Alone

Chapter 16

Riley

By the time we reach the house, Joe has taken Peter and the Bronco and burned rubber out of the driveway, Uncle Simon has gone back to his car, then backed out of the driveway, and the policeman that brought Chloe out has passed us on his way back toward town, picking Chloe up at the Powerstroke. Dad heads straight for the barn, still pulling me along by the arm. As we pass the feeding pickup for the second time in an hour, Dad unfurls the strap in his other hand. He doesn't release me until the tack room door closes behind us, and even then, he stays within reach as he gestures me to the saddle rack. With no apparent hesitation, he raises the strap again. I keep my hands on the rack, but refuse to lower my head as the strap cuts across my back over and over. Dad is panting when he is done, and so am I, though not from physical exertion. Dad hangs his strap on the wall and walks out, slamming the door open with his shoulder just like I did when Peter and I ran out of here an hour ago. I finally lay my head down on my hands. Life has resumed. Peter is back with Joe, Chloe is back with her uncaring parents, and I am back with Dad. After a moment, I use the saddle rack to lower myself to the dirty concrete floor. I lean my head against the saddle on the lowest bar of the rack, the smell of the leather filling my nose as I finally let the tears fall. I used to care about the things that mattered to Dad, simply because they mattered to Dad, but I have long since discovered that I only care because not caring means trouble. I don't even know what reason he would give for whipping me this time, since getting kidnapped shouldn't be a reason even for him. Maybe he has given up on having actual reasons for strapping me, and nothing I can do will stop him from whipping me. On second thought, I know that has been true for a long time. Just because I can think of a reason for most of the strappings he has given me, doesn't mean that I could do anything to stop him. Even when I thought I was doing everything right, it was never good enough. Even the strapping I got on Monday, for the keys, really had nothing to do with the keys. I am absolutely terrified of my father. The decision is made in my head before I realize it, and I am pulling myself up on the rack. I go out the open bay door, avoiding the sticky tack room door and the squeaky walk-through door beside the bay door. My backpack is still on the ground at the corner of the barn, where Peter dropped it when we ran for the pickup earlier. I pick it up and keep walking, heading down the driveway. I expect a shout from Dad every second, but I make it down the driveway without incident. I start walking down the side of the road toward town, wincing at every step. After about fifteen minutes, I hear a vehicle coming up behind me and step off to the side, turning to look back. I know from the sound that it is not the Powerstroke. I smile when I recognize the vehicle, the Clancy's old Dodge 3500. Mrs. Clancy opens her door as it rolls to a stop beside me. "Riley! You're back!-" Her exclamations stop abruptly when she gets a good look at my face, and she reaches out, looking pained, to gently run her fingers along the gash on my cheek. "Oh, Honey. What happened?" I try not to flinch back from her hand as I answer. "The man who kidnapped me hit me with a gun." She winces. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry." I smile grimly. "I'm okay. Are you headed into town?" She nods, looking relieved that she can do something. "Do you need a ride?" I nod and reach for the passenger door. "Yes, please." Mrs. Clancy never stops talking as we travel toward town, but she skillfully keeps the conversation on safe ground, never mentioning the kidnapping or my father. Instead, we discuss small things like local politics and the weather. When she mentions Brian Pierson, I look around at her. "His daughter was the other girl that was kidnapped." She looks regretful. "I forgot. Sorry." I smile at her. "It's okay. Chloe is part of the reason we got away." She looks intrigued despite herself, and I know she wants to know, even if she doesn't want to ask. I look out the window, not wanting to talk about it. After a moment of silence, she speaks again, gently. "I'm sorry, Honey. I hope they put him in jail forever." Finally I turn back to look at her. "Them. There were two men." She looks back at the road. "Oh. Well then, I hope they put them in jail forever." I smile at the vehemence in her voice as I nod my agreement. For the rest of the trip, we don't talk. The radio plays country music so low I can barely hear it, and I sit rigid in my seat, trying not to let the seat rub against the welts on my back. I know from experience that the first day is the worst, pain-wise, and it will slowly get better from here. Sometimes it is easy to forget that on the first day, especially if it is on a weekend and Dad is around so I cannot mope around. If he whips me on a weekday, then goes to work, I can slack off a little bit, as long as I get my chores done to his satisfaction before he gets home.

