. I remembered the fury building inside of me like a pressure cooker. I felt the same sensation when the mirror shattered at the haunted house. Was Grandma Claudia right? Could I really be a witch?
I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I was too upset to think clearly. I would deal with that later. And I’d tell Peter about everything. Later.
Peter pulled into my driveway and reached over to unfasten my seat belt. “Stay there,” he commanded.
He jogged around the front of the car, opened my door, scooped his arms under my legs and lifted me. I was too upset to argue with him about putting me down, so I let him carry me into the house. I wrapped my arms around his neck and placed my head against his chest. The rhythmic beating of his heart was reassuring. It felt good to have him close.
I was so distraught that I didn’t notice the red Range Rover parked in the driveway. A car door slammed when we reached the porch.
“What happened to her?”
Peter turned to face him.
“James!” I felt stupid now that Peter was carrying me. I wiggled a bit, indicating I wanted to be put down, but Peter held on tight. He might have even pulled me closer.
“She’s fine,” Peter said. “I’m taking her inside. Goodnight.”
“What happened to her?” James repeated in a sharper tone.
“None of your business,” Peter said. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Why were you waiting in the driveway? Are you stalking her?”
“I was checking on her,” James said. “I haven’t seen her since the Halloween party and I wanted to see how she was doing. I pulled in right before you did.”
“Sure you did.” Peter opened the front door and carried me through the doorway like we were newlyweds.
“I’m not leaving until I talk to Alex.”
br /> “Yes, you are,” Peter said. “Because if you don’t turn around and leave right now, I’m going to throw you off the damn porch.”
James spread his hands out, palms up. “I’d like to see you try.”
This was getting out of control. “Would you two cut it out, already?”
Peter looked down at me and frowned. He was still carrying me. I made a face at him to quit. Antagonizing James wasn’t helping.
The back of my head throbbed from where Shaved Head had shoved me against the wall. I was in no mood for company. Hopefully, James would understand.
“Thanks for checking on me,” I said to James. “I’ve had a really bad night. I’m not feeling up to having visitors, so—”
“Peter’s visiting,” James interrupted.
“Let her finish,” Peter said to James. “And I’m not a visitor, jerk.”
“I only need a few minutes,” James said.
“What’s going on?” Emma’s words were so slurred I wasn’t sure if that’s what she’d said or not.
“Oh, jeez,” I whispered. This day could not get any worse.
Emma leaned against the wall in between the foyer and the front living room. She probably couldn’t stand upright by herself. She had a martini in her hand. Her long blond hair was piled on top of her head and she wore a pink silk robe. She was so drunk that I was surprised we couldn’t smell the alcohol fumes from where we stood.
“Nothing, Mrs. Ramsey. I’m taking Alex upstairs.” Peter turned back to James before Emma could say anything.
“Please, James,” I said, hoping he’d leave. Emma was about to cause a scene. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”
James glanced at the mess that was my mother. His face softened. “We’ll talk later?”
“Thank you.”
Before James could open his mouth, Peter swung his foot out and slammed the front door in his face.
“Peter!”
“What?”
Emma took a wobbly step into the room. “What’s going on, Alexandria? Why are you carrying her, Peter?”
She was such a mess. Did Ethan’s murder do this to her? What would she be like if he was alive? Would she have been coherent? Would my life be different? Would Ethan, Emma and I have been a real family?