Page 45 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

I must have blacked out for only a few seconds, because when I opened my eyes, I saw a blurry figure backlit at the top of the stairs. My body, especially my knee, was exploding in coronas of pain, but fear took over as the figure began to descend the steps.

Someone is trying to kill me.

Adrenaline surged through me. I’d never been a fighter, but I instinctively understood that I had to get up.

I rolled onto my stomach, absolute panic overwhelming the pain, and got on all fours.

I started to inch away, but by then the figure had reached me, and I felt a sudden blow to my back, the impact excruciating.

Whatever hit me was hard and heavy, and it left me wheezing for breath.

The darkness was complete, and I could see nothing at all.

Nonetheless I lurched forward on all fours.

Another blow struck my shoulder, pain electrifying the length of my arm, leaving my fingers tingling, but I somehow lunged again.

My head collided with the washing machine, and I reached up and pulled, trying to get to my feet.

Another blow glanced off my upper back as I was rising, but I spun to the side, smashing into the laundry table.

The next blow narrowly missed me, and I heard the crash of wood on the metal washer, darkness finally aiding me.

That one would have killed me, I registered dully.

Turning, I grabbed for anything I could find.

It was the box of laundry detergent, and I heaved it, hearing a thud as it connected with the attacker, but it did little to slow whoever it was.

I heaved the bottle of bleach next in a frantic motion before I latched onto the iron.

I turned and swung, the iron colliding into flesh.

I stepped forward, swinging wildly again, feeling a sudden fury combined with a primal will to survive.

Another one of the swings landed hard, and I heard a yelp, followed by the sound of something wooden hitting the concrete.

I surged forward to press my advantage, swinging the iron and ignoring the agonizing pain in my knee.

My foot kicked something. Judging by the sound as it bounced and rolled across the concrete, it might have been a baseball bat.

It was then that the attacker must have turned away; an instant later, I barely made out a figure fleeing up the steps.

I staggered after, my knee on fire, but by the time I reached the staircase, I could see no one.

Gasping, I used the railing to pull myself up the stairs.

In the pantry, I anticipated another attack, but it was empty.

I limped through a house now dimmed by dusk and reached the front door. Limping onto the porch, I looked around frantically, just in time to spot a distant figure disappearing into the shadow of the woods, toward the road.

With my knee, I knew there was no way I could catch whoever it was, not to mention survive another confrontation.

· · ·

I dragged myself back to the kitchen, my body trembling with adrenaline, and put a hand on the counter to steady myself.

Pain radiated from my back and shoulder, where the blows had landed, spreading fire all the way to my organs, and I could barely put any weight on my knee.

I must have wrenched it badly in my tumble.

After a long time, my breath began to stabilize and my mind cleared, but I remained shaky.

I tentatively stretched out my arms and winced as I rolled my shoulders, wondering if anything was broken.

I gently touched my ribs, and while my entire side throbbed, nothing protruded, and the pain, although sharp, was bearable.

I needed my phone to call the police, but it was lost somewhere in the cellar. I considered lighting one of the candles Louise had left in the foyer, but I didn’t think I could navigate the steps with it in my hand.

But even if I had my phone, what would I tell them?

That I was pushed down the stairs and attacked but had no idea who’d done it; at best, I could only offer my hunches.

I thought of Nash, Dax, and Griffin, realizing if I could find them—if I knew with certainty where each of them was at this very moment—I might know who’d attacked me.

Whoever it was still had to be in the vicinity.

I didn’t have time to waste talking to the police. The killer had just been here.

It was a better idea to call Oscar, and a quick glance out the window let me know that Reece and Louise had returned.

But I also needed a weapon in case the attacker had doubled back for a second run at me.

I thought about grabbing a butcher knife but wasn’t sure I was steady or strong enough for another close-in encounter.

Instead, I staggered to the parlor and scanned the room, ultimately seizing the poker from the fireplace, along with my wallet and keys.

I clung to the railing with both hands as I descended the porch steps, the poker beneath my armpit.

I could feel my knee growing stiffer as I hobbled across the lawn toward the lights of the cottage.

The first stars had begun to appear in the nighttime sky.

