Chapter 26

Charlotte

For a moment, we just looked at each other. Recognition shone in our eyes like an emergency light warning us of danger.

Both of us were equally surprised. I was the first to react by spinning and running to my car.

The man did not hesitate to follow me. I knew who he was, where he lived, and what he had done. I was a liability, and he had to get rid of me. I had run from him once, but had gotten lucky.

In this beautiful neighborhood, on the tar road, there were no rocks or bushes for him to trip over.

I reached my car and grabbed the door handle. Before I yanked it open, a big hand clasped over my mouth. I tried to pull George’s hand away, but he was too strong.

He dragged me back to his house. I tried to fight, but could not break free. My scream caught in my throat.

I assumed Ethan was asleep on the couch and Dina was out with friends or blackout drunk. The children who lived on this street were at school, and the adults were at work.

No one saw the man drag me into his garage. No one was coming to my aid.

He kept his hand on my mouth and pushed me into the garage. He then slammed my head against his car.

My glasses cracked, and I stopped fighting as pain shot through my head. I groaned and reached for my bleeding forehead. I felt dizzy.

The man opened the trunk and easily put me inside. It took me a moment to recover from the blow.

I listened for the man and wondered if he was smart enough to fetch my handbag. I heard him open the car door and close it.

My heart was hammering as if it were a caged animal. The world seemed to stop spinning.

~Breathe.~ I inhaled air until my lungs were full and slowly exhaled. ~Don’t panic. Panic makes you stupid.~

He started the car, and I forced down my panic. He reversed, and I wondered where he could possibly take me.

If he murdered me, no one would suspect him. No one even knew that we knew each other.

The police would find my car in the guest parking space. There were no traces of violence. No proof of abduction.

I lay still for a while and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that it would numb the throbbing in my head.

My cracked glasses had cut my cheek and the left side was broken. I could see through the right side despite it being dark inside the trunk. It felt like I was trapped inside a coffin.

A tear slid down my cheek, and I fiercely wiped it away.

~Be brave.~

~Think.~

Where was he taking me? I had to get away from him as soon as possible. We were speeding, and the trunk was locked . . .

There was no way I could jump, but I was petite, and had more space in the trunk than most people would.

I felt around for something I could use as a weapon. Eventually we would stop, and I might have the chance to fight. But there was nothing in there with me...

Could I win a fight against a fully grown man? Would he strangle me like he had Mia? I shuddered as I pictured myself as a ghost with red eyes and a crushed windpipe.

Would I linger on earth, anchored by revenge?

I was scared. So scared. Terrified.

~Being brave does not mean you don’t get scared. It just means you have the courage to stand up to what scares you.~

Dimitri’s words replayed in my head, and I held onto them like a sailor would hold onto a life vest.

It was so dark in the trunk, and the darkness seemed to swallow me whole like a giant monster. The only sounds I heard were the tires on the road, the engine, and my ragged breathing.

I touched my head again where he had slammed it against the car window and made me see sparks. The pain told me that I was alive, and I wanted to stay that way. I would not become one of the ghosts.

I just had to think of plan B. My handbag was not with me—it had my phone inside. I turned so that I was facing the back of the car seats.

Through a tiny crack between them I had a view of the car’s interior. I saw a piece of pink material to my right. Was that my handbag?

I pushed my fingers into the crack, but I could not fit my hand through. It hurt, but I did not stop pushing. My life depended on my phone. My fingertip brushed against the side of my handbag.

I almost cried out in frustration.

I shoved against the car seats, but they would not budge. I tried to kick the inside of the trunk, but could not escape. I kicked and kicked hard, and accurately at first.

As my fear grew and my hope shrank, my kicks became frantic and aimless. I kicked the back light. It buckled.

I recalled reading somewhere that the lights could be kicked out so that victims of a kidnapping would stand a better chance of being seen. How had I forgotten about that?

I braced myself and kicked again—hard and on the right spot. The car’s back light fell out.

~Yes!~

I peered out at the road but couldn’t see houses or cars. We were in a rural area... Was there anyone who could save me? I stuck my hand out of the opening and waved it around.

I tried to stay positive and tell myself that someone would see it.

And someone must have.

George slammed on brakes, and I retracted my hand. He must be stopping because he possibly saw my hand in the side mirror...

He pulled over on the side of the road and flung open his door. He marched to the trunk and opened it.

I looked at him with big eyes. “Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone!”

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” he said.

