Silence by Becca Fitzpatrick Page A

wondered if I could outrun him to the street. I wondered what the chances were that a car would drive by when I needed it most. And why, oh why, had I left Coopersmith’s without grabbing my jacket and cell phone?
    “What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Marcie,” I lied.
    “Let me tell you something, Marcie,” he said, tucking a curl behind my ear. I tried to take a step back, but he pinched my ear in warning. So I stood there, enduring his touch as his finger trailed over the curve of my ear and along my jaw. He tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his pale, almost translucent eyes. “Nobody lies to Gabe. When Gabe tells a girl to run along, she better run along. Otherwise it makes Gabe angry. And that’s a bad thing, because Gabe has a short temper. In fact, short is a generous way of putting it. You feel me?”
    I found it eerie that he referred to himself in the third person, but I wasn’t about to make an issue of it. Instinct told me Gabe didn’t like to be corrected, either. Or questioned. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t dare turn away from him, afraid he might mistake such a movement for a sign of disrespect.
    “I want you to go now,” he said in that deceptively velvet voice.
    I nodded, backing up. My elbow bumped the door, letting in a rush of cool air.
    As soon as I was outside, Gabe called through the glass door, “Ten.” He was slouched against the front counter, a warped smile on his face.
    I didn’t know why he’d said the word, but I held my expression in check as I continued to back away, faster now.
    “Nine,” he called next.
    That’s when I figured out he was counting backward.
    “Eight,” he said, pushing up from the counter and taking a few lazy steps toward the door. He placed his palms on the glass, then drew an invisible heart with his finger. Seeing the stricken look on my face, he chuckled. “Seven.”
    I turned and ran.
    I heard a car approaching on the main road, and I began shouting and flagging my arms. But I was still too far away, and the car zipped past, the drone of its engine vanishing around the bend.
    When I made it to the road, I glanced right, then left. On a hasty decision, I turned toward Coopersmith’s.
    “Ready or not, here I come,” I heard Gabe call out behind me.
    I pumped my arms harder, hearing the obnoxious slap of my ballet flats on the pavement. I wanted to throw a look over my shoulder and see how far back he was, but forced myself to concentrate on the bend in the road ahead. I tried to keep as much distance as possible between me and Gabe. A car would come soon.
It had to.
    “Is that as fast as you can go?” He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet behind. Worse, his voice didn’t sound fatigued. I was struck by the horrible thought that he wasn’t even trying. He was enjoying the cat-and-mouse, and while I grew more and more tired with every step, he grew more and more excited.
    “Keep going!” he singsonged. “But don’t wear yourself out. It won’t be any fun if you can’t put up a fight when I catch you. I want to
play
.”
    Ahead, I heard the deep rumble of an approaching engine. Headlights swung into view, and I moved into the middle of the road, frantically waving my arms. Gabe wouldn’t hurt me with a witness looking on. Would he?
    “Stop!” I yelled, continuing to hail what I could now see was a pickup truck rolling closer.
    The driver slowed beside me, cracking his window. He was middle-aged with a flannel shirt and smelled strongly of the fish docks.
    “What’s the matter?” he asked. His gaze shifted over my shoulder, where I felt Gabe’s presence like a cold crackle in the air.
    “Just playing hide-and-seek,” Gabe said, slinging his arm around my shoulders.
    I shrugged him off. “I’ve never seen this guy before,” I told the man. “He threatened me at the 7-Eleven. I think he and his friends are trying to rob the store. When I walked in, the store was empty and I heard a struggle in the back. We need to call