Page 145 of Depraved Boys

The man reached for his phone, pressed 9-9-9, and put the receiver to his ears. “Police… I’m on Hard Knott Pass…. The one in Cumbria, yes…. There’s a young girl in school uniform wandering about.” He pressed the phone to his chest. “What’s your name?”

“Willow Evergreen.”

He repeated my name to the operator. “Yes. Of course, she’s breathing. She just told me her name. Someone attacked the girl and left her out on the mountain to die… No, there aren’t any wounds, but exposure is a cause of death, isn’t it?” After a long pause, he said, “Alright, alright. I’ll relay the message.”

“What did they say?”

“They’re sending out a squad car. It can take up to an hour and a half, though. Do you want me to call someone else?”

My shoulders drooped. I didn’t know any of the boys’ numbers off by heart. Would anyone be manning the phones at the academy in the middle of the night?

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh. “I can’t leave you out here waiting for the police in the cold. Why don’t you come inside and warm up? I have a daughter your age, and if someone left her out to the elements, I’d never forgive them.”

I swallowed hard. What choice did I have? My body already felt half-frozen from the elements, and not even a sauna and a bottle of brandy could penetrate this bone-deep chill. I must have lain in that freezing cave for half a day before waking. Maybe this murder attempt hadn’t been so half-assed, after all.

“Thanks.” I opened the door, scooted into the front seat, and pulled it shut.

The man turned on the fans to full blast, and the warm air made my skin tingle. “Better, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Need a drink?”

I shook my head. Right now, I was too frozen to even think about sustenance. Raising my hands to the warm air vents, I wriggled my fingers to get the circulation going. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man staring at me as though I was some kind of bizarre creature that had never experienced a fan.

The locks clicked shut, and he pulled out of the roadside.

My stomach dropped, and I turned to the man. “I thought we were waiting for the police.”

He continued driving without a word.

Palpitations squeezed my heart and warmed me up from the inside. “What are you doing?”

“No one’s coming.” He cast me a cursory glance.

“What?”

“I didn’t call nine-nine-nine!”

He sped down the dark road, his headlights only illuminating the nearest fifty feet of track, which wound and twisted at an alarming rate. The man either had a death wish or knew this road so well, he could afford to drive recklessly.

“S-slow down,” I cried.

The man revved up his engine and accelerated up a steep slope. Less than five minutes later, he drove through a familiar stretch of road and whizzed past the entrance to Brittas Academy.

Fear grabbed my stomach in its punishing grip and squeezed a loud gasp from my lungs. Soon, we would reach the dangerous hairpin turns, and we would tumble to our deaths. I screamed at the man to stop, but he roared with laughter.

I was going to die. In a madman’s Toyota Corolla. A sharp right turn sent me lurching to the driver’s side. My stomach heaved, and I pointed my head into his lap. Vomit spewed out onto his gearbox, his pants, and all over the synthetic leather seats.

“Fucking bitch.” He punched me in the face.

My head snapped back, and pain radiated across my jaw. My stomach swirled, and I swayed toward him and released another spray of vomit on the side of his face.

“You filthy beast!” He screeched the brakes to a halt.

The click of the central locking resounded in my ears and made my heart soar.

“Get out,” he roared.