Page 10 of The Fix

Their footsteps slowed at the door of her room, and she sensed someone looking in. She held her breath, her body quivering. She swore she could feel their darkness like a shift in energy or a sudden drop of temperature.

We’re gonna have to make it so they can’t talk.

She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew it wasn’t good.

Were they going to take them along when they left?

Force them into their car and take them to a secondary location?

Some warehouse or basement where they’d never be found?

Kill them? Her thoughts scattered again, the fear overtaking the focus she’d achieved as she’d worked to get free.

“Start with the mom,” the one who’d been teary downstairs said. “It’s the decent thing to do.”

The word didn’t compute, not coming from the mouth of one of the men who’d spent the night abusing and torturing them.

AJ and Trig moved beyond her room, and she rubbed the tape aside from her mouth, lifted her head, and bent and retrieved the piece of glass beneath the edge of the pillow.

Start with the mom. Start with the mom. The words strummed over her nerve endings, the insinuation so horrifying it threatened to send her spinning.

The arm that she’d gotten free was still mostly useless.

She brought it down and blood started pouring back through her veins, the pain so intense she almost sobbed.

It would be clumsy and uncoordinated at best. It was free but still no good to her now.

She turned and began sawing at the tape on her other wrist with the piece of glass held between her teeth, picking up the pace despite the risk.

The sound of a muffled gunshot nearly made her heart explode from her chest, and she bit her tongue not to scream out loud, dropping the piece of glass behind the bed.

Mom! Mom! Oh God, Mom!

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” the man down the hall repeated again, his voice soggy and high pitched.

I’m going to get you help, Mom. Hold on. Hold on.

She clenched her jaw and lifted her limp arm with effort.

It was still mostly dead weight, but it was all she had.

She started going for the second piece of glass but changed her mind and instead used her trembling, unwieldy fingers to pick at the edge of the tape, peeling back enough to grip in her fist. Then she yanked with all her might.

She heard a ruckus down the hall, and she did sob then, tears streaming down her face and burning her raw cheeks. Elle was fighting in the only way she could. She was kicking and straining against her bonds. I’m coming, Elle. Keep fighting.

She heard them murmuring but couldn’t make out the words.

She yanked the tape, the bed banging on the floor, and if they heard it, they must have thought she was attempting to communicate with her sister.

And she hoped to God it was doing that too.

That with every thump and slam, Elle was reminded that Cami was there with her. She was not alone.

The tape was loose now, stretched enough that she twisted and finagled her hand out of it, pulling so hard that the skin of her wrist ripped off like that on her face.

She barely felt it, a gunshot causing her to cry out as she rolled to the floor, her arms flopping with her.

Cami sprang to her feet and ran for the door, rounding the bend, her feet soundless on the plush carpet.

They hadn’t left Elle’s room yet, but they’d be heading to Cami’s room momentarily. Gun, gun, gun. Get the gun. She panted, the tape still dangling off one side of her face as she ran for the primary bedroom on legs that barely worked yet managed to get her there.

Her mom was lying on the bed, her chest soaked in blood, a pillow with a burned hole in the middle tossed beside her. Cami turned her head and pressed her mouth against her own shoulder to keep from screaming. Get the gun, get the gun.

She turned toward the closet and lunged toward her dad’s dresser, going down on her knees as she lifted her arm that felt like it weighed fifty pounds and slid the drawer open. She heard them walking down the hall toward her room.

Cami pushed her dad’s shirts aside, the scent of her lifelong protector almost making her want to wail. It’s up to you now.

She heard the men curse violently as they discovered she’d escaped, heard them rush from the room. She scrabbled for the gun, her arms barely working. They felt like useless rubber even as hot blades were jabbing her mercilessly from beneath her skin. Oh God, the gun’s gone, it’s not here.

“Go block the door downstairs. She can’t get out of this house,” the one named Trig said.

“Camiiii, where are you, sweet thing?” Whereas their voices had sounded sullen and blubbery a few minutes before, this chase had obviously reinvigorated them.

Or at least the one calling for her in a singsong voice.

Trig. He sounded suddenly energetic and excited by this unexpected hunt. Terror pounded.

Cold metal then met her fingers, and she reached forward, gripped the firearm, and pulled it out.

She overcompensated because of her ineffective limb and the gun fell from her hand and went skittering under the dresser.

Cami fell on her butt and then spun around to face the door just as Trig came into view, holding his gun in front of him.

He stopped, a smile blooming over his sallow face, eyes rimmed in red.

He lowered the firearm and stepped inside the room, not sparing her mother a single glance.

Cami pulled in one stuttered breath after another as she looked up at him, her heart beating out of her chest as, behind her back, her fingertip met the gun.

“There you are. I knew you were a fighter.” He smirked.

“I would’ve liked to go a few rounds with you, unbound little wildcat.

” He turned his head very slightly. “Found her, AJ,” he called over his shoulder.

Then he focused on her again, his smile fading.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I admit things got out of hand, and we made some stupid moves.

Let you see us. I really am sorry. I hope you believe me.

” He raised the gun higher, aiming it at her.

She grimaced into her shoulder even as she pulled the gun forward and got a tentative grip on the handle.

The sudden ring of the doorbell made her jump, and Trig took a step back, looking behind him and ducking slightly as though the sound had spooked him.

She took the opportunity to pull the gun from under the dresser and raise it as she swung toward him.

