Real Love
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 12
Callie held the phone to her ear. Her joints were frozen with horror— she couldn’t unbend her fingers to drop it.
She knew she had to think, but her head was filled with the sound of Dylan’s panic. Seconds ticked by while she fought for control.
Slowly, slowly, her thoughts started to break past that brick wall of pain. To plan. Because she had no choice now but one: to go to the haunted house and die. She owed it to Dylan.
She had no guarantees that doing what Sutton wanted would keep him alive. She could only hope that he would be satisfied with winning the game and that having her would be enough.
Despair was like a noose pulling tight around her neck; there was no way to bargain, nothing she could offer or withhold that would influence Sutton. But she still had no choice. She had to try.
Callie pushed the terror back much as she could. Then, she couldn’t afford to the time to feel it. Her decision was made. It did no good to waste time agonizing over it. She had to think clearly because Landon, Anderson, and Sheriff Thomas were downstairs. Deceiving them was absolutely essential.
The only expression she could manage was a blank, dead look, but she felt like that was understandable. She walked downstairs into the living room, her script ready to go.
Landon was bent over the desk, gripping the edge with two hands. His face—At first the panic broke through her mask, and she jumped around the couch to get to him. While she was still in motion, Callie realized what he must be seeing. It brought her up short a few feet away from him.
“Landon,” she said, dully.
He didn’t react when Callie called his name. His head rocked slowly from side to side. His expression brought the panic back again.
Callie took another step forward, reaching out to touch his arm. He turned his empty face, looking into my eyes.
“Landon,” she said. “What is it?”
His head twisted, his eyes locked on hers, his expression was of pure pain.
“It’s nothing, Callie,” he said. “Just struggling with some hard decisions.”
Reaching out, Callie took one of her brother’s hands in hers and ran her fingers gently over it, then raised it to her mouth and kissed first the back of his hand and then his palm.
“I love you, Landon, never forget that.”
“I love you, too, sis.” His voice was wary.
“Where are Anderson and Sheriff Thomas?”
“They went out. They are investigating a lead,” Landon was breathing slowly, trying to stay calm. Callie cursed herself for what she had put all my loved ones through. The last thing her brother needed was worrying about her.
It was rather late to go out investigating a lead, but Callie didn’t question her luck. She knew Landon’s bike was parked outside. All she needed was an excuse to go out.
Glancing down, she petted Scout’s head. “Do you have to go outside?”
Scout cooperated with her and whined, then turned and headed for the nearest set of
French doors.
“That would be a yes,” Callie said with faked amusement. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”
Landon was concentrating again on whatever he was doing, and didn’t pay any attention to her.
Callie walked to the doors. Scout waited for her to step out first and then followed and rushed ahead to find a patch of grass. Callie closed the door behind her but paused and waited. When she was sure Landon wasn’t following her out of the house, she dashed to the bike. Every second felt like an eternity. She had to act as quickly as she could. Landon could realize she was gone any minute from then.
She ripped the tarp off the Harley, the canvas flapping in the wind like a startled bird. Her hands worked with practiced ease, releasing the chain, and pushing the bike down the gravel driveway.
“Don’t lose it yet,” Callie told herself. “You still have to push the bike to the road and drive it.”
Her luck held.
As soon as she was far enough from the cabin, she kicked the bike over two or three times to get the engine primed with oil. Then, she turned on the fuel valve, and the choke, and finally, the ignition switch.
She twisted the throttle once or twice, to find the compression stroke and kicked. It took only two kicks before the engine roared to life, a guttural sound that mirrored the turmoil within her.
The rumble of the engine echoed through the still night, a mechanical heartbeat against the chirping of crickets. Each cough and sputter of the engine as she kicked it over sent shivers down her spine, a mix of fear and exhilaration.
Callie’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging her forward. She twisted the throttle, the Harley lurching forward as it devoured the miles stretching before her. Against the odds, she had escaped. The path was set. Somehow, she had to rescue Dylan.
Instead of panicking, Callie closed her eyes and spent the twenty-minute drive with Dylan. Tears welled in her eyes as she pictured the two of them having a picnic of tuna sandwiches and Krispies squares by the lake.
There were so many things she still wanted to know about him.
In her mind, Callie could see his face so clearly ... almost hear his voice. Despite everything, for a fleeting second, she was happy. So lost in her escapist daydream, she barely noticed the minutes tick by.
Tears blurred her vision as she imagined Dylan’s in Sutton’s hands. Was he hurt? Was he alive? The questions hammered in her mind, unanswered and terrifying.
Callie gripped the handlebars. Fear threatened to cripple her, but a steely resolve ignited within. She wouldn’t let it win. She had to save Dylan.
She kept driving the bike up the bumpy road, wiping away her tears. She wouldn’t let fear paralyze her. She had to save Dylan.
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