Page 69 of Reclaiming Adelaide

“Someone help me!” I cried as I banged on the door. “I’m in here! I need help!”

The never-ending scurry and scuffles of cats all night sat in stark contrast to the silence outside of this door. A burdensome weight sank inside my chest, making the van shrink, the walls coming in closer and attacking me with their solid state.

I sat on the bench and covered my face with my dirty hands.

There was another option. But how much of an asshole would I have to be to make that phone call?

I didn’t want to do it, but the van would only continue to bake in the sun as the heat progressed. If I didn’t get out…

No. No. No.

I don’t need anyone. I can figure it out on my own.

I dug out my phone. Thirty minutes had passed with me banging, tugging on doors, and screaming. Not one solution worked.

A ticklish sensation rolled down the back of my knee to my ankle.

There were no windows to open, no cross ventilation.

I was fucked.

“Just do it, Adelaide.”

My fingers froze in the blazing heat as I sat on the bench I’d slept all night on just to avoid him. A clear drop of fluid landed on my screen, dripping from my brow.

Sitting a moment longer, I found his contact, thankful I’d transferred all my contacts into my phone at the restaurant, then pressed the little green button and braced myself for his unholy wrath.

The phone rang, then cut short and went to voicemail.

I spun my lip ring around, bouncing my sweating leg back and forth, then dialed again.

“Listen here, you fuckers—”

“Jake?” I said, panting into the phone with a sniveling cry of desperation that made me sick.

“Adelaide?” he said, surprised. “Adelaide, where are you?”

His dark velvet tenor, filled with worry, covered my concern with fictitious salvation.

“I n-need your help.”

“Where are you?” he repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I’m trapped inside a van, and it’s getting really hot in here.”

The air thinned out around me, making my head swim as my chest rose and fell far too fast.

“Calm down, sweets. Where do you think you are?”

“I’m…” I swallowed.

“Hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker. Tell Charity and Max where you were last.”

I’d only heard of one Charity in my life, and my world wasn’t so small that Jake could possibly be sitting with the Mafia’s pretty little killer.

“In a junkyard. White van. No windows. Broken, but intact, front windshield.”

“Which junkyard?” Charity said.

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