Page 47 of Blood Ties

Kai

I ’m not sure how much time I spend in the attic. The days all blur together. There’s nothing to do but stare out the window and talk to Momma, who never talks back. I remember how close I was to getting her and Riley out of here, and my chest aches.

My body slowly recovers from the beating Dad gave me. I eat the food Knox brings and refuse to talk to him. Ignore the temptation to ask him if Riley is okay.

Then, one day, I bite down into my sandwich and hit something hard. I gag, spit it out in my palm, and stare: a key.

I look up at the locked door that’s been keeping me trapped here. It’s daytime, and I heard Dad’s truck pull out earlier. Is Knox gone, too?

Either way, it’s safe for me to leave the room. I slide the key into the lock until it clicks, and slowly push it open, stepping outside for the first time in days.

Definitely days, though I’m not sure how many. It must be nearly the weekend. Maybe they’re going hunting. Is that why Knox decided to set me free today? What is he planning?

Knox’s thoughts have always been a mystery to me, and now more than ever. I tried to stab him the other day. I threatened to kill him. But he let me out.

I don’t think he’d hurt me. Not intentionally.

But he would hurt Riley. So after a moment’s hesitation, I head into his empty room and dig that box out from under the bed.

I frown as I pull the lid off and look inside.

I set aside the polaroids, and magazines, but the key is missing, along with the cash. So is Momma’s necklace.

The photograph of me is still stuck there, upside-down, something written on the back. I pick it up, and sound out the jagged letters: WAIT FOR TONIGHT.

I stare, an uneasy feeling prickling the back of my neck.

Not just because of the words, but because he left this knowing I could read it.

He must know about Riley’s lessons with me, even though I never told him.

I have an unsettling mental image of him standing at the basement door, ear pressed against it, listening.

He always knows more than I think he does.

I set aside the box and try to think. Knox wants me to wait until tonight.

I thought trying to escape at night was a bad idea, but.

.. that was assuming Knox might get in my way.

If he’s helping me, then we could catch Dad by surprise.

Handle him before Frank can get here. Then we’ll have a gun when our uncle shows up.

We could leave together. Me, Knox, Riley, Momma. Is that what Knox wants? How does he imagine that working out? Riley hates him. I hate him.

I remember his words a while ago: one happy fuckin’ family.

I sigh, put the box aside, and push up to my feet. “Not gonna happen, Knox.”

His help would make it more likely for me to survive this... but I gave up on that idea a long time ago. Just like I’ve given up on the idea that I could pull this off without hurting anybody.

With a heavy heart, I trudge down the stairs.

Time to end this.

*

A S I LIMP OUT THE FRONT yard and down the dirt path, I feel like I’m going to get caught at any second. Any moment now, Dad’s truck will come peeling around the turn and find me here in the middle of the road. Or Uncle Frank will emerge from his shack and catch me out of the attic.

The closer I get to the barn with the tools I need, the closer I am to Frank’s shack. I slow, pressing myself against the side of the building and listening hard.

There’s a faint creak from inside. When I peer around the corner, I see his shadow passing in front of the window, back and forth and back again. He’s in there. It’d be all too easy for him to look out the window and see me going into the barn.

There are weapons inside the building, but I don’t think a single one of them can help me against my mountain of an uncle. He’ll snap me like a toothpick if he gets his hands on me.

Which is why I brought a distraction.

I creep closer, closer, ducking down so he won’t see me out the window, and set the half-empty bottle of whiskey right in front of his door. Then I dart back. I wait a few seconds, and when there’s no reaction from inside, I toss a pebble at his window.

His door slams open. There’s a pause, and then lumbering steps come out from the shack. There’s a grunt as he bends to pick up the whiskey. I picture him looking around, wondering who left it.

Or maybe he doesn’t wonder at all. There isn’t much going on inside that big head, I don’t think.

Which means he wanders back inside, taking a noisy gulp from the bottle before he slams the door shut again.

Just like I thought, he won’t question his luck.

He’ll just enjoy his bottle of whiskey, and the rat poison I added to it.