The Detour by S. A. Bodeen Page A

growled.
    I slid down and curled up, pulling the covers over me.
    I didn’t even care anymore that I was hungry. My hunger fed me, fueled my rage. Because I was past being a victim. One way or the other, I was getting the hell out of here.
    *   *   *
    I must have drifted off. There was a tap on the window.
    Had they come back without my hearing the car? Was Flute Girl messing with me?
    My heart pounded as my gaze drifted upward.
    I gasped. The boy was back, the boy from last night. He had short brown hair, dark eyes, and a huge, leering grin. My whole body buzzed. I scrambled off the bed and ran into the bathroom, shutting the door. I pressed my back against it, my heart jumping like crazy.
    Oh my God.
    For the first time ever, I wanted Peg to come back. Even Flute Girl would have been fine. I didn’t want to be alone there with him , whoever he was.
    A minute later, a door upstairs banged shut, and then the ceiling creaked. I pressed my ear to the bathroom door.
    Footsteps on the stairs, heavier than either Peg’s or Flute Girl’s.
    He is coming downstairs.
    BANG!
    I jumped and gasped.
    He’d hit the door. Or kicked it. Then the doorknob sounded like it was being jiggled. He mumbled something, sounded like a swear word I didn’t quite catch.
    He kept jiggling.
    My heart threatened to pound out of my chest.
    What if he got in? There was no way to lock the bathroom door.
    I could make a move for the weapon in my bed. But how much of a weapon would it be against this guy? I’d only seen his face, but he was obviously capable of running whatever machinery was needed to cut up a car. And given how weak I was, my own grandmother could have taken me at that point.
    He spoke again. “Where is it?”
    What was he looking for?
    The door banged again, like he’d kicked it. “I’ll find the key, and then I’m coming in there,” he shouted.
    I swallowed. He was looking for the lanyard with the key. I whispered, “Please, please, let Peg have it with her.”
    Then all his sounds stopped.
    Until he called out, “So what are you doing, Oh-liv-ee-aah?”
    He knew my name.
    I hated the way he said it. I held my breath, hoping he’d give up and go away when I didn’t answer.
    He asked again, in a singsongy way. “Oh-liv-ee-aah, what are you do-ing?”
    My skin crawled.
    He rapped on the door.
    Shave and a haircut. Two bits .
    I shivered.
    â€œI’m gonna get in there. Just a matter of time, Oh-liv-ee-aah.”
    I slid down to a crouch, hugging myself with my good arm.
    â€œLittle pig, little pig, let me come in.”
    Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin, you douche bag.
    â€œLet me in.” He did the singsongy thing again. “We’ll have some fuh-un.…”
    My chin began to wobble.
    A tear slipped down my cheek. I swiped it away. “Stop it,” I whispered. “He can’t get in.” Peg was a planner, I’d give her that. She had made my prison secure.
    He growled and smacked the door. “Stupid Peg. She told me I could have some fun.”
    Under my breath, I said, “Go away.”
    He kept talking. “I’m actually a nice guy. Really.”
    I doubted that.
    â€œWe could play a game of chess.”
    Sure we could.
    The weird thing was, his voice sounded almost like someone I knew. Maybe an actor on television, or the movies.
    I let out a shallow breath.
    Then a blast of music, insanely loud, with a male voice screaming words I couldn’t even understand. I slapped my hands over my ears, wincing at the pain in my left shoulder. So I could only cover one ear. The singer’s voice was raspy and rough, the drumbeat rapid, the bass booming. My heart raced faster.
    I stood up and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping it around my head.
    The music got louder, beating its way into my body. “Stop it!” I yelled.
    Two doors stood between me and the sound, and it still hurt my ears.