Christie Road
Better Think Again Cause No One Knows
Billie's heart was beating fast, and his stomach did a lazy roll. His eyes scanned the dark basement again, wondering how he could have missed her. He had searched every niche, every shadow—there was nowhere left for her to hide.
Then where had she gone?
A sudden bang made him jump, and as he looked in the direction of the sound, he saw the window swinging lazily on its hinges, the wind whistling around its frame like a banshee. It must have been only minutes ago that she was here, he realized, and for an instant he thought he could catch a faint trace of the strawberry scent of her hair.
Hands shaking, he wondered frantically if he should try to find her. She couldn't be far away, and in the quiet of the wee hours of the morning, her footsteps just might be audible. He debated running upstairs for his sneakers, but it would waste precious moments.
The metal window frame bit into the soles of his feet as he hoisted himself through the opening and dropped onto the cool, damp grass. The dew had already settled, and the hem of his sweatpants felt cold against his skin.
"Jasmine?" he whispered, his voice husky. Somewhere in the distance, the wailing of a police siren threaded through the air, but no matter how still he was or how hard he listened, he couldn't hear anything that might have pointed him in her direction.
Moonlight washed over the grass of the back yard, fading into inky shadows at the edge of the woods twenty yards or so away. As his eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, he noticed a line of dark spots leading toward the trees—footprints that had shaken the dew from the green blades, from the look of them.
"Ha!" he smiled triumphantly. "I've got you now!" Sprinting across the yard, he shivered as the chilly night air stole the warmth from his body like a vampire's kiss. He cursed himself silently for rushing out without a shirt, and gritted his teeth against the goosebumps forming on his arms and chest.
At the edge of the woods, he slowed, not wanting to impale his foot on a broken stick or sharp rock. He squinted, peering intently into the murkiness between the trees, and turned his head to try to catch the crackling of twigs. Only the low hum of crickets broke the silence.
"Damn," he hissed. He'd never find her in this blackness, not without a flashlight. But at least he knew she was alive, and with any luck at all, she might be forced to sneak back into the basement for shelter. Reluctantly, he turned back toward the house, teeth chattering as he wrapped his arms around himself to try to keep warm.
The doors were all locked, so he had to climb back in the basement window. At the top of the steps, he reached back to turn off the light, but his hand hovered for a moment. Finally, he closed the door and tiptoed back to his room, leaving the light burning.
Just in case.
He slid his damp sweatpants off, and tossed them into the corner of his closet. It was almost 4 AM, and he was tired, sweaty and cold. He couldn't wait to climb beneath the blankets and get warm. Flipping off the light, he pulled back the covers and slid beneath them. He didn't want to wake Ollie, but in the morning, he would tell her what he had found. If the police knew, they could watch the area for Jasmine, and her parents would be comforted by the knowledge that she was safe and near.
His eyes flew open. Her parents—of course they would have to be told if Ollie knew. And that meant that her father would also know where she had been. Would he blame Ollie and Anna, accuse them of hiding her?
And worse, what would he do when she was found?
With a sinking heart, he realized that he couldn't let anyone know where she had been. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, it all began to make sense—his missing sweatshirt, the money that had disappeared from his wallet. She trusted him to keep her secret, to keep her safe.
He had no choice.
Then where had she gone?
A sudden bang made him jump, and as he looked in the direction of the sound, he saw the window swinging lazily on its hinges, the wind whistling around its frame like a banshee. It must have been only minutes ago that she was here, he realized, and for an instant he thought he could catch a faint trace of the strawberry scent of her hair.
Hands shaking, he wondered frantically if he should try to find her. She couldn't be far away, and in the quiet of the wee hours of the morning, her footsteps just might be audible. He debated running upstairs for his sneakers, but it would waste precious moments.
The metal window frame bit into the soles of his feet as he hoisted himself through the opening and dropped onto the cool, damp grass. The dew had already settled, and the hem of his sweatpants felt cold against his skin.
"Jasmine?" he whispered, his voice husky. Somewhere in the distance, the wailing of a police siren threaded through the air, but no matter how still he was or how hard he listened, he couldn't hear anything that might have pointed him in her direction.
Moonlight washed over the grass of the back yard, fading into inky shadows at the edge of the woods twenty yards or so away. As his eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, he noticed a line of dark spots leading toward the trees—footprints that had shaken the dew from the green blades, from the look of them.
"Ha!" he smiled triumphantly. "I've got you now!" Sprinting across the yard, he shivered as the chilly night air stole the warmth from his body like a vampire's kiss. He cursed himself silently for rushing out without a shirt, and gritted his teeth against the goosebumps forming on his arms and chest.
At the edge of the woods, he slowed, not wanting to impale his foot on a broken stick or sharp rock. He squinted, peering intently into the murkiness between the trees, and turned his head to try to catch the crackling of twigs. Only the low hum of crickets broke the silence.
"Damn," he hissed. He'd never find her in this blackness, not without a flashlight. But at least he knew she was alive, and with any luck at all, she might be forced to sneak back into the basement for shelter. Reluctantly, he turned back toward the house, teeth chattering as he wrapped his arms around himself to try to keep warm.
The doors were all locked, so he had to climb back in the basement window. At the top of the steps, he reached back to turn off the light, but his hand hovered for a moment. Finally, he closed the door and tiptoed back to his room, leaving the light burning.
Just in case.
He slid his damp sweatpants off, and tossed them into the corner of his closet. It was almost 4 AM, and he was tired, sweaty and cold. He couldn't wait to climb beneath the blankets and get warm. Flipping off the light, he pulled back the covers and slid beneath them. He didn't want to wake Ollie, but in the morning, he would tell her what he had found. If the police knew, they could watch the area for Jasmine, and her parents would be comforted by the knowledge that she was safe and near.
His eyes flew open. Her parents—of course they would have to be told if Ollie knew. And that meant that her father would also know where she had been. Would he blame Ollie and Anna, accuse them of hiding her?
And worse, what would he do when she was found?
With a sinking heart, he realized that he couldn't let anyone know where she had been. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, it all began to make sense—his missing sweatshirt, the money that had disappeared from his wallet. She trusted him to keep her secret, to keep her safe.
He had no choice.