Free The Escape by Hannah Jayne Page A

words past her lips.
    He looked to where she was pointing. There was a starburst of wrinkles on the cotton where Jimmy’s fist had been. In the center, like the stamen of some hideous flower, was a smear of blood. Fletcher didn’t raise his head again before turning on his heel and walking into the night.
    • • •
     
    I shoulda killed him. I shoulda killed him. The words swirled around in his head. The faster he walked, the more the night air broke over his face. His hands were fisted so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms.
    The metallic waft of the blood on his shirt assaulted him, and he felt something noxious roiling in his gut. That smell…
    A thick, dense forest of pine trees surrounded him. Somewhere, a river flowed. He could hear it. He should have been able to smell it too—the fresh, mossy scent of the water, let alone the heady, sharp scent of the pine needles that cushioned his step. But the dull, metallic stench of the blood overtook all of his senses.
    “Adam?” Fletcher called. There was no response. His voice came out shaky and weak. “Adam, dude, where are you?”
    There was a rustle from somewhere behind Fletcher. It wasn’t big enough to be a bear, but was too large to be a squirrel. It was like his body knew the sound before his mind did. He tensed. Every inch of his body sensed danger in the most primitive way. Sweat burned his eyes and poured down the back of his shirt.
    It was coming for him. He needed to run. He needed to get away.
    A branch shook. A twig snapped. Someone took another step through the foliage. But Fletcher was frozen. It was as if he had been turned into a statue. He thought his head was going to explode or his heart would blow through his chest. He wanted to growl, to roar, to make himself big and terrifying and impassable.
    “Adam…” His voice was a mere whisper now, strained with tears and terror. “God, Adam. Man, where the fuck are you?”
    Then the smell of blood grew stronger. He looked down. Fresh droplets fanned across the toes of his sneakers. Another drop fell and a fresh wave of nausea crashed over him. He looked up, trying to locate where the drop came from. Branches stretched above him, but that was all. He looked down at his shoes again as another drop fell at the edge of his vision, burning a trail down his cheek.
    Fletcher retched. Through his daze, he had made it home. Kneeling in front of the toilet, he felt his whole body convulse. He was pretty sure he’d already thrown up every bit of food he’d ever eaten in his life.
    “Fletch, honey, is that you?”
    His mother clicked on the bathroom light, and Fletcher pinched his eyes shut at the harsh fluorescent glare. She put her hand on his back, then immediately pulled it away. “You’re sweating. Honey, are you sick? Do you have a fever?”
    Fletcher flushed the toilet as his mother arranged a wet washcloth on the back of his neck.
    “Do you need more pain medication? Or is the pain medication making you sick?”
    His head was still swimming with images of Jimmy. He pushed the pads of his fingers against his temples and rubbed small circles, trying to quell his headache.
    “I don’t know, Mom. The pain meds make me feel crazy.” He shrugged and pushed himself up from the bathroom floor. “I think I’m okay though. Maybe it was just something I ate.” He gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”
    He started down the hall, but his mother stopped him. “Fletcher, if there was something wrong—something wrong again—you would tell me, right?” Her smile was weak but her eyes were hopeful. “We can talk about things, you know.”
    Anger swelled in his chest and his headache thumped like a bass drum. “I’m fine, Ma. It’s probably just something I ate. I’m going back to sleep.” He pushed the washcloth back into her hand, strode into his room, and shut the door.
    • • •
     
    Avery snuck back into her house completely