He hoists up my knees.
Never stop, Candy.
Run and never stop.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Josiah
Ican finally stand by the time I reach the back door, although my legs feel more like rubber than flesh and bone. I lean against the wall for a moment as dizziness threatens to haul me under, and then shove away and half-fall, half surge through the kitchen door.
My head’s heavy, my limbs clumsy.
Jo.
I wrench my head around to scan the kitchen. Who the hell said that? My hair stands on end as I move through the kitchen as fast as I can. I pass the phone, but then I hesitate and back up beside it again. I snatch the receiver, dial out 9-1-1, and set it down on the counter. I can’t speak—who knows how far my voice might travel? I can only hope that the operator sends help and doesn’t just end the call and try to phone back.
Dad can’t know that I’ve survived.
The stairs leading to the second floor could have been Mount Kilimanjaro. I take them on hands and knees—what a waste it would be getting this far, only to break my neck because I can barely stay upright—and get to the top what feels like hours later.
Hurry.
Hurry.
Hurry!
My body resists when I try and run. Instead, I end up surging forward, bouncing off the wall, and barely catching myself before I land on my face.
But I keep doing it, because it’s faster than crawling.
And there’s no time.
And I’m probably already too late.
And what the fuck am I going to do if he’s done with her already?
Jo.
I ignore it this time. That voice in my head.
In my head? Then why do I think someone’s watching me? Urging me along?
Because you should never have woken up, but you did. You shouldn’t be walking, but here you are.
There’s a creak, so faint it could be nothing more than the wind against a—
Thump.
That goddamn fucking shutter.
I drag my heavy feet over the carpets in my rush to get upstairs.
Thump.
I take the second flight of stairs like a man. An old, geriatric man, but on two legs and with barely a hunch in my shoulders.
Thump.