Page 84 of Rogue Wave

“Fuck, no,” Samson replied.

“Actually, we should,” my dad chimed in, tilting his head in my direction. “If you start rifling through her stuff, your fingerprints will be all over it.”

Of course, my dad would think of that. Nevertheless, it helped my plan.

Samson stood there, clearly contemplating the merit of what my dad had said, before finally nodding.

“Fine, Carson. Untie her, but do it quick. We don’t have time for this shit.”

My dad moved to me and untied me quickly, not even acknowledging the fact that my ties were looser now.

“In here,” I said, walking slowly to the built-in curio cabinet in my dining room where I kept some of my supplies.

Please let this work.

“Don’t pull any bullshit, or I’ll shoot you faster than you can think,” Samson threatened.

My dad stepped up next to Samson, shifting nervously but clearly showing whose side he was on.

I stopped and opened the lower cabinet door and pulled out my small white mason jar of ammonium chloride I’d bought for Bernie’s tank to adjust the pH levels.

Breathe. You’ve got this.

I set the large mason jar on the table and unscrewed the lid. “These are some of the shells I found. I put them in this white powder because it helps preserve them,” I lied, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I collected them in this jar before I realized what the sticker meant. Then, once I made the connection, I was scared to show it to the cops because they might question why I took it in the first place.”

That sounded plausible, right?

The lights flickered again, and then suddenly, the power went out.

Despite it only being late afternoon, darkness swallowed the house. Only gray light from the storm filtered through the windows.

Samson turned to me and held out his hand. “Give me the jar with all the shells and stickers and anything else you have.”

“We need to go,” my dad announced. “If the power is out, the cop will come over for sure now.”

“Shut up,” Samson yelled back and aimed the gun at my dad. “I’m not leaving here without that information. The other guys you texted will take care of the pig like they’re supposed to.”

With the attention off me for a moment, I tilted the jar and scooped up a handful of the white powder, packing it tight between my fingers. Just as their gazes snapped back to me, I swung my arm forward and threw the powder right into Samson’s eyes.

“Ahhhhhhh! Fuck!” he screamed, clutching his face. He rubbed his eyes, likely making it worse as the powder spread and dissolved in his tears, burning and stinging with every drop of moisture.

I knew I had limited time before his vision cleared. I took off at a sprint, hoping to make it to the front door before they could catch me, but the darkness in the room made it hard. I tripped over my rug and went crashing down.

My dad reached out an arm and grabbed me on my way down.

I tried to pull loose from his grip, but I fell in an awkward position.

“Carson, here!” a voice yelled from my hallway.

Dougie stood there, a gun in his hand, and he slid another gun to my dad.

What?

“I’ve got Hazel, you grab Samson,” he directed to my dad.

He was helping them?

It only took a split second for everything to happen, yet it felt as if it were in slow motion.