“I need to do something about him.  I’m going to stand you right here, and I’m going to check on him.  Don’t move.  I promise I’ll be right down there and then I’ll come back for you, Sweetheart.”  I can see the fear in her eyes, but I can also see her resolve.  Brave girl.

She nods her head once at me, wrapping her arms around herself once more.  I slowly back away from her, and peer down the stairs.  He’s gone.  The bastard must have gotten up and ran off while I was busy comforting her.  I swear, if I ever see him again, he’s fucking dead.

“Let’s go, Tatum.  I’ll take you home,” I say when I walk back up to where I left her waiting.  I wrap my arm around her back, turning her towards my classroom where I had dropped my briefcase.

“Where is he?” she questions, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying, her head whipping back and forth as she continues to check behind us.  I need to talk her into going to a hospital.  He may have damaged her voice box when he choked her.

“He’s gone.”

I see and feel her shudder against me, so I quickly add, “Don’t worry about him right now.  I’m here with you.  Let’s just get you home.  I’ll take care of him later.”  She still looks panicked so I pick up our pace, keeping myself on alert in case he’s planning on jumping us.  He’d be stupid to even think about it.  I’m barely controlling my anger as it is.  Only the thought of not scaring Tatum any more than she already is keeps my fury locked up tight.

I retrieve my bag and we make it to my car without any sign of trouble.  After tucking her in the passenger side, I climb in and start the car but pause before shifting it into drive.  I don’t know which way to go.

“Where do you live?” I ask gently, trying not to startle her as she stares out the window.  She drops her head to stare at her lap instead of looking me in the eyes.

“I—I don’t want to go home,” she confesses.  “I’m scared he’ll find me there.”

“Aren’t your parents’ home?  We can tell them what happened.  I’ll help you,” I offer, but she shakes her head at me.

“I don’t have parents, I mean I have parents, a mom, but I don’t live with them, with my mom,” she stutters, her voice breaking when she says, “I’m all alone.”  Fresh tears burst from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks.

“Okay, okay,” I soothe, “anyone else you can stay with?”

She shakes her head no once again.

This is a bad idea.  It’s a terrible fuckin’ idea, but I offer it anyway because I don’t know how else to help.  “Do you want to stay with me until we sort this out?”

“I don’t want to intrude…” she trails off, and I can tell this is hard for her.  Two days ago, we couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other.  Now I’ve witnessed probably the darkest moment of her life.  She needs me, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.  And honestly, I need to see that she’s okay.

“Don’t even worry,” I tell her and I turn the car towards home.

She’s quiet when I lead her into my townhome and show her to the living room.

“Have a seat.  Can I get you something to drink or eat?” I ask, not knowing what else to do.  She simply nods her head before taking a seat on the couch.

I cross the hall into my galley kitchen, grabbing myself a beer from the fridge.  I down half the contents before I begin rummaging for food.  What would she like to eat?  I don’t want to leave her there for long while I cook, so for now I grab a box of granola bars, a bottle of water for her, and my beer before heading back to the living room.

When I enter, Tatum is curled into a ball on my couch, sobbing quietly into her sleeves.  My chest constricts tighter with each gasping breath she takes.  I set my findings down on the coffee table and take a seat next to her.

“Come here,” I offer, needing to hold her, to comfort her.  I’m still shaken so I can only imagine how she’s must feel.

To my surprise, she turns over, crawling into my lap and tucking her face into my shoulder.  I hold her tightly, circling my arms around her as if my arms can keep her from falling apart.  I wish they could; I want nothing more than to take away the hurt she’s feeling in this moment.

Time passes, and eventually, she grows quiet.  The sun begins to set into a pale aquamarine sky outside my window and I know it must be getting late.  As carefully as I can, I tilt her head to the side and glance down at her only to discover she fell asleep sometime after her crying stopped.  Or maybe she cried herself to sleep.  A hole opens in my chest above my heart as I replay the images of finding her this afternoon.  The terror on her face haunts me, and seeing that asshole’s hand inside her pants?  I’m suddenly filled with rage all over again, and I need to move.  I gently lift her off my lap and lie her down on her side, grabbing the afghan I keep draped over the back of the sofa and cover her gently.

I stalk upstairs into my bedroom and close the door, leaving it open just a crack so I can hear her if she wakes.  My hands are shaking, and I sink down onto my mattress, covering my face with them, trying to stifle the rising emotions inside of me.

I haven’t had a week this fucked up since I lost Harper, and I don’t know how to fucking handle it.  I want to leave, drive down to Old Willow and drown my emotions in a couple of whiskeys.  But I could never leave her alone after the day she’s had; to wake up in some strange house, and not have me here to comfort her.

Fuck! For all I know, today may also be the cherry on top of her crappy week too.  She did miss the past two days of school.  What was she doing there tonight?  Steps away from my classroom, almost getting raped by some dirtbag.  What if I hadn’t decided to leave just then?  What if I was still correcting papers with my door shut and I didn’t hear her?  What if he kept going and raped her or hurt her?  Releasing a grunt of frustration, I allow myself to fall back onto the bed and close my eyes.

One thought leads to another.  Tatum.  Assaulted.  Attempted rape.  Death.  Harper.

Images of the accident begin flashing through my mind in rapid succession.  That red car coming out of nowhere, slamming into us and forcing my truck off the road.  Harper screaming when we veer off the road.  Harper’s body flying through the cab of my truck as we start to roll down the embankment.  Harper’s screams suddenly stopping.  Blood.  Ugly, deep crimson trails of blood on the window, on the seat, on Harper’s face, on her legs.  Her legs, lying in an awkward position.  The sirens, ambulances, fire truck.

And the images stop, except for one.

The final one.

Harper.

Cold, white, still.  Her delicate features motionless.  Eyes closed and mouth unsmiling.  Bruised and scraped.  I can’t help the whimper that escapes my own lips as I let sleep pull me under, leaving the tears to silently roll down my cheeks in the dark.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tatum

Blinking my eyes, I’m met with darkness.  My head feels stuffed with lead when I raise it to look around.  It pounds; a thousand drums beating within my skull.  My sleeves are damp, and my face feels tight, puffy, swollen.  Every muscle in my body is tense, as if I haven’t moved for hours.  What time is it?  It takes a minute for the fogginess to fade and it suddenly clicks.  I’m in Mr. Ryan’s house.  But where is he?

And then I remember.

Wyatt.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Leaping off the couch, I round the corner of the living room and find myself in a large galley kitchen.  A silver garbage can stands near the edge of the counter, and I don’t even hesitate to rip the lid off and heave the contents of my stomach inside.  I wipe my mouth with the corner of my sleeve when I finish, and leaning a trembling hand against the counter, I stand up.

As my eyes adjust to the darkened room, I take in my surroundings.  A large bay window is situated over the kitchen sink, and the light from the moon is filtering inside.  Crossing to the faucet, I run the cold water over my hands before splashing my face.  Then I cup my hands to take small sips, reveling in the feel of the cold water trickling down my sore throat.  I lean against the countertop, breathing deeply to try and calm my racing heart.