And when he turned back toward her, his face registered a moment of shock before she said a silent prayer and pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded, her ears ringing as she was jolted backward, her spine slamming against the dresser.

She jerked her head up to see Trig’s eyes bugged from his head, his stomach blooming red.

I hit him. Oh my God, I hit him. A sound came from somewhere, a groan or a whimper, and she didn’t know if it was him or if it was her, but it stopped when his gun fell to the floor and then he stumbled backward, both his hands splaying over his bloody midsection.

Cami tried desperately to catch her breath, her heart slamming so hard it was blurring her vision.

Even so, she kept hold of her weapon, certain he was going to recover and lunge at her any second.

Trig went down on his knees, and then he fell forward with a loud thump and was still.

Cami watched as blood spread from his stomach onto the light-gray carpeting of her parents’ bedroom.

“Trig, you comin’? There’s someone at the front door,” the man named AJ called up the stairs in a loud whisper. “We gotta go.”

Cami jumped to her feet. AJ thought the shot had been Trig putting a bullet in her, not the other way around.

He’d be up the stairs in a minute and would confront her.

But if she shot at him from the top of the stairs, she’d have the higher ground.

Her arms were screaming with pain now as the blood flowed freely, but despite that, she had more control over them, and adrenaline was spurring her forward.

He didn’t know she was alive. The advantage belonged to her. A small window of opportunity.

She moved around Trig, leaving a wide berth, as she walked quickly to the doorway and out into the hall. Her attention was diverted momentarily by the sounds of sirens wailing somewhere nearby. It sounded like they were coming closer. The doorbell rang again, and then again.

“Trig?” AJ called again and Cami heard the uncertainty in his voice.

He was beginning to realize something was wrong.

Cami moved quickly to the top of the stairs, raised the gun, and fired at the man with black hair who’d turned and was heading back down.

The plaster on the wall next to him exploded, and he let out a yell as he ducked, hunched, and ran.

She stood there panting as she heard him open the sliding glass door to their deck, followed by the sounds of him running down the deck stairs.

The police sirens were screaming outside her house now. Whoever was ceaselessly ringing the bell must have called them.

Cami ran to her sister’s room and fell down on her knees beside her.

She looked like she was sleeping, even though the quilt at her chest was soaked in blood.

She brought her shaking fingers to her sister’s neck and held them there for several moments before letting out a sob.

She pulled the tape gently from her mouth and then set the gun down so she could cup her sister’s beautiful face in her hands.

I was too late. Oh, Elle. I’m so sorry. I was too late.

A loud bang from downstairs made her gasp, wood splintering as the police kicked in the door. “Aspen Cove Police! Show yourself!”

Cami picked up the gun and stood, almost losing her balance but catching herself.

The world around her had turned to watercolor, sheets of rain washing over her, and she could barely understand the words being shouted from below.

She waded back to the primary bedroom, holding on to the hallway wall so as not to fall.

“Someone went out the back! Jefferson, this way.” She thought she heard Mrs. Willoughby from far away. It sounded like she was crying. A male voice told her to stay outside.

“There’s a man in the office, tied up. He needs a medic now.”

“They’re en route. Two minutes away.”

She made it to her mother and sank down on the bed and pressed her face into her mother’s warm neck and inhaled her scent, sobs racking her body.

She thought she felt something—a gust of breath that cooled her wet cheek and lifted her head, to see her mother’s lashes fluttering so very slightly.

“Mom, Mom,” she sobbed, peeling the tape back gently as she’d done to Elle.

Then she turned and called over her shoulder, “Up here! We need help!” Her voice sounded overly soft.

She couldn’t push it from her chest. But she heard the sounds of approaching footsteps and knew someone was coming.

“Hold on, Mom.” She pushed her mom’s hair off her face, running her hand across her brow.

Her mom reached up and gripped her arms. “Cami ... Cami. Oh my ... God, Cami.”

“Shh, don’t talk. Help is coming. Just hang on.”

Her mother shook her slightly as an officer rushed into the room.

“Do of,” her mother said, her voice so weak Cami could barely hear her. “Do ... of ... her.”

The officer was looking at her with wide eyes. He swallowed as he approached, and she looked back to her mother. “So ... sorry. Love ... you. So much.” And then with a gurgle, blood bubbled from her mouth, and she went slack.

“Mom!” The officer’s hand wrapped around her arm, and she tried to shake him off but he held tighter and pulled her from the bed easily.

More people ran into the room wearing white.

They had a stretcher and as Cami stumbled aside, she saw more people in uniforms race down the hall toward Elle’s room.

But Cami knew Elle was already gone.

The same officer leaned toward her, his face blurring as his mouth moved.

He was saying something, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Dad, Dad. Cami shook free of his arm and turned and ran from the room, hitting each hallway wall as she threw herself forward, practically tumbling down the stairs, the sound of her name being called from somewhere.

She made it to the hall that led to the foyer just as her father was being taken from his office on a stretcher. His face was bruised, his eye swollen, but he was awake. He was alive. He turned his head and looked at her, his expression crumpling as he began to sob.

“Ma’am, please. Let us help you. You’re hurt.” Someone was trying to lead her away, but she had to get to her dad. She had to be with him. He was all she had left.

He reached his hand toward her, and she reached back but she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, the walls closing in, the ceiling lowering, and then she was crushed beneath the weight.