I tried to jump out of the trunk, but George was faster than I was. He easily caught me and pushed me back into it. I screamed, but there was no one to hear me. He removed his tie.

“No, stop!” I cried.

He tied my hands to my feet. I struggled against him, but it was futile. I would not be able to stick my hand out of the car anymore.

That was when we heard the police sirens.

For a moment, I thought I’d imagined them, but then I saw the panic on George’s face and realized that the sound was real.

“He—” I started to cry, but was interrupted by George’s massive hand that locked around my throat. His grip was tight, and I could not breathe.

I fought against my bonds, but could not break free. I could not even try to pull his hand away.

~I was suffocating . . . My eyes are going to turn red . . .~

I was going to turn into the thing I feared most: death. I was hopeless and pathetic. I could not fight, and I could not cry. It was the worst feeling in the world.

George looked around frantically. The police were approaching from our front—thus they could not see the back of the car.

He let go of my throat, and I gasped for air. I did not scream again because I was scared he would strangle me to death next time.

~I’m alive.~

George moved around the car and quickly grabbed the handbag which he threw on top of me. “Don’t say a thing,” he told me, then forced his handkerchief into my mouth.

He slammed the trunk shut, and I heard him move to the driver’s seat. Tires screeched, and I assumed it was the police car. It stopped, and I heard the door open, followed by footsteps.

“Good day, officer,” George said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

George sounded calm and in control, but I knew he was terrified. If he was caught with a minor in his trunk, he would certainly face serious charges.

“I was going to ask the same thing,” the officer said. “Do you need some help?”

“No, I just pulled over to take a leak.” I wondered if he hoped the officer would leave him alone if things got awkward.

My mouth felt dry because of the handkerchief that was forced into it. I tried to scream but could not. My throat also hurt.

I struggled against my bonds like a mouse in a trap. My handbag was right there by me. I lifted my legs up so that my hands could reach it. I wished I was more flexible.

I got hold of my handbag’s zip. I took a deep breath and tried to open it. It was so hard, and I was running out of time. I held it and moved my hands and feet together but only ended up shifting the bag.

~Don’t panic.~

Then I tried to steady the bag with my feet and open the zipper. Finally, the zip moved, and I stuck my hand into the handbag. I struggled as I felt around for my phone.

I heard George thank the officer for his concern and wish him a good day. The officer walked back to his vehicle.

He must not have looked back to see the broken light, because I heard him drive away. He left, and took some of my hope with him.

I concealed my phone with my hands. George marched around the car and opened up the trunk.

“That was a close call,” he told me.

I squirmed and tried to beg, but the gag forbade it. He took the handbag off my body and returned it to the backseat.

He must have taken it away to prevent me from getting my phone, or something sharp which could be used to free myself. He had no idea that I already had my phone.

Then he got back behind the steering wheel, and we continued to drive. I looked out of the opening, hoping to see another car. It was not long until we turned onto a gravel road.

I had a feeling that no other cars were coming.

I fumbled with my phone. It was hard because my wrists and ankles were bound together.

If I could call 911, I would not be able to speak. But I could make noise by banging against the trunk. Maybe they would track the call . . .

I finally managed to press a button. When the phone’s light did not go on, I realized my battery was dead. I swallowed back tears.

~No . . .~

I let go of the phone since it was no use to me. A tear slid down my cheek, and I refused to have a meltdown. I tried to spit out the gag. I could not get it out.

After failing at calling the police and spitting out my gag, I focused on my bonds. I had small wrists... maybe I could wiggle free...

George’s phone rang several times, and I wondered if it was work or family. Either way, it could probably wait. His priority was to get rid of me.

I wiggled and twisted, and after a while it felt as if the knot was coming undone. Then the car came to a halt. I stopped struggling and listened intently. I tried to figure out what George was doing.

I turned my head so that I could see what was happening outside the car. I saw George’s vacation house where I had stayed with my family, and it was next to the hill on which Mia was murdered.

George opened the door and went somewhere. It sounded as if he dragged something with him as he returned. I don’t know how long I lay there, wiggling, shaking from fear, but it felt like hours.

After a while, fear turned into frustration, and I began kicking the inside of the trunk.

He opened the trunk, and I realized he had gone to the garage to get gardening tools and was digging a grave—for me.

Now that I was incredibly scared of dying, and in the same vulnerable position as Mia had been, I began to see her more as a person who had lost everything, instead of just a vengeful spirit.

He removed my gag. “You can scream. No one will hear you.”

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked.

