Tandem

before Grant slipped up and gave me an opportunity to escape, and when he did, I’d be ready. But for now I had to play the game his way. Realizing this made me calmer, my mind sharp and alert where it had previously been foggy and muddled.

I’m going home, I thought with sudden clarity and conviction. Nothing he can do or say is going to stop me. 

SIX

Staying as far away from Grant and his crony as possible, I took the backpack into the bathroom. The door slid open without a touch, as if it was on some sort of sensor. The place looked as though it had once belonged in one of those sleek, modern hotel rooms I’d seen in the movies, but everything was old and run-down.

The door closed by itself and I slumped against it. I wanted to cry, but I struggled not to, knowing that if I started I might not stop. A few tears escaped anyway. I covered my face with my hands and breathed deeply. At least I was alone, a small relief.

How could I have thought, even for a second, that I was falling for Grant? How could I have forgotten how little I knew him? Even though I knew it wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t help but hold myself partially responsible for my current situation. I’d let myself be seduced by his good looks and charm, soft words and romantic overtures. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done.

When I’d gathered myself as best I could, I picked up the bag and began rummaging through it. My hands closed first around a stick of deodorant, half-used, from my own medicine cabinet. I applied some, feeling sticky, then tossed it back and took out a brush, which I pulled through my tangled hair. The curls Gina had so painstakingly created had fallen into limp waves. I bit my lip and kept fixing myself up; the ritual of getting ready was a soothing and welcome distraction.

When I was finished, I ripped off the corsage Grant had given me, reveling in the feeling of flower petals crumpling between my fingers as I crushed it in my fist before dropping it unceremoniously in the wastebin. It felt good to take my anger out on something, however small.

I turned the bag upside down and shook it. A bundle of folded clothes fell to the floor—jeans, a T-shirt, my navy blue zip-up hoodie, and my favorite brown leather boots with a pair of thick socks. Everything in the bag belonged to me. The idea of Grant in my bedroom, going through my drawers and touching my belongings, made me shudder. I splashed some water on my face, put my hair up in a ponytail, and got dressed.

I took another long, ragged breath and let it out again. It’s going to be okay, I assured myself, staring at my reflection in the grimy mirror above the sink. It’s going to be okay.

There was a knock at the door. Grant called out from the other side. “Are you almost done? Hurry up, we need to leave.”

I emerged from the bathroom with my bag, now almost empty, over my shoulder and my prom dress slumped in my arms like a fallen comrade. When I’d taken it off, a stream of sand had cascaded out of the bodice. I’d been on that beach. Those memories, what I had left of them, were real.

I glanced down at my wrist to check if the bracelet he’d given me was still there and found that it was. A flare went off in my brain; I had to get free of it. I would never have imagined that it was possible to hate a thing as much as I hated that bracelet. Somehow I knew—beyond all reason—that it had something to do with why I was there in that basement instead of home in bed. I tugged and pulled and pressed every inch of the bracelet’s slim surface, desperate to remove it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Good luck getting rid of that,” the old man muttered.

“Screw you,” I snapped.

“It won’t come off,” Grant said.

“What is it?” I demanded. It might’ve looked like a regular bracelet, but it obviously wasn’t. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Grant wasn’t wearing his anymore. Sometime while I was unconscious he’d changed into a pair of sturdy cargo pants, T-shirt, and hoodie, all black. The sleeves of his jacket and hoodie were shoved up to his elbows and his bare wrists were on full display. He was wearing a ring, though, one I’d never seen before, on the middle finger of his right hand, but I didn’t have time to wonder about it.

“You can leave that here,” he said, indicating the dress and ignoring my question. “You won’t need it anymore.”

I hesitated. As stupid as it was, under the circumstances, I didn’t want to give up my dress. It was mine, goddamn it. “What are you going to do with it?”

Grant shrugged. “Fillmore will burn it, probably.”

“Burn it?”

“No one can know you were ever here,” Grant said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“For who?” I demanded. My stomach dropped. They were going to cover up all proof of my existence. Soon there would be no trail of bread crumbs for anybody to follow.

“For all of us, including you,” Grant said. “I told you nobody would hurt you, didn’t I? This is for your protection.”

Something went slack within me. I felt as if I was falling down a long, dark shaft; black clouds roiled in my peripheral vision and I had to sit down on the edge of the bed before I fainted. The dress slipped out of my hands and onto the floor.

“Grant,” I murmured. It was the only call for help I could find the strength to make. He passed in front of me, crouching down so that our eyes were level. I searched his for any sign of tenderness and he, maybe sensing my intentions, avoided meeting my gaze.

“Just breathe,” he advised, his own breath growing shallow as he sat there watching me. I gripped my knees, riding out wave after wave of nausea. What is wrong with me? I thought.

“Grant, I swear to you, if you just take me home I won’t tell anybody what happened,” I begged. It was the only offer I could think to make, though it was a lie. My knuckles had turned a ghostly white color. “My grandfather has incredibly high blood pressure—if I don’t show up, like, yesterday, he could have a heart attack!”

My own heart buckled at the thought of what Granddad must be going through. I imagined him waking up at dawn and going to check on me, only to find me missing. In my mind’s eye he was picking up the phone, dialing my cell—once, twice, fifteen times before giving up—then Gina’s house, then Grant’s if he could find the number, and then, finally, with a heaviness he almost couldn’t bear, the police.

Grant fixed me with a hard look. “I’m going to say something that won’t make very much sense to you at first, but I need you to listen. I need you to hear me say it.”

“There’s nothing you can say that will make me understand.”

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. “I’m not Grant Davis.”

Of all the lies in the world, that was the one I was least prepared to hear.

“My name isn’t Grant,” he continued. “It’s Thomas. Thomas Mayhew.”

“You must think I’m a real idiot,” I snapped.

He shook his head somberly. “I don’t think you’re an idiot, and I’m not lying to you. I’m not Grant Davis. You don’t know me. My name is Thomas Mayhew. I need you to understand that.”

“This is ridiculous,” Fillmore barked. “Who cares if she understands? It’s not going to change anything. She’ll do what you tell her to do because if she doesn’t you’ll shoot her and leave her here. If there’s two, then there’s more, am I right?”

What the hell did that mean? This was nonsense, all of it. I wanted to grab Fillmore and throw him to the ground. Grant, at least, looked about as sick of him as I was.

“Fillmore, shut up!” he growled. He turned to me. “Don’t listen to him. He talks a big game, but he won’t do anything without my permission, and I’m not going to let him touch you, all right? I’m not the guy you thought I was back … back there, but I have no intention of harming you.”

He looked away at the oblique mention of Oak Street Beach, the prom, the living room of Granddad’s Hyde Park Victorian, the quiet caverns of 57th Street Books—all those things that signified back