Far From You

59

NOW (JUNE)

My eyes are heavy. It takes a huge effort to open them. I blink, trying to focus on the gray blur in front of me.

Upholstery.

We’re driving.

Adam’s driving. Speeding down the twisting road that goes around the lake.

Adam killed Mina.

And he’s going to kill me.

I have to stay awake. I blink rapidly, struggling to sit up.

Everything tilts crazily, making me dizzy, but maybe if I get upright, I won’t feel like puking.

Ten months. Five days.

Ten months. Five days.

I can do this. I’m a drug addict. I’m supposed to be good at this. I just have to fight the high. This is nothing.

It has to be nothing. I have to think—I need to get out alive. They’ll never know it was him, they’ll never catch him, if I don’t.

“Come on,” says Adam angrily.

Breathing quietly, I sneak a peek at the front seat. Sweat’s pouring off his forehead as he punches Send over and over on his phone. No one’s answering, and the third time, he finally leaves a voice mail: “I need you to come, okay? Just no questions. Meet me at Pioneer Rock. Now. Please.”

Who’s he talking to? Who’s going to come? Matt. They’re in it together.

I swing my legs so my feet touch down on the floor mat. I’m starting to feel less dizzy now that I know I’m messed up—whatever he dosed me with is starting to lose its edge already. I didn’t drink enough.

Adam’s focused on the road, and I scoot until I’m sitting up, close to the door. I can’t tell how far we’ve gone from the beach; the lake is miles long, nestled in hundreds of acres of dense forest.

They could dump my body anywhere. No one would find it.

How long had it been? Surely Rachel’s missed me by now.

He turns a curve too sharply, and the car jerks, tires skidding against the road, throwing me painfully against the door. We pass a sign that says PIONEER ROCK VISTA POINT (3 MILES).

Shit. We’re already on the other side of the lake.

I can’t jump out. The door’s unlocked, but he’s going too fast. I’d be dead the second I hit the road—but my phone’s still in my pocket. I can feel it, and I slide my butt down until it edges out, falling behind my back.

“What are you doing?” Adam snaps, and I freeze, our eyes meeting in the rearview mirror. I can feel nausea rising in the back of my throat, and I push it down. My eyes skitter to the door, then back to the mirror.

“Don’t even think about it,” Adam says. He raises the hand that isn’t clutching the wheel. The hand that’s holding the gun. “Sit still,” he commands.

I sag against the backseat, nudging my phone to the side with my hip.

He lowers the hand holding the gun to his lap, the other hand on the wheel. His attention is only half on the road, but it’s better than nothing.

I inch my bound hands to the side, brushing against the cell phone screen. It brightens, and I sigh in relief, unlocking it with a swipe, one eye still on Adam. My shoulder keeps knocking into the window because he’s taking the turns so fast.

I swipe the screen again, selecting the last person I texted: Trev.

Adam’s phone rings. My fingers skate across my cell’s screen. He startles, swears, and then yells into his phone. “Why weren’t you answering?” He flinches. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just—” He stops, listens. He’s completely focused on the conversation.

I seize the opportunity; it’s the only one I’ll get. I tap it out, awkward with tied hands: addam pionerock 911. I press Send and return my hands to my lap.

“You have to come!” Adam pleads into the phone. “Just meet me at the rock. I need your help.”

If I lean to the right, I can see the gun resting in his lap, just lying there. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way right now.” He pauses, his gaze skittering to me in the backseat. “I’ll explain then.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, his free hand going back to the gun. The car speeds up, winding down the mountain road. We’re almost to Pioneer Rock. I can see the light from the ranger’s station across the lake out the back window.

“You know this is crazy,” I tell him. “You took my car. ­People at the party are going to notice both of us are gone. Kyle sent you to watch me; he’ll notice.”

“Do you really think Kyle sent me after you?” Adam says. “Come on, Sophie. You’re smarter than that. Now, you’re gonna tell me who’s been helping you. I know about Trev. What’s the redhead’s name? Did you mix her and Kyle up in this? And the reporter? What did you say to him?”

I have to breathe deeply to keep from panicking. Remind myself that Trev is probably still with the cops. That Rachel and Kyle are safe in a crowd of people.

It’s just me who’s dead.

“What are you gonna do, Adam? Kill all of them, too?” I ask shakily. “You aren’t thinking this through. You thought it through before. I know you did. You were prepared last time. You brought the rebar and the pills so you wouldn’t have to kill me. That was smart. It worked, didn’t it? But you’re not ready this time, so why don’t you just think for a second?”

“Shut up.” Adam wipes fresh sweat off his face with a shaking hand. But as soon as he touches the gun again, his fingers steady, like the feel of it comforts him. “You’re gonna tell me everything you know. About Jackie. About Mina. And about who knows what you know. I’ll make you.”

There’s no reasoning with him. He’s going to kill me no matter what.

We round a curve, passing by another sign: PIONEER ROCK VISTA POINT (1 MILE).

I can’t waste another second—I need a plan. Now.

If I can’t calm him down, I might as well make him angry. Make him lose control, slip up. I need a window of opportunity.

“I’m not telling you shit,” I say, with a lot more strength than I’ve got. “You’re a fucking murderer, and so is your brother. Your whole family—there’s something wrong with you.”

In profile, I can see Adam’s pretty-boy face twist, the mean gleam in his eyes a stark contrast. His hand tightens on the gun. “Fuck you,” he growls between gritted teeth. “You don’t know shit about my family. We look out for each other. We rely on each other. We’d kill for each other. That’s what family does.”

It fills me, the anger, trampling every other feeling in its power. He took away the most important person in my life and he’s sitting there with a gun, ready to kill me, lecturing me about family. I want to throw myself at him. I want him writhing on the ground, want him to feel what she felt. I want him bleeding while I watch and laugh and refuse to call the ambulance until it’s too late.

I want him dead. Even if I have to do it myself.

The idea surges through me, giving me strength, and I push up on my knees on the backseat and lurch forward, clumsy with the drug and adrenaline. I manage to loop my bound arms around his neck; the edge of the zip tie bites into his windpipe, and I pull back with all the force I’ve got.

His cut-off gasp, stifled instantly by the zip tie, is the most perfect sound.

He jerks the wheel, an involuntary movement that nearly sends us into a tailspin down the mountain. Choking, he fights back, scrabbling to hook his free hand between my wrists as we swerve across the narrow two-lane road. Any second, we’ll veer off the pavement, down the red clay cliff on one side or tumbling into the lake on the other—and I don’t care. I don’t care. I hope we crash. It’ll be worth it, as long as he’s dead, too.

“Soph—” he gurgles, frantically clawing at me with his free hand, his blunt nails digging into my skin.

I lock my arms, muscles straining as I pull back as hard as I can. He’s wedged a fingertip between the zip tie and his neck, and my arms are trembling with the effort of resisting him. He’s so much stronger than I am, but if I can just hold out…

The gunshot splits the air, and the windshield implodes in a shower of shards. I flinch from the flying glass, jerking back, and suddenly Adam’s hands aren’t on the wheel anymore. One’s holding the gun and the other��s pinning my wrists, and the car’s spinning, too fast, too close to the safety rail. I have one second, one hysterical breath to take in before metal screeches and sparks, and we’re through the guard rail and racing down the slope, trees and boulders blurring as our speed picks up and I know it’s over. The end.

Third time’s the charm.