Alone

Chapter 13

Riley

As I watch Chloe disappear in the rearview mirror, I feel lost. With her safe, I don't know where to go. I head out of town on instinct, barely realizing that I will at least be passing our house by going this way. As the miles start to pass again, Peter settles back against the door without asking where we are going. When the road to our place approaches, I ease on the brake without thinking about it. When I flip the blinker on, Peter turns to look at me, but doesn't say a word. The Bronco rattles on the rough driveway, even though I am barely crawling along. Dad's Powerstroke is nowhere in sight, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief, hoping he went back to work. When I roll to a stop between the house and the barn, Peter sits back up and looks around. "Is this your place?" I nod, then shut off the ignition and crack open my door. Peter hurries to follow me as I head for the house, looking cautiously around for Dad, just in case he parked the pickup somewhere else. The front door opens with its usual squeak and Peter follows me into the dim hallway. I leave the door hanging open for the light and start back toward the stairs at the back of the house. Peter follows, looking around again. I wince when he runs into the edge of the hall table, then turn around as something drops to the floor with a jingle. Dad's work keys are lying on the floor beside the table, and I remember leaving them there last Friday. Dad didn't even bother to come get them after he strapped me Monday morning. I kick them into the corner by the door and stomp off toward the stairs, ignoring Peter's inquisitive look. My room is at the back of the house, with one window facing off over the fields. My bed is against the back wall, under the window, and the only other furnishing is the dresser against the opposite wall. I grab a backpack off the bedpost and cross to the dresser, starting to stuff my clothes in it. Peter hesitates in the doorway and I glance up at him as I work. He is looking around my room, looking confused. Finally he turns back to look at me as he speaks. "No books?" I shake my head as I empty my shirt drawer into my backpack. "Not allowed." He nods and I gesture toward the bed. "Pull the mattress off and grab the papers underneath." He moves across the room and lifts the mattress, then comes over to me with a handful of envelopes and loose papers. I tuck them into the back pocket of the backpack and finish emptying my dresser. When I slide the last drawer closed, we both start for the door. Back downstairs, we head outside toward the Bronco. I stop dead when I reach the front door. Dad's Ford is parked beside the Bronco, and he is leaning against the front bumper. I don't know how he managed to get up here without my hearing. I am usually pretty good at hearing him turn onto the driveway. Peter bumps into me from behind before he can stop. Dad pushes off from the pickup and I take a step back. He lifts an arm, and I see the keys to the Bronco dangling from his hand as he speaks. "Where you going to run now, girl?" I want to bolt, but he is right, there is nowhere to go. Even if I could get past Peter and out the back door, there is nowhere safe for me to be, especially not within walking distance. Dad eyes me coldly, swinging the keys. Peter takes a step back, but Dad does not step forward. Instead, he gestures me toward the barn. I hopelessly drop the backpack to the ground and start across the yard toward the steel building. I hear Peter's footsteps start behind me, then Dad following him. As I enter the familiar still, dusty air of the barn, I am fighting back tears. No matter how bad it was with Joe, his gun cannot compare with Dad's strap. Peter hurries up beside me as I pass the feeding pickup parked against one of the walls of hay that rise far above our heads to either side, and I look sideways at him, noticing the backpack slung over one shoulder. He must have picked it up from where I dropped it by the door. The barn is chilly, but nothing like the biting cold that surrounded the cabin in Colorado. I open the tack room door and strip my jacket off, hanging it from the nearby saddle rack. Peter follows me into the room, stepping to the side to allow Dad to come in behind him. As Dad shuts the door behind us, Peter catches my eyes and nods to the other door, desperation in his eyes. I drop my eyes to the floor. I don't want to see the fear or the disappointment in Peter's eyes when I lack the courage to defy my own father. Dad reaches around me and pulls his strap off the wall where it usually hangs. His eyes are on me, so he doesn't see Peter swing the backpack off his shoulder and into his hand. My hands automatically find their places on the saddle rack beside me and I turn away from both of them as Dad raises the strap and Peter swings the backpack back. I hear the backpack hit Dad just as the strap cuts across my shoulders. The blow knocks Dad against the wall, and Peter is pulling me toward the door before Dad can recover his balance. Peter twists the door handle, but nothing happens and panic starts to show in his eyes. I push him out of the way and put my shoulder against the door as I turn the knob. The door bursts open, nearly dumping both of us on the ground outside. Peter slams the door behind us as I start around the corner of the barn toward the vehicles.