Moment(s)

  “No one is coming,” I say and ease in front of Emilie. Once again I mind my self-defense moves. Doug’s moves.

  “Perfect,” he says and points to bar stools beside Emilie’s parents. “Sit. You’re just in time for the good stuff, rock star.”

  I position the barstool at the end where I can still be in front of Emilie, though I lean against it instead of sit. All of us are mostly in one line now, looking at Mark, waiting for his next move. How come her parents are just sitting there? Do something, Mr. Gold. He’s retired from the American military. He should know how and when to do battle. Get. Up. Off. Your. Arse.

  “So, as I was saying,” Mark says. The icing puckers while he pushes the knife through one side of the cake. “Dear ole Emilie took my spot, and I mean to fix the problem.”

  “H-how?” Emilie peeks around my arm. “Take your spot?”

  “The adopted brother you whined about…the one you pretended to care about.” He taps his chest with the frosting-covered knife, white cream smears over camouflage. “Me.”

  Mrs. Gold gasps. Her shoulders lift, but nothing happens with her arms like I was expecting. Both of them are acting like statues.

  And Emilie groans behind me.

  “Don’t puke, girl.” He licks the knife. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Remember, I never touched you. That’s disgusting.”

  And she thought he was gay. I reach behind me for her hand then jerk back, my eyes never leaving his sweaty face. There’s no way to know what will aggravate him more. But my arms are full of suppressed energy. I’ve got that restless leg syndrome except it’s in my arms. My cure is simple: Let me get Emilie out of here. Or at least let me comfort her. The emotion is fairly rolling off of her and onto my shoulders. Confusion. Feeling stupid. Sadness. It’s a sadness that makes your feet stick to the ground. Her head presses against my back, and her chin trembles between my shoulder blades.

  Mr. Gold leans forward. “You found us, Mark. It’s a really good thing. Really good. But why…why did you have to kill all those people?”

  “I learned from you, Pops.” Mark grins. “How many people did you kill in Iraq and Afghanistan? Come on. Tell me. I want to be just like you.”

  Mr. Gold drops his head to the bartop like he’s feeling defeated. No! For fuck’s sake do something. You get him from behind and I’ll get the knife.

  “I only wanted to be like my daddy. My daddy who gave me away. And a year-and-a-half later had this girl. I convinced my fake parents that Alexandria was the place to settle down after our house ‘accidentally’ burned up.” He does air quotes for the accidental fire. “I’m pretty convincing. I must have got that from you, Mommy. You convinced him to give me up, but keep Emilie.

  “You did a good job with Emilie.” He tilts his head and smiles at his parents. “I came to Virginia to kill her, but she had to be nice. She welcomed the new kid. I couldn’t do it! And then this one dude pissed me off. His neck snapped like a stick. Watching the news I found out he had the same middle name as Emilie. It was obvious I needed toughening up, so I figured I’d do the next best thing—kill off people with her letters, and she would be my last E. But I still couldn’t kill her. She’s pretty lovable, isn’t she, Julian?”

  He smiles and drags his eyes away from his parents. The dark blue gaze lands on me. How could they not know this was their son? Emilie’s and his eyes are exactly the same. Except for the feeling. Emilie’s are full of emotion. Mark’s are just wild.

  “But your fans don’t love her, do they, Julian?” He smile gets bigger. “I’ll have to take the credit for some of the hate. That was fun—every time it looked like they were calming down, I revved them back up again. Things got even more interesting when I decided to use the them as target practice.”

  Oh God. No, don’t tell me this. Flames torch my neck and move upward.

  “It was you that gave me the idea, ole Daddy.” He turns back and taps the knife against the bar in front of Mr. Gold. “The murders, not revving up Julian’s fans. Yeah, I told you about the piss test coming up and laughed about the idea I’d ever get high. And you said not everyone took drugs for a good time. Sometimes it’s a performance thing. You remember saying that? Remember telling me that you hoped I never did it because it makes people mean?” He laughs. “Worked like one of Emilie’s charms—pissed off all the time.”

