Dirty Secrets

Part 87

"He's gonna be fine," Jack said as he made the turn onto Lyla's street.

"That is so not true," she replied. "He had major brain and spinal surgeries. They thought he was gonna die."

"I'm trying to be positive here."

"I still don't even know how he got in that truck." She wiped her runny nose. "He probably really messed himself up."

"Not to make this about me," said Jack. "But I took a serious beating, myself." He tilted his head to the right then slowly rolled his head in a clockwise direction, wincing.

She glanced down at the dashboard clock, which read 9:38 then turned her glistening eyes toward her house. Nearly every light was on.

"My dad's probably freaking out," she whispered. "Turn off your headlights."

"On the upside, I don't see any cops," Jack replied, steering his car to the curb.

"Can you help me take the tools to the shed?" Lyla asked.

"Duh. I need my phone, right?"

He parked in front of the neighbor's house then popped the trunk.

"This isn't gonna work," she whined. "We're gonna be in so much trouble."

"Shhhhhh!" he said, handing her a shovel.

On their journey to the backyard, they remained concealed in the shadows, creeping around the yellow oblong blocks of light spilling from the windows.

With each alternating step, she looked back toward the house, watching for her dad. Just a few more paces and they would be home free. The tools would be returned, they'd gather their phones, Jack would slip away into the darkness, and Lyla would come through the front door, oblivious to all the drama filling the house like a pressure cooker.

Standing the shovels side-by-side, Jack reached behind the bag of mulch and located his phone. His eyes transfixed, he scrolled through a stream of messages.

And then she heard it, the creaking of the back door. A moment later, her dad was fast-walking in their direction.

With trembling hands, she unfastened her pants and opened a few buttons on her shirt. Before Jack realized what was happening, she pulled him into a deep kiss. 

"Lyla!" Ryan exclaimed, nearly out of breath.

She turned to face him, zipping her pants, and buttoning her shirt. "I, uh..." she cast her eyes downward.

Her dad shot dagger eyes at Jack. "I think you should go now," he said.

"Yes, sir," Jack replied and loped through the shadows to his car. Lyla noticed the silhouette of the busybody neighbor in her second-floor window.

"Where were you?" Ryan could barely compose himself. "I've been looking for you for hours. Why didn't you answer your phone? You had me worried sick."

"I'm sorry," she said while fastening her pants. "I lost track of time."

"The cops called." His voice shook. "Rose Ames escaped on her way from the hospital to jail. I thought..." His tension broke and he nearly went limp on his feet. "They don't know where she is."

"What?!" Lyla feigned terror. She knew damn well where Rose Ames was.

"Was Packer with you?" Ryan asked.

"Packer? No. It was just..."

"His mom called. He was missing, too. He wasn't with you?"

"No. I was with Jack."

Ryan rubbed his forehead. "She texted me about a half-hour ago. He finally came home. I thought that kid couldn't walk."

Lyla shrugged, checking her phone. "I don't see any recent messages," she said.

........

Once the anesthetic effects of adrenaline and endorphins in her bloodstream had faded, Lyla experienced crushing mental and physical fatigue. Standing at the bathroom sink, it was a monumental task to squeeze a blob of toothpaste onto her toothbrush. Her neck ached, her muscles throbbed. Every bump and bruise on her body relayed urgent messages to her pain receptors.

Rinsing her toothbrush under the faucet, Lyla's throat constricted when she noticed it. 

The silver serpent ring was on her finger. 

She dropped her toothbrush into the sink, and frantically pulled at the ring but her swollen knuckle prevented its removal. 

No! No! No!

In a fit of hysteria, she grabbed the bar of soap and lathered her hands, praying that the lubricant would do the trick. But despite frenzied twisting and tugging, she could not force the ring past her knuckle. She wasn't going to concede, even if it meant amputation. 

She threw open the bathroom door and bolted across the dark hallway yelping like a fox with its leg caught in the teeth of a trap. Bursting into her bedroom she was paralyzed by a gruesome sight. Lying on her bed, the charred remains of Keenan Ames slowly elevated to a seated position. She wanted more than anything to flee but the violent shock rendered her incapable.

"You're mine, Kitten," he said in a raspy voice. "Always will be."

The door slammed shut behind her. When Lyla whipped around she was met by Keenan's demented mother, one eye bulging, a bitter smile on her face. Lyla stumbled backward, thumping hard against her dresser, upsetting the bowl of salt which spilled in a zig-zag pattern across the floor. In a flash, the line of salt glowed with a light so intense that Lyla was forced to clamp her eyes closed.

She pried them open and discovered that her bedroom floor had split open, revealing a fiery pit. Before she could process the incomprehensible, the lizard-like demon hurtled out from beneath her bed, embedding its sharp claws into her ankles. Lyla struggled in vain against the creature's superhuman strength, shrieking when it dragged her down into the raging inferno.

Lyla thrashed wildly, nearly toppling to the floor with her pillows. She propelled herself upright against the headboard, her chest heaving, saliva caked in the corners of her mouth. She brought her hands to her face. No ring. Thank God, no ring.

In the dim light infiltrating through her window blinds, she confirmed that the floor was intact. The bowl of salt remained in place on her desk. She was alone in her room.

Lyla set her feet on the floor and bent forward, drawing deep breaths, hands clasped in her lap.

"They're gone," she said softly. "It's over. They're gone."