Switch Blade Romance

The escape PT 1

February 28th, 2015.

Andrew sat in the passenger seat of the truck, staring at his reflection in the darkened glass.
How do I get out of this?
The thought kept looping, like a song he couldn’t turn off. Behind them, Tegan, Kayleigh, and Sam followed in a brown Ford Fusion, their headlights steady, trusting. That trust felt heavy. It felt poisonous.
Option one, Andrew thought.
Scratch Charles’s eyes out. Just reach over, dig his thumbs in, shove the door open and jump.
But then what?
The Fusion was right there. Close enough to run him down. A body tumbling out of a moving truck wasn’t something you could stop for in time—not always.
Yeah, Andrew thought grimly. I’d be out of this hell.
Dead as shit, another part of him answered.
Option two.
Grab the wheel. Yank it hard. Aim for a tree—a big one. Pine trees didn’t bend. They didn’t forgive.
He pictured it clearly: metal screaming, glass exploding, his body flying free. He’d crawl—broken, bleeding—to the Fusion. Tell them everything. They’d drive him straight to a police station. Guns. Lights. Safety.
No, said the voice in his head. Calm. Certain. You won’t.
Trees killed people. That was what they taught you in school. Trees didn’t swerve. Trees didn’t care.
Fuck, Andrew thought.
There was no way out.
Not yet.
“You’re awful quiet,” Charles said, glancing at him. “Thinking about which one you want to kill?”
Andrew didn’t answer.
“I bet it’s Kayleigh,” Charles went on, smiling. “She remind you of anyone?”
Andrew stared straight ahead.
“She reminds me of Anita,” Charles said. “Same superior little leader thing. Same bitch energy.”
“You know she survived,” Andrew said suddenly. “Anita’s alive. I was with her at the hospital. Before you killed Deira. Before you took me.”
Charles chuckled.
“Won’t be for long.”
Andrew’s stomach dropped.
“After these three,” Charles continued easily, “we’ll head back to Annabelle. I’ll kill Anita. Lacey. Max. Nick—though I don’t think he gives a shit about any of you. Dr. Anthony. John Henry too.”
He smiled wider.
“And Rachel? I’ll take my time with her. Fingers first. Nose. Ears. I’ll mail them to the cops.”
Andrew gagged.
“Then,” Charles said softly, “when she’s broken enough… I’ll rip her heart out while it’s still beating.”
Andrew felt bile surge.
“And you know the best part?” Charles asked, turning his head. “You’re going to watch. Every single one.”
Andrew retched out the window.
“Don’t puke in my truck,” Charles snapped.
The cabin appeared through the trees like a crouching animal.
“Home,” Charles said.
The Fusion pulled in behind them.
Too late, Andrew thought.
Charles shut off the engine and leaned close. “Remember how to act. Or I punish you for real.”
Inside, the night unraveled fast.
Music. Laughter. Lies.
Andrew watched it all like he was already dead.
By 4:39 a.m., the cocaine was cut. Lines thin and perfect. Charles moved slowly, deliberately. Not impulsive. Never impulsive when it mattered.
Tegan went first.
Then Kayleigh.
Then Sam.
Andrew didn’t want the drug—but Charles’s eyes told him he didn’t have a choice.
The room blurred.
Andrew lay on the floor staring at the ceiling, the wood grain twisting into shapes that looked like screaming mouths.
Sam crawled closer. “This is awesome,” he slurred.
“No,” Andrew whispered. “We need to leave.”
Sam frowned. “What?”
Andrew grabbed his shoulder. “He’s a monster.”
Sam laughed—once.
Then Tegan gasped.
Andrew looked up just in time to see the knife flash.
One clean motion.
Her body hit the floor like a dropped coat.
Kayleigh screamed.
The sound shattered something inside Andrew that hadn’t broken yet.
Charles punched her. Bone cracked. She fell.
Blood everywhere.
“You just had to talk,” Charles said calmly. “Didn’t you?”
Sam raised his hands. “Please—just let us go.”
“I will,” Charles said. “To the basement.”
He lifted Kayleigh’s limp body.
“Move,” he screamed, “or I cut her fucking head off.”
Sam looked at Andrew.
“Help us.”
Andrew cried—but he didn’t move.
“He can’t help you,” Charles said. “He’s weak.”
They went down the stairs.
Into the dark.
Andrew stepped inside the basement, the door closing behind him with a sound that felt final.
There’s still a way out, he told himself.
But the thought sounded like a lie.