  And now my face burns so much that I swear I’ll have blisters tomorrow if I survive this night. The fury is too much—I want to strike him, shake him until his brain is nothing but pebbles. I could beat him senseless if I knew Emilie wouldn’t get between us. If only Mr. Gold would make his move, I’d get Mark from this angle, and Emilie would never be in any danger.

  He tilts his head from side to side. “I guess I gave new meaning to kicking ass and taking names. Anyhow, I’m ready to finish my puzzle.”

  “No!” Mrs. Gold shouts.

  “Relax, Ma. It’ll only take a minute, and I’ll be in my rightful place, okay?”

  I look from Mark to Mr. Gold—why hasn’t he put Mark to the ground yet? Surely Mr. Gold is going to do something. He’s not out of shape either. A cake knife is no match.

  And Mark cracks necks. He wouldn’t get his hands around anyone’s neck with me and Mr. Gold here.

  This has gone on long enough. I’m not listening to this shite anymore. The muscles tense in my legs. I look at Mr. Gold and arc my eyes back to Mark, trying to get my point across to the former that I’m ready to take action and soon.

  “Relax your fists, dude,” Mark says. “You wouldn’t come out on top.”

  “No,” Emilie moans. “He has a gun.”

  “That’s right. While Emilie and I were dating, Daddy here taught me how to shoot…hunt. Taught me how to survive in the woods forever if I needed to.”

  Mrs. Gold cries. Where’s Hannah?

  “This birthday party is boring. I’m ready to head. Come here, Emilie, and give your brother a hug.”

  I hold my hands out to keep her from walking around me in case she’s thinking of sacrificing herself. “You don’t want her yet. You haven’t finished.”

  “Oh, really.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair. Bits of icing cling here and there, looking like snow.

  Stop looking at his shite hair. Think. When it comes to me what to do, I’m pissed that it didn’t come sooner. “That wasn’t Meyer’s real name. He was Italian—ZeMeyer.”

  “Not that it matters, but how do you propose I fix that?”

  I get right in front of him. “Take me.”

  He leans forward, our noses almost touching. “How does Julian fit into that?”

  “Stage name.” Now there is emotion in his eyes. Anger. “My real name is Miller.”

  “Eww, should I leak it to the press?” His eyes shine. “I don’t care about the stupid names. It was just practice.”

  “But what about a son-in-law? I’ve replaced you, Mark, you bastard child.” Emilie gasps behind me. “Not Emilie. I. Replaced. You.”

  He doesn’t react like I would’ve thought. The steroids in his system were supposed to take over and he’d tackle me. And put his back to Mr. Gold.

  Instead, he throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true. Why do you think she got emancipated?” The sound of Emilie crying tugs at me. “She told them it was to travel and sell her songs unfettered. But it was really so we could get married.”

  Tears run down Mrs. Gold’s cheeks, but she makes no sound. Mr. Gold’s face is red and still. I don’t think he has blinked.

  “Julian,” Emilie cries. “Shut up, Julian.”

  I hold my hand back for hers. “See? We fight like an old married couple already.”

  “And why isn’t news of your happy marriage splattered all over?”

  I shrug. “It isn’t good for the lead singer in a rock band to get married. Gotta keep that secret from all my girl fans. That pisses you off even more, doesn’t it, Mark? The man who your father calls son is more talented than yo
u.” I unthread my fingers from Emilie’s and hold out my hands, trying to show him I am everything he isn’t. “Hotter than you. Makes more money than you could dream of. Famous.”

  “Well-played.” He nods. “Alright, then. You can come with us.”

  Emilie jerks at the back of my shirt. “Julian!”

  Mrs. Gold is making more noise with her crying.

  “No.” I wave my hand to indicate Emilie behind me. “She’s only a girl. I’m the son.”

  “Stop it,” Emilie cries.

  “Shut up,” Mark says calmly, but I spot it. Something in his face is tenser than before. So I have to press on. Make him angry at me.

  “You’re the one who got us together, you did.” I can feel a light pressure on my back, and I can almost imagine Emilie pressing her forehead to me. “The night I saw her, she was making a wish behind the arena, my arena, I’d just played at. She was there because of your disappearing act.”