At the front door of the cottage, I knocked, then pounded.

It took a few moments, but Louise pulled open the door, still wearing the fancy dress I’d seen her in earlier, though she’d topped it with an apron.

“Oh my God!” she cried, her eyes widening. “You’re bleeding! Are you all right?”

I reached up, the blood in my hair staining my fingers, thinking, I’ve gotten more head wounds in Heatherington than I’ve had in the rest of my life combined.

“I need to borrow your phone,” I rasped through dry lips, but she was barely listening. She looked terrified.

“We just got back—what happened to you?”

Behind her, I heard Reece call out, “Who is it, Louise?”

“Will you please get the phone?” I urged.

“Are you calling the police?” Her voice trembled. “Maybe Reece can help—”

“Please!” I snapped, holding out my hand. I watched as her eyes flashed to the poker.

“Louise?” Reece’s voice sounded impatient.

“It’s Tate,” she called over her shoulder before pulling out an old-fashioned flip phone from the pocket of her apron.

Without a word, I took it and moved away from the door so I wouldn’t be overheard. I called Oscar, quickly explaining what had happened and what I needed.

When he realized that I wasn’t going to listen to his pleas to go straight to the hospital or the police, he reluctantly agreed to my requests.

· · ·

Back in the house, I stood before the mirror in the foyer and saw how I’d appeared to Louise.

There was blood in my hair and on my cheek, which I hurriedly used a dish towel to remove.

My scalp was tender to the touch, but like my previous head wound, it seemed manageable.

The throbbing in my back and shoulder had settled into a dull but constant ache, but my knee was a different matter.

With every step I took, pain shot through my body like an electric jolt.

Still, I knew what I had to do, and I limped to my car, the fireplace poker still in hand.

The roads were quiet, but as I neared the fairground, the traffic picked up, and half a mile out, cars and trucks were parked on both sides of the road.

Hoping I’d find someplace closer to park, I continued to the lot, where I was waved off by an attendant wearing an orange vest. Forced to return the way I’d just come, I eventually found a spot near the other late arrivals, a long way from the entrance.

I slowly hobbled toward the fairground, the sound of thumping music and microphone feedback gradually growing louder.

My knee was swelling with every step, but I gritted my teeth, forcing myself forward.

Oscar’s SUV eventually drew up alongside me; he was no doubt looking for a place to park just as I had.

He must have recognized me because his brake lights flashed, and after a moment I arduously climbed into the Escalade, hoisting my bad leg after me.

“I warned you,” he said as soon as I closed the door. “I literally warned you that it wasn’t a good idea to threaten a murderer, didn’t I?”

“If I hadn’t confronted them, we wouldn’t be closing in on them now.”

“Do you still think you can suss out which one of them was at the house tonight?”

“Hopefully, the innocent will tell us where they’ve been or who they’ve been with, meaning they’ll have alibis.”

“This really is something for the police to handle.”

“We went over this on the phone already.”

“You’re making a mistake. Even if we do find Griffin or Dax or Nash, what makes you think they’ll answer your questions? You’ll be lucky if you’re not attacked again.”

He had a point, but I was unmoved. We’d been given an opening, and I had to pursue it.

“Drop me off as close as you can,” I said. “I’ll wait for you.”

He pulled over near the entrance to the parking area, and I opened the door. Then, remembering, I asked, “Why did you call me earlier today?”

“To let you know that Aldrich pushed our meeting to tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll park and be back as soon as I can.”

After I got out, Oscar turned the Escalade around and drove back the way we’d come. Time seemed to slow, minutes passing like hours, before he reappeared.

“I feel like I had to park in Florida,” he said, panting. “I think everyone from the Cape is here. How the hell are we going to find these guys?”

“I have some ideas,” I answered.

I limped alongside Oscar, eyeing the scores of people waiting in line for tickets. Oscar pointed toward the VIP area.

“Let me see if Griffin left us the passes he promised. I know we pissed him off, but he might have forgotten to cancel them.”

At the VIP table, I watched as Oscar showed his ID. A minute later, he was walking toward me, digging through an envelope and then pulling out a couple of wristbands. “Not that you care, but there are lanyards for backstage passes, too.”