The Keys to freedom

Confessions of a teenage assault victim

They all crouched outside the imposing Hastings mansion. The sprawling estate in front of them, with every window dark except for a few faint lights illuminating shadows on the perfectly manicured lawn. Oz looked up at the balcony she had climbed a hundred times when she and Pyke were together, back when things were simpler.

"Remember, if you need us, just... scream, and we'll come running, okay?" James said, looking nervous.

Oz nodded before moving swiftly toward the mansion, her heart racing as she reached the base of the balcony. The shrubs lining the wall had grown thick and wild, providing just enough cover and a makeshift ladder. She grabbed onto the vines and pulled herself up, scaling the side of the building with surprising ease.

When she reached the balcony, she paused, taking a deep breath. The familiar surroundings of Pyke's room brought back a flood of memories that made her stomachache, but she pushed them aside. She quietly slipped through the balcony doors. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows.

There was no sign of Pyke, so she kept moving, her footsteps hesitant as she glanced around the room. But something caught her eye, making her pause mid-step.

On his dresser, a small picture frame rested, its polished edges faintly shined in the dim light. Inside was a photo of the two of them, taken what felt like a lifetime ago. They were smiling, arms wrapped around each other, carefree and in love.

She stared at it, her heart twisting in confusion. Why hadn't he taken it down yet? Her fingers hovered over the frame, hesitant to touch it, as if doing so might awaken the memories that had been buried so deeply. She thought about how much had changed—how much she had changed. She couldn't be more different than the girl in that photo, like a ghosts frozen in time. Did he keep it because he still cared? Or was it just an oversight, a forgotten relic of a time he no longer thought about?

She forced herself to look away, she couldn't think about any of that now, she had a mission to complete.

Moving quickly but quietly, she crossed the room to the closet. She knew Pyke's habits—knew he kept things hidden in the secret compartment behind the panel in the back of the closet. She crouched down and slid the panel open, her breath catching in her throat as she reached inside, her fingers brushing against the wood.

But it was empty.

A low voice suddenly broke the silence behind her. "You didn't really think anything would be in there, did you?"

She froze, her heart stopping for a moment. She turned slowly to see Pyke standing there, his arms crossed, watching her with a look of mild amusement. He didn't look surprised at her being there, as if he were expecting it.

Her mind raced, scrambling for an explanation, but he stepped closer before she could say anything. "After our chat. I knew you'd come looking eventually. I just didn't think you'd try to do it alone." He said almost threatening.

"Pyke..." she started, her voice faltering. She wasn't sure what to say. She stepped further away, her back pressing into the clothing behind her.

He studied her for a moment, his face unreadable, before sighing. "I don't know what to do with you, Oz. You broke into my house. You were trying to steal from me."

"Steal from you?" she scoffed, her voice laced with anger. "You shot at me and my friends, tried to run us off the road, held me at gun point, stole from me and lied. Don't act like you're the victim here."

He let out a low laugh, his eyes darkening as he stepped closer, closing the distance between them. He gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the closet. His grip tightened as he drew her even closer, the intensity in his gaze almost suffocating. He sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face with unsettling tenderness.