Comeback Route (New Hope #3)

Chapter Four

A Hole in the Earth - Daughter

Payton, Twelve Years Old

There's an old man pinning Grace to the floor.

I don't think—I just act.

For someone who looks so frail, he's strong. He shifts his weight, throwing me off balance, but I manage to swing my leg around his. I slam him to the ground, and his head smacks the wood. Adrenaline feeds my violence, making my vision tunnel. The man isn't fighting anymore. Regardless, I pull my fist back, ready to bury it in his wrinkled face.

Someone tugs on the hood of my jacket, and I hesitate. She yanks again, and I climb off the stranger. Her cry for help rings in my ears, demanding a primal need to protect, to defend, to slaughter. In case he tries to attack again, I keep my body between Grace and who I'm assuming is her great grandfather. I'm trembling from head to toe, but I don't take my eyes off the withered man.

It's unnecessary because he's not getting off the floor. The blood drains from his face, making his jaundice more pronounced. His shaky fingers clutch at a ratted t-shirt, pressing down on his chest. His legs twitch, and he gasps for air.

"Is he..." I falter, scared to suggest it. "Is he having a heart attack?"

Grace laces her fingers through mine, sealing our palms together. Instead of answering, she whispers one word. "Run."

I snap my head toward her, then back to Randolph Reeves. "What happened, Grace? Should we call an ambulance?"

She yanks on my hand. "Run!"

Confused and rattled, I follow her command. We leave the house, and I shut the door, ensuring Randolph's fate. I scoop our backpacks off the pavement, and run alongside Grace. She's in an all-out sprint, yet I'm forced to shorten my strides to accommodate. Her braids fly behind her, bouncing against her blazer. I glance back once, scanning the street to make sure no one saw us.

When we get to my house, the small driveway is empty. Pops is at the diner, so I fish for the keys in my pocket. I open the door, and follow Grace inside. She slams it behind us, throwing the deadbolt. I drop our bags in the living room, raking my hands through my hair.

"What the hell was that?" I shout. "Why was he on top of you?"

"He's insane!" Grace shrieks, pointing in the direction of Randolph's house. She wrings her hands together, pacing. "He caught me snooping and attacked! He has some sick score to settle with Mason."

"Are you okay?" I switch gears, crossing the room. I cradle her face, tilting her jaw up to reveal red welts on her throat. My heartbeat quickens, and the rage resurfaces. I rub my finger over one of the marks, her flesh hot to the touch. "Jesus Christ..."

She bats my hand away, glaring. "I'm fine."

"He hurt you," I argue, grinding my molars.

"It's nothing compared to what he did to Mason," she hisses, blinking tears from her eyes. The gold flecks in her irises shine, revealing the love she's harbored for her father over the years—the love she's kept hidden, because she thinks it'll protect her from disappointment. She jabs a finger into my chest, seeming to grow in size. "This stays between us, Arlington. No one can know we were in that house."

"Why?" I ask, shoving my hand in the pocket of my jeans. I retrieve my cheap cell phone, waking the screen. "There's still time to call 91—"

"What's the point?" she asks, slapping the device out of my palm. It skitters across the floor, sliding under the couch. "He had one foot out the door anyway."