Chloe

When Mom hangs up the phone, I listen to her footsteps go down the hall and cross the kitchen before the back door opens. I know what she is doing, because she used to do the same thing when she lived here. The back yard is enclosed with a privacy fence, so Mom goes out there to smoke so no one sees her. I quickly go back to my room, grab a duffle bag, and pack it full of clothes. Before I leave my room, I gather money from several stashes around the room. Putting the money in my pocket, I swiftly go down the hall and pause at the head of the stairs. The house is silent, so I go down the stairs and out the front door. I look around at the wide porch and the deserted street for a moment, then step quickly down the stairs and start up the street, headed out of town toward Riley's place. I make it all the way to the highway without anyone noticing me, but as I begin to hike along the shoulder, a big pickup brakes to a stop and pulls over to the shoulder in front of me. I breathe a sigh of relief when the passenger door opens and Riley climbs painfully out. I know from the way she is moving that David beat her again. She pulls a backpack out of the seat after her, and waves and thanks the lady in the driver's seat. I walk up to join her as the pickup pulls back onto the highway. "Hey." I tell her about the phone conversation I overheard. Silently, we start along the highway. Riley moves stiffly, and I can tell the backpack is hurting her back. After several minutes of only the sound of our shoes on the gravel, Riley looks up at me. "I don't get it. If your mom paid Joe to take you, why was Joe with Simon when they came to the house?" I shrug the duffle bag higher on my shoulder. "I don't know. Why did Peter say Joe got the money from someone in Sand Springs, too? Mom lives in California, last I knew." She bites at her lip. "What if both of them paid him? Like if he called your mom after he took us, even though Uncle Simon already paid him to take me?" We both hear a car coming up behind us and turn to look around as an unfamiliar vehicle passes us. Finally, after several moment of silence, I speak again. "Where are we going to go, Riley?" She sighs deeply and swings the backpack off her shoulder, dropping it into her hand, where it swings beside her knees. "I don't know. I think that anywhere would be better than here." I nod reluctantly and we continue along the shoulder of the highway. After a few more minutes of silence, something occurs to me and I look up at her again. "What about Peter?" She looks grimly at me. "I don't know. I don't even know where to look for him." I wince. I was afraid of that. "What if we go back to Colorado?" We walk a few more steps in silence before she answers. "I guess that's kind of what I was planning on. What do you think?" I nod. She looks at me and winces a little bit. "Long way to walk, though." I smile at her. "I have some cash. It might be enough to get us there on a bus or something." She looks at me for a minute. "Really? You keep that much money on hand?" I look at the ground. "Yeah." She nods. "Good. A bus sounds much better than hitchhiking, which was my best idea." I have to smile to myself. Riley has a way of making everything feel alright, from my abundance of money to the whippings she's received from Joe and David to a third cross-country trip. We continue walking until a young family stops and picks us up. The parents are basically silent, and the two toddlers fall asleep only a few miles down the road. The family drops us off at the nearest bus station, and Riley handles the clerk without blinking, taking the money necessary behind the counter, where the clerk can't see. Within a couple hours, we are on board a Greyhound headed west. Riley sits uncomfortably sideways in the seat and lays her head against the window and the headrest. She keeps her backpack trapped between her feet for the entirety of the trip. We take turns snoozing, so when we pull up in Mud Creek, Colorado, which, as best as we can tell, is as near as we can get to the cabin, we are both wide awake and refreshed. We find a map to the county at the shelf of local brochures, and study it before we start off. We walk the entire distance this time, because although several vehicles pass us, none of them stop. I see Riley watch each of them go past, presumably looking for Joe's Bronco. I don't recognize anything, but as we get further up in the mountains, Riley stops searching the map and road signs and walks faster. Finally, after what seems like forever, with my feet and back aching, we round the final corner and the cabin comes into view. Riley narrows her eyes when she sees the Bronco parked beside the door, but we continue toward the cabin.