“Because you saw me kill Mia Brooks,” he said, “and now I have to kill you.”

I did not want to become a ghost. I didn’t think George had a passion for killing, because on the night he killed Mia, he had clearly been upset.

He hadn’t killed her because he enjoyed it, and he wasn’t planning on killing me for fun either. He planned to kill me because I was a threat. I tried to prolong my life by talking.

“How do you know her?”

“I met her through her modeling agency. I needed a model for my real estate business. At first our relationship was professional, but she was so beautiful, and she made things so easy . . . ”

I thought about the modeling brochure I had found in her room. Mia had left it for me. She wanted me to go to her modeling company, and I had. That was where I learned that Mia had a man—George . . .

Dimitri had also seen the modeling brochure and said that she looked familiar. He had most likely seen her with George before.

“It became intimate, and she fell in love.” He sighed.

“I know I should not have let things go that far, but my wife drives me crazy. Mia made me feel like a man. She supported me and was exactly what I needed for the time being.”

“Why did you kill her then?”

George looked at me with sad eyes. “I brought her here, to this house, for a weekend. We were stargazing on that hill when she told me some terrible news. She told me that she was pregnant with my child.

“I tried to convince her that the best thing to do was get an abortion. Then she got upset and threatened me. She told me that she would tell my wife and sons.”

I thought back to what she heard him say that night: ~“You bitch!” he cried. “You’ll tell them nothing!”~

He had murdered her because he was desperate and because he could not take responsibility for his actions.

When I’d visited my aunt and uncle, I had seen Mia. I had asked, ~“What do you want?” ~When Mia had walked to the little baby, Emma, I had thought that she wanted revenge on all of us.

What Mia had been trying to say was that she wanted her unborn baby. She had also awoken me to save Hanna’s life. Mia had not wanted to hurt either of the children. She had not wanted to hurt me either . . .

She had wanted to make me understand.

“I had no idea that you were there,” he said to me. “You weren’t supposed to witness that.”

“We can act like I never did,” I said. “We’ve been doing so for two months now.”

“But now you know my identity,” he mumbled. “You will go to the police.”

“I won’t. I have no proof.”

“I can’t take that chance,” he said.

I realized he had dug up the flower bed—the one with the cosmos.

Mia had thrown our gardening tools in my room. Back then I had not known what it meant. Now I understood that Mia was trying to tell me that she was buried.

I struggled against my bonds as much as I struggled to fight the panic. I had been a coward in the past, but I was not anymore. I was scared, but I was also courageous, and I could survive this.

~I am my own heroine.~

~I will save myself.~

I sat upright in the trunk and moved to the opening. If only I could get my legs free, I would be able to run . . . George was digging . . .

Was he going to bury me alive or kill me first? I struggled and struggled. Then I lost my balance and fell out of the car.

I cried out as I fell onto the ground. I had injured my ankle, and pain shot through it like a lightning bolt. I lay there in an awkward position while my breath came in rasps.

George looked to see me on the ground. “You are going nowhere.”

~I am not a coward.~

~I will not lie down and die.~

I tried to pull my hands apart for what felt like eternity, but I did not stop fighting. I’d never stop fighting.

Then the impossible happened, and I managed to wiggle a foot free. I wiggled some more, and got my other foot free. My heart leapt.

Just when I was about to work on my hands, George climbed out of the hole he was digging. He instantly saw that my feet were free and rushed toward me.

“No!” I cried.

He grabbed me by the elbow and lifted me to my feet. “It will all be over soon.”

He dragged me to the grave. I looked into the big hole and saw a corpse. Mia Brooks was buried there, being eaten by worms.

She had drawn cosmos in my notebook. I thought it meant that Mia wanted me dead, but Mia had been trying to tell me that she was buried under them.

When my family and I stayed in this holiday home, Mia had pointed downwards, and a hand had grabbed me. She was trying to say that she was buried there, where no one could find her.

And if no one could find her, no one would know she was dead. There would be no proof that she had been murdered.

All this time I had thought that Mia wanted revenge. All this time I had misunderstood. Mia had not moved on because she wanted justice.

I was the only person who had witnessed her murder. I was also the only person who could see Mia’s ghost. Mia had wanted my help. She had no one else to go to.

I could now understand how she felt that terrible night. I was also scared and alone. I was not ready to die.

“Don’t!” I screamed.

The man grabbed both of my shoulders and turned me to face him. His hands were shaking and his eyes were wide, which meant he was also scared.

“Don’t you understand? I don’t want to do this. I ~have~ to do this!”