  He shakes his head slowly.

  “I’m the new son, Mark, and you’re the one who made it happen.”

  Still no reaction! How is Mr. Gold supposed to get him from behind if I can’t get the boy to attack me?

  Mark pulls a gun from the back of his waistband. “Both of you, out the front door.”

  I reach back for both of Emilie’s hands and move her with me. We’re against the wall now, Emilie sandwiched in between. And my full view of the Gold’s is open for the first time. Their hands and legs are taped to the stool. Oh, my God. I guess it’s just as well Mark didn’t react. It would have left Emilie getting between us.

  Mark shoves us both into the living room and toward the front door.

  Mrs. Gold is sobbing loudly now. Mr. Gold yells, “Mark, no! Get back here and let’s talk this out.”

  My mind reels with the new possibilities. Once we’re outside, Emilie can run? But she won’t leave me. Or she might if she thinks she’s just going to call for help.

  There’s no chance once we’re outside, though. He has us walk a couple of meters apart, so I can’t exactly whisper anything. And I’m not like her—I can’t say a whole lot with my eyes.

  He pushes us over to a black car at the side of the house, and pops open the trunk. “Get in.”

  I eye the small trunk. Aye, I can get us out, but Emilie will go mad in there.

  What could he do if I just told her to keep her mind about her? “Stay calm.”

  “Not you,” he says when I loop my leg over the edge. “Her.”

  I glance back; her lips tremble.

  “It’ll be fine, Emilie,” I say and try to get in front of him. She doesn’t realize there’s a pull cord, and I have to figure out a way to let her know. I guess he’s going to put me up front with him. When he stops the car, she can hop out and make a run for it.

  But she won’t look at me. I grab her hand.

  “I’ll do it, Julian.” Her voice is soft, emotionless.

  “She’ll do it, Julian.” He moves over behind her and gives her a tug.

  And she finally meets my eyes. Blue eyes—not soft, not sweet. Hard and determined.

  What is she going to do? I almost want to give her away. Would she sacrifice herself for me? Yes.

  But she could save both of us. I shake my head just a fraction before she allows herself to be pushed backward.

  “In you go.”

  She folds her legs in, keeping her eyes on me the whole time.

  Maybe she knows about the emergency release.

  Wait, this guy is a shrimp, and Emilie is out of the way now. I can take him. He moves backward two steps and grins.

  “Are you gonna get up there with me?” He waves the gun toward the front of the car. “Or are we gonna to fight about it?” He presses the gun against the trunk—right where her head should be.

  Her soft cries reach my ears. My heart cringes. Just get in the car. Go down the road so she can jump out already. I gesture to the door closest to me. “Just waiting on you.”

  We don’t stay on the paved road long. The blacktop ends and we’re bumping down a dirt-covered road with enough ruts to give Emilie brain damage.

  But the further he drives, the more positive I am that she knows about the pull cord. Not long ago, Kasen told us about his big brother locking him in the trunk, and it’s how he got out. She has to remember; that’s what the determined look was about.

  He slows the car down and turns, stopping at a security gate. We’re stopped a full thirty seconds while he punches some numbers. Why isn’t she getting out?

  Blast her. She’s staying with me!

  He pulls forward when the gates move. “Fancy, huh?” he asks as we pull forward and head to a massive house on a hill. “The owners liked it too. Fought hard to protect it.”

  But we only make it halfway up the drive before I spot blue lights revolving across his face. He glances at the review mirror.

  “Fuck! How? You called them.”

  I twist around and spot several pairs of headlights. Either Emilie had a mobile hidden in her clothes or her parents got free. Or someone noticed I was missing at the hotel. “Sure, with my mental telepathy, didn’t I?”

  He jerks the wheel and we head off the drive, bumping so hard my head hits the ceiling over and over. The field is like rippled water but less forgiving. I can’t imagine how Emilie is faring back there. At least one tire is off the ground as we rip through a field the length of a football pitch. I’m still trying to get a grip on my seat and hold myself down when I notice blood on Mark’s forehead. He jerks his head up from the steering wheel, his eyes widen, and he laughs. I turn just in time to see the old oak tree wrap its unforgiving branches around us.

