Chapter 8 - Breaking Out
“Dave!” I yelled, spinning around to face my uncle. “We have to get out of here now! Mom and Lucy are at the market on 4th Street!”
Uncle Dave didn't hesitate. He dropped the crowbar with a heavy metallic clang, grabbed Eric by the arm, and hauled him upright. “Move, Eric! Get your keys out right now!”
Eric stumbled forward, his face pale, tears streaming down his cheeks as the full weight of what he had invited into his life crashed down upon him. He pulled his car keys from his pocket as we scrambled up the wooden basement stairs.
Vanessa stood blocking the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, a smug, untouchable look on her face. “You’ll never make it in traffic. And even if you do, my associates are already handling the transition.”
“Move,” Uncle Dave growled, stepping up to her with such raw, imposing fury that Vanessa actually flinched and took a step back into the kitchen.
Dave didn't waste time arguing. He grabbed Vanessa by the arm with a grip like a vise, shoved her firmly against the kitchen wall, and locked the pantry door from the outside, throwing the heavy deadbolt into place.
“Let me out of here!” Vanessa’s muffled screams echoed from behind the wooden door as she pounded against it. “You can't lock me in! The police will—!”
“Let the police find you right there,” Dave snapped, turning away. “Let’s go!”
We sprinted out the front door, piling into Dave’s pickup truck. Eric jammed his key into the ignition, but his hands were shaking so violently he stalled the engine twice before it finally roared to life.
“Step on it, Eric!” I shouted, gripping the passenger grab handle as the truck fishtailed out of the driveway, kicking up gravel against the curb.
The drive to the 4th Street market usually took fifteen minutes. Dave navigated the backstreets with reckless precision, blowing through a yellow light and laying on the horn as slower cars drifted out of our way. My phone buzzed continuously in my lap—missed calls from Mom, automated emergency alerts, and a text message from an unknown number containing a single address on the industrial outskirts of town: ‘If you ever want to see the child again.’
“She didn't send an associate to the grocery store,” I said, staring at the screen in horror. “That was a decoy or a setup to get Mom to move into the open. The real person was waiting outside.”
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Eric slammed his fist against the steering wheel, crying openly as he drove. “It’s my fault. All of it. I brought her into our home. I let her blind me.”
“Save the guilt for later, Eric,” Dave shouted from the backseat, leaning forward to keep watch on the road. “Just keep driving!”