His back was turned to the open grave, and I heard approaching footsteps. Both of us were caught off guard and looked around frantically.

“Who is there?” George asked.

No one answered him. There were no other cars, and no other people in sight. I was not imagining the footsteps, because George heard them too. He looked as scared as I felt.

“Show yourself!” George commanded.

Then Mia appeared right behind me—fast, grinning. George got such a fright. He let go of me and took a step backward—into the open grave.

I had wondered why I had not seen Mia on Halloween. Dimitri had told me that his stepfather had fallen down the stairs. Mia must have spent Halloween haunting her ex-lover.

George hit his head against the ground and lost consciousness. I turned around, but Mia was gone.

I fumbled with my remaining bonds. They easily came loose. I tossed the tie aside and went to the car. I hopped in by the driver’s seat and reached for the keys.

They were not in the ignition.

I searched frantically in the car for them until I realized there was only one other place they could be—with George. I cursed.

I could not find his phone in the car either. It had to be on him as well. I had two options.

Option one: I could run. If he woke, he would easily catch up with me in his car. Option two: search his body. This meant I had to climb into that grave . . .

I took a shaky breath. I limped back to the grave and looked into it. George was lying on top of Mia. His eyes were closed.

I was not very tall and hoped that I would be able to climb out of the grave. But first I had to climb in . . .

~I am brave.~

I slowly slid into it and bent down. George was unconscious but breathing. I searched his pockets. He grunted, and it made me jump. I found his phone and car keys in the same pocket.

Then I tried to get out of the grave. It was difficult. Twice I jumped and tried to grab a hold of something. Twice I slid back into the grave. On my third attempt, I gained a foothold. I managed to crawl out.

I did not hesitate to use the phone. It had one bar of signal. I dialed 911.

“911. What is your emergency?” the operator asked.

“Help!” I cried and gave them my location. “I’m sixteen years old. George Coleman is trying to kill me! He has already killed a woman—Mia Brooks—and buried her.”

Before the operator could answer a hand reached out from the grave and grabbed my sore ankle. I cried out and dropped the phone.

Instead of screaming and panicking like last time, I turned and kicked George’s hand. He cried out and let me go.

I ran to the car, leaving the phone where it had fallen, and once I climbed in, I realized I had dropped the keys. I got out again and ran around the car to fetch the keys.

I grabbed them at the same time George got out of the hole, clearly disoriented. He rushed me, in a zigzag way, and I ducked and rolled under the car. He bent down and tried to grab me.

“Get out from under there!” he cried.

I screamed again but did not do as he asked. He then crawled under the car—after me. I crawled out and climbed into the driver’s seat.

I locked the doors immediately and stuck the key into the ignition. My hands were shaking violently as I twisted the key. The engine roared to life.

Then George grabbed a rock and smashed the window. Glass shattered everywhere, and I screamed. He grabbed my hair, and I put my foot down on the gas.

The car jumped forward. George ripped some of my hair out even as he fell over. I sped forward, but had lost control. I drove the car into the house. The airbag inflated.

George got to his feet and approached the car. I was dizzy. I swung the door open and tried to run. My ankle was killing me, but the adrenaline kept me going.

~I am a fearless heroine.~

“Come back!” George called, as if I would listen to him.

My glasses were broken and finally fell off my face. I could not see well, and narrowly missed stepping into the grave. I reached the pile of sand and flowers George had dug up.

That was where he caught me. He slammed into me, and I fell to the ground. I tried to crawl away, but he had a hold on my legs.

I twisted and looked into his killer eyes. He pulled me closer and struck me on the jaw. It was a hard blow that rattled my mind. He hit me again. I stopped squirming and clutched my face.

I would not accept death.

I saw the spade. I could not hit hard enough to hurt him, but that spade could. I reached for it, unexpectedly, and swung it into his face.

George cried out as blood spurted from his nose. I hit him again before I got to my feet.

Then I heard the sirens. I saw the blue lights in the distance.

“It’s over,” I told him. “You lose.”

I walked away from him, and I did not get far before I collapsed. I’d never felt more exhausted or more alive. I’d hurt George so badly he couldn’t get to his feet . . . couldn’t get to me.

I had saved myself.

I looked back at the grave. Mia stood there, and although I couldn’t see well without my glasses, I knew she smiled thankfully at me.

Justice would be served, and George would be locked up. I had helped her, and she did not belong here anymore. I passed out knowing I would never see her again.

I was not scared anymore.