There was one more room to check before I went down the stairs and explored the back side of the house.
I stepped back into the hallway and stopped.
I saw her foot first.
She wasn’t wearing her boot from that night in the car, and her toes were bloody and swollen, but I knew it was her. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I nudged the door open. It slowly revealed my sister tied in a chair. Her legs were spread, and she would’ve fallen over, still tied to the chair, if it hadn’t been secured to a big bed behind her. Her whole body slumped forward. Even before I touched her I could tell she was unconscious.
As long as she wasn’t dead.
Holding my breath, I moved closer. I felt like I was sneaking in, my heart breaking, but there was no one around to catch me. It was her and me. My god. Be alive. Be alive. Please, be alive. I prayed silently as I neared her. I took in the matted blood in her hair, the black and blue bruises all over her body, the way her shirt and pants had been ripped away, and I reached out. But what was I doing? How do you waken someone who’s been tortured because she took your place? No. I shut that voice down, and my finger touched her head.
I pushed her, and kept holding my breath.
She didn’t respond.
I closed my eyes, crying silently. I pressed my fingers to her neck. At first, there was nothing, and I opened my mouth in a silent cry. But then I felt a beat, beat, beat. I almost fell down. She had a pulse. She was alive.
“Andrea,” I whispered.
Bending down at her feet, I looked for what held her captive. Her hands were in plastic ties. I needed to cut through them. Scissors. I looked around the room—nothing. A lone dresser stood against one wall, but the drawers were open. Nothing in them. I glanced at the pillow and bed. Nothing. The sheets were torn off and thrown on the floor. There were only two empty hangers in the closet.
Nothing. I couldn’t even fucking cut my sister free.
The leather case hit my arm as I swung around in frustration. I heard the clink of knives.
Cursing my stupidity, I rushed to her and sank to my knees. Taking a knife out, I began cutting away the ties. “Andrea, Andrea, Andrea. Please. Andrea, Andrea, Andrea. Wake u—” I chanted.
My knife tore the last of the plastic, and she fell over. I scooted back—had I hurt her worse?—as she gasped awake. Her body twisted to the side as she woke, and I stood to step back, pressing my hands, with a knife clutched between my fingers, against my stomach. I could only wait and see her reaction.
She looked at the other side of the room, then scrambled to sitting. Her eyes were wild, and her mouth gaped as she saw me. “Emma?” she gasped.
I knelt next to her. “You’re okay?”
“Wha—”
A blood-curdling scream sounded from somewhere in the house. We both jumped.
She asked, “Who—”
“Come on.” I gestured for her to stand. “We have to go. Now.”
“Em—” But she pushed herself up. Her legs were unsteady, so I grabbed her arm, helping to balance her. The scream sounded again.
“Wha—who was that?”
Not human. At least, it didn’t sound human. The high-pitched scream made my stomach roll over. I only shook my head, though. “We have to go. Now,” I said again.
“Okay.” She held onto me. “Okay. Thank you, Emma. Thank you.”
It was my fault. I couldn’t say anything in return. My fingers clutched her arm, and I clasped a hand to her shoulder. Together, like that, we made our way down the stairs. She gestured ahead. “Through the kitchen. There’s a back area.”
I nodded.
As we came to the kitchen, I made sure she could stand alone, and then I stepped inside. I needed to go first, in case someone was there. I would fight back, not her, but no one was there. A door was off its hinges behind the stove. I could see a small walkway back there. I gestured for Andrea, and she scurried behind me. She took hold of the back of my shirt, and I edged forward, holding a gun in my hand. The scream came from that way.
They were back there.
One step at a time, we inched forward.
The walkway was small and narrow. I could see lights below it. It led into an area that seemed to be underground. There was shouting below us.
“No! Ahhh—”
Others yelled, but all of them were interrupted as a gunshot sounded. Whatever was below, or whoever, they were killing the people yelling.
“You fu—”
Another gunshot.
The person silenced.
“Emma,” Andrea whispered. “We should go.”
Carter was down there. I shook my head. “No.”
“Emma.” She tugged again. “You don’t understand. These people—”
Bang!
We both jumped. That shot was so near that my eardrums echoed from the deafening sound. Holding a hand over my ear, I stepped to an open doorway. Then my heart sank, again.
A man stood with his back to me, and he held a gun, aimed at Carter. Drake was on the floor with blood spilling from him. I scanned his body. The gunshot was in his shoulder. I hoped the bullet had gone clear through, like with Peter.
Carter saw us, but averted his eyes right away.
This was life or death.
I untangled Andrea’s hand from my shirt and edged forward. When she realized I was leaving her there, she shook her head. But it had to be this way. She had to stay. I told her this silently with my hand, then held a finger to my mouth. She also needed to remain quiet. Her head bobbed up and down. She seemed to understand what I was going to do.