  The sound of creaking metal is painful all by itself. My shoulder and arm against the windshield is enough to break it and me too.

  Chapter 26

  The windshield doesn’t splinter into a thousand bits, just crunches when I push away from it. I can’t see anything at first. It feels like warm milk on my forehead and in my eyes. It’s thick when I wipe it away.

  Emilie. In the trunk. I have to get her. Have to—

  The door won’t open all the way. I push as hard as I can. My elbow crunches, sounding a lot like the windshield. I jerk my head around to Mark when I hear shouting, but it isn’t him. He’s leaning against his door. One of his eyes is closed and one open, washed in his own blood. I blast the door again and shout when pain jolts across my neck and shoulders.

  “Emilie, I’m coming.” I pat Mark down and find his gun. The side window shatters when I slam the gun into it. Raking as much glass away with the gun as I can, I climb out. “Please be okay.”

  The sirens still sound so far away. Where did the car that was chasing us earlier go?

  All of my breath leaves me when I fall to the ground back first. But there’s no time to get it back. My heart throbs in my ears while I crawl to my feet and get around to the back of the car. Just as I get there, the hatch flies open. And there she is, wide-eyed and looking unharmed.

  “I couldn’t…leave you.” She winces when she crawls out. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding. Tell me you’re okay.”

  I try to assure her, but I still don’t have breath. My elbow crunches again when I rub my chest. Breathe, breathe! But I only heave and shudder.

  She touches my forehead then my hair. “Oh, God. So much bl—talk to me, Julian.”

  I grab her hand and kiss her palm. And little by little, air inches back into my lungs. “Okay.”

  Her eyes widen and she nods. “Okay? You’re okay?”

  “You?” I ask, getting air in my lungs little by little. I rub my hands across her shoulders down her arms, and she winces. “What hurts?”

  “I landed on my arm with all the bumping.”

  My gashed up, dirty hand reaches for her face. I barely touch her chin.

  Tears pool in her eyes. “Is Mark d—?” A sob shakes her shoulders. “My brother. Oh, my God, Julian. My brother.”

  I wish I knew what was messing with h
er more: that she hung around her brother all this time without knowing who he was, that he tried to kill us, or that he’s in the car now, massively bleeding and probably dead.

  Right, all three. “I’m sorry, Emilie. Truly sorry.”

  The sirens get louder, the lights brighter.

  A cough comes from inside the car. When Mark drops out of his window backward, I can hardly believe it.

  The gun is only a couple of meters away where I dropped it.

  “Come here, Emilie,” he says and laughs (or coughs). “We have unfinished business.”

  “No.” I scoop the gun up and point it at his wavering figure.

  Emilie shouts.

  My finger trembles on the trigger. I can’t do it. I can’t kill her brother right in front of her. “Emilie isn’t going anywhere with you because you’re staying right here and waiting for the police.”

  The coppers pass over the last hill; their lights are beaming right at us now.

  Mark turns and stumbles away. The sound of his footsteps doesn’t last long.

  “Mark,” Emilie whispers.

  A massive truck pulls up, flooding the area with heavy lights. I look around, sure I’ll see Mark collapsed on the ground. But he’s nowhere to be found. I drop Emilie’s hand and run forward. He is not getting away. I won’t be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life. And I’m not trusting Emilie will be safe from him as long as he’s free.

  “Wait!” Emilie shouts. She’s probably confused. Not knowing if she’d rather him get away or stay and be put in prison.

  This decision isn’t hers. I quicken my pace, determined more than ever he will be put away.

  There’s a grunt from up ahead of me.

  “Julian!” Emilie’s scream flies all through me. Burning me. And she screams again. My God, I can’t handle the terror in her voice. I grind to a stop, my legs stiff and full of untapped adrenaline.

  A strong beam of light roves over the land, and I look down. To nothing. The tips of my shoes tilt downward. On the edge of a massive cliff. My body wavers over the endless darkness until, finally, I lean backward and fall to the ground. Emilie comes over and loops her one good arm under both of mine, trying to drag me back.