Snared

13

The rain finally stopped. Her parents announced they were going to take “a snooze for about an hour.” Lindsay returned to her room and went to the window.

She was surprised to note that neither Doug nor Jack stood in the yard, at least no place where she could see them. She was more surprised to see Mark in his window, looking up at her. He waved his arm frantically for her to come over. He looked totally desperate to talk to her.

Lindsay rushed down the stairs and out the door. At the side of the house, she paused, wondering how she would get near his window without leaving tracks in the sand. The answer appeared quickly enough.

Like her uncle’s house, Mark’s sat up off the ground, giving way to low thatches of grass. All Lindsay had to do was cling to the side of the house and step on those. Sure she would still leave prints, but they wouldn’t be nearly as obvious as tromping through the sand. She moved fast but carefully from one tuft of grass to the next.

At Mark’s window, she peered in. He stood on the other side of the small desk, looking absolutely miserable. His eyes were swollen as if he’d been crying. Dark circles painted the puffy skin beneath. He looked very thin and quite ill.

Lindsay put her palms against the glass and pulled, but it didn’t budge. Inside, Mark shook his head.

“They locked it,” he called.

“Are you okay?” Lindsay asked, trying to make her voice just loud enough for Mark to hear, but not so loud it carried to her parents’ room at the front of her uncle’s house.

He shook his head. Moving slowly as if in great pain, Mark grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Lindsay looked through the dirty glass, remembering her first view of him, topless and smoothly muscular. Her eyes roamed over his perfect pale skin, his wonderful abs, and she squinted, wondering what it was Mark wanted her to see.

Head low, like a beaten dog, Mark turned around.

Lindsay saw his back and gasped. Her stomach clenched tight and her throat closed with horror. She put a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

Two dark circles about the size of bracelets were carved or burned into Mark’s back. The filthy glass and gloomy bedroom made it hard to tell exactly how the wounds were inflicted. But there they were, two circles filled with complex swirls and lines, etched on Mark’s skin. They were puffy and red and recently scabbed over. They were awful.

“My god,” Lindsay whimpered, already crying from the horrible sight.

Mark turned back to her. He didn’t bother putting his shirt on.

“I think they’re going to kill me,” he said, his voice barely loud enough for Lindsay to hear. “I tried to leave and they did this. They’re going to kill me.”

“No, they won’t,” Lindsay said, sniffing and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I won’t let them.”

“You can’t do anything,” Mark said. “I told you before.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Lindsay said. “Just hold on. Okay? I’ll be right back.”

Again Mark nodded his head.

Lindsay needed to get the gym bag and then get Mark out of that house, but it was so damn hard to leave him. He needed her and shouldn’t be alone. She wiped the freshest of her tears away, then eased along the side of the house.

She looked back one last time, seeing only the angle of the window. Then she stepped onto the sand and headed for the porch of her uncle’s house. Inside, she hurried quietly up the stairs. In her room she grabbed the blue gym bag and her tote, which carried her cell phone, Treo, and wallet.

Back in the hall, she was heading for the stairs when the door to her parents’ room opened. Lindsay froze.

“Everything okay?” her dad whispered.

“Sure,” Lindsay said, hearing the tremble in her own voice. Be cool, she thought. Be cool. “I was just running down to the boardwalk for a bit.”

“Is it still raining?” her dad wanted to know.

“No. It stopped.”

“Good,” he said quietly. “I was hoping we’d get some more sun. I wanted to grill out tonight. Have a good time. Be careful.”

“I will,” she said, looking at her father’s kind round face. He looked sleepy, but also concerned. Maybe he didn’t believe her. She forced a smile and waved quickly.

She’d get Mark out of the house and then come home. Her parents wouldn’t even know. It would be over in a few minutes.

Outside, she dashed across the sand to Mark, the blue bag and her tote striking her hips in turn. No longer worried about leaving prints in the sand, she raced through the alley right up to the window. Mark stood inside, looking dazed.

“You have to go,” Lindsay said. “Come on.”

Mark blinked and then his eyes grew wide when he began to understand what she was saying.

“I can’t,” Mark said. “I can’t open the window. You’ll have to break it.”

What? Why couldn’t he open the window? Lindsay didn’t understand, but she had no time to question him. She looked around the sand until she found a good-sized rock. Gripping it tightly, she smashed the glass near the lock, reached in, and unlatched the frame. She slid open the window and waited for Mark to climb out.

But he didn’t move.

“Get out of there!” Lindsay said, her voice trembling with desperation.

“Give me the rock,” Mark whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just give it to me.”

Lindsay did as he asked, anxious for him to get moving. With a high toss, the stone flew through the window and into Mark’s hand.

Behind him, the door slammed open. Jack stood on the threshold. Before the door even crashed against the wall, he was already shouting gibberish at Mark, waving his hands in the air like a stage magician trying to sell a trick.

A tiny smile pushed up the corners of Mark’s mouth. He spun and hurled the rock at Jack. It connected solidly with the burly man’s forehead. Jack’s eyes rolled up. He staggered, then fell over the threshold into Mark’s room, hitting the floor facedown.

“Bastard,” Mark spat.

He stepped forward and reached out a hand toward the opening to the hall. He snatched his fingers back when they reached the threshold. He tried again. Mark shoved his hand into the doorway as if testing the air, wiggled his fingers.

“Thanks, pal,” he said to the unconscious form of Jack. Then he stepped out of the room.

Lindsay jogged along the house to meet Mark at the porch. When she rounded the corner, Mark was already standing on the sand in front of her. Startled by his speed, Lindsay jumped a bit. Then Mark’s arms went around her in a tight hug that nearly cut off her breath.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he said. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Lindsay’s legs grew weak, and she fell against Mark, letting his strength hold her up. He felt so good next to her; he felt absolutely perfect. She didn’t want the embrace to end, but it had to end. He needed to get away from this house and this beach, and he needed to do it fast.

“You have to go,” she whispered, feeling so sad she could barely finish the sentence.

“I don’t think I’ll make it very far,” Mark said, sounding terribly weak.

“You have to try.”

“They hurt me pretty bad,” he said. “My back.”

“We have to get you someplace safe,” Lindsay told him.

“You’ll go with me?” he asked.

“I’ll get you someplace safe,” she said, burying her face in his neck, holding him as tightly as her arms would allow.