Too Far

13: Her

I hated this house. Every inch of it did nothing but remind me of what I'd fought so hard to escape. I looked upstairs to see that it had been repainted, the carpets turned to wood. I wondered if it was because of all the stains Pete Walsh had left when he tried to kill me. I shivered as I walked through the house over and over, involuntarily reliving the worst night of my life.

I wanted into the main house, but there wasn't a spare key to get in with. I hoped Emmett brought the key.

I walked through to the connected bathroom and looked at the doorframe, memories of myself grappling for a hold on it ringing in my eyes, ears, and tingling hands. I could still almost see the handprints; my hands had been scarlet with blood by that point. I wondered if they'd cleaned it or simply painted over it.

My fingers drummed against my leg impatiently as I waited to see him. When it grew dark, I couldn't force myself to stay in that house. I couldn't sleep there. My nerves buzzed with hatred and disgust for the house as I left it, walking towards the one place I'd missed out on for the second half of the year. I'd been scrambling around for money, not yet knowing I could see Emmett.

I didn't want to back then.

I'd found him at one point, still in that house, and I hated what I saw. It made my heart hurt. Back then, I should have turned myself in and taken whatever minimal punishment I'd be offered for the hit and run and killing Pete Walsh. I'd probably have already been free at this point, since we could probably get away with saying I was just a stupid kid back then. Walsh had been killed in self-defense and I knew I shouldn't be charged with that one, but we would have to prove in some way that he was trying to kill me.

I suppose the house then could have been proof enough. It was covered in blood.

My blood.

There was nothing weirder than seeing a house covered in sticky red and knowing that it was all you. I couldn't help but wonder what poor soul had been given the task of cleaning that house up, or if they'd ever stopped looking for a body. They seemed convinced I'd lost too much blood to live, so it was obvious they'd never even considered the fact that I was probably still alive since there was no body.

But I wouldn't complain. I liked not being searched for by anyone; it made me feel free for once. That was something I'd always remember. There was this feeling, like all the strings that tied me to the fear I'd held onto for years were cut loose and I was free for just a few months. Emmett and Selena had stayed in my mind for a long time, but I knew they'd be better off without me.

Well, I thought that. I guess they weren't really, and Selena had mourned her father a lot less than she mourned me. I didn't understand why until I remembered that he left her and took her sister and her dog. She hated the man, and even more so because he "killed" me.

The school was vacant when I arrived and I looked at it tiredly. The gym was open, as it had always been, and I ducked inside the school and found the lounge. Memories flashed behind my eyes while I walked, like Emmett's spaghetti and watching Halloween movies on the crappy T.V. in the lounge with him at midnight.

There was an ugly, wall phone in the lounge and I grabbed it, dialing the number I knew by heart immediately. "Hello?" Emmett asked.

"I'm at the school." My voice was raspy, like it usually got when I went a while without talking. I looked around the room. They'd rearranged it, putting the T.V. on the opposite wall and the couches a few feet in front of it. There were counters, and a bundle of bananas laid on the counter.

They must have had a big luncheon for the teachers or something, because there were several closed containers of cookies and other sweets they'd cooked. I smiled, grabbing a cookie and eating it while holding the phone to my other ear.

"Why?" he asked, slightly alarmed. "Did something happen?"

"I just..." Hate that house. Shrugging, I finished, "I preferred the school. I couldn't get into the main house, just the guest house." Every time I closed my eyes when I was in that house, Walsh appeared in front of me.

"I have the key to the main house. We'll come pick you up. We're about thirty minutes away."

"No," I said, probably a little too quickly. "I mean, just..."

"Louise, we're not all going to stay in the teacher's lounge."

I tensed at the use of my name, still nervous Robbie could have found a way to listen in on calls. He wouldn't have found this phone fast enough to be listening, but the paranoia was still there. "Don't worry, we don't have to be in the guest house," he said softly. "We'll just stay in the main house." I looked at the floor and nodded even though he couldn't see. "We'll be at the school shortly, okay? Don't get too comfortable."

He ended the call and I sighed, turning and venturing outside the lounge. The school looked exactly the same, and the nameplates said the teachers hadn't changed. I glanced at the counselor's office and sighed at the name. He'd always tried to get me to fess up about things, or to go to child services. Maybe I should have done that.

I knew I should have told the police about Walsh and let them handle it, but I was young and stupid. I wasn't thinking straight; all I could think was keep running and survive. My head wasn't screwed on straight, and now I wanted nothing more than to hand everything to the professionals—the cops, as terrified as I was of them—and deal with anything that happened because I knew I wouldn't be killed if I was in their hands.

When I heard a door open, I tensed in horror and poised myself to run. Stop running, Louise. I shook my head, raking a hand through my hair, and turned to walk the other way casually. Of course, I was chanting at myself to stop running so much—in my head, of course—that I didn't realize even a student wasn't actually allowed to be at the school at this hour on a Saturday.

"What are you doing here?" a voice called out. I stiffened, my eyes flying open like I'd been doused in cold water. Counselor James. I wanted to run, but that would make him call someone or think I was doing something suspicious.

Would he call the police? Maybe he wouldn't recognize me. I knew I'd changed a lot; my cheeks had lost their baby fat, I'd gotten a little more fit, and my hair was about seventeen inches shorter. I turned slowly, keeping my head down, to face Mr. James in terror.

"What's your name?" he asked, coming closer.

"Layla," I lied, using the name I'd made up so long ago. Since it was dark, he probably couldn't recognize me. "I was just grabbing a bit of homework I left yesterday."

"How did you get in?" he asked suspiciously.

"The gym," I told him truthfully. "I'm about to leave, though."

"Without your homework?" I froze, having been caught so easily. I'd forgotten how smart counselors had to be with lying students and secretive people. "You look familiar," he said slowly.

"I get that a lot." I actually didn't see enough people to get that a lot, but maybe I'd get it a lot if I were more social.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps nearby and prayed Emmett wouldn't give me away. Mr. James would go to the authorities about me and I wasn't ready. I still hadn't even heard Katherine's brilliant plan. "Lou—" Emmett's voice died when he saw Mr. James.

"Emmett?" Mr. James asked, his eyes widening as he turned around. "You—You're supposed to be dead!" he exclaimed when he saw me. I glared at Emmett before turning back to the confused counselor in front of me.

"You must have me confused, sir. Emmett is my cousin."

"Stop lying. I'm not stupid," Mr. James said, his eyes narrowing even though there was obviously confusion, shock, and overall horror on his face. "I have to contact the police—"

"Please don't!" I quickly said, putting my hands up. Emmett came up next to me and I tensed, looking between everyone. "Sir, we are already planning on going to the police. We just have to get everything straight first, so I beg of you not to tell them until we're ready."

"Ready to what? Turn yourself in? It's illegal to fake your own death!"

Katherine's mouth opened and she made eye contact with me as she began on the story, "She didn't fake her own death. Everyone just thought she was dead, but she was really taken by another man." The breath whooshed out of me and I looked at her in surprise. "So please, until that man in in custody, don't say a word."