Lock Down (Supernatural Prison Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Chicken fettuccine alfredo was one of a handful of dishes my Mom made that I had to teach myself after she left. Turned out, it was one of the many things she failed to teach me—another being how to deal when people you loved left you behind.

  “I wish you still lived in the Smalling’s house, Phoebe,” Zane said mournfully. “We could see you every day.”

  “You and me both, buddy,” I muttered.

  After filling a pot with water and turning on the stovetop, I let Zoe add the olive oil and Zane added the salt. Then they sat and watched for the water to boil while I started cooking the chicken.

  I had a hunch the twins requested this meal before I arrived, since two breasts were already thawed in the refrigerator. Lana knew I was a sucker and would make anything they wanted.

  “Phoebe?”

  “Yeah?” I asked, continuing to season the chicken.

  In Zoe’s tell-tale conspiratorial voice, she said, “I heard our daddy tell mommy that your daddy is a cow.”

  My hand froze, and when I was sure my face was carefully blank, I looked up.

  “A cow? Are you sure that’s what he said?”

  “Sounded like it.” Zoe shrugged. “But they were whispering like they always do, so it’s hard to hear everything they say.”

  I didn’t bother to mention she shouldn’t eavesdrop. In fact, I would have loved to know what else her parents said about mine.

  “Well, it must have been something else. If my dad were a cow, wouldn’t that mean I’m a cow? And do I look like a cow to you?” Eyebrows raised, I waved my hands down my body in a flourish.

  Zoe giggled. “No. Unless you’re the princess of the cows?”

  “Ha, ha,” I said, trying to keep it light. Not easy, since this conversation was anything but funny.

  “Water’s ready!” Zane yelled. Good thing one of us was paying attention to the food.

  I flipped the chicken and gave each of the twins a handful of dry pasta to munch on. After putting the remainder of the fettuccine in the pot, I set the timer. Then I went back to the chicken and my swirling thoughts.

  Why would Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher be discussing my father? I mean, I knew they used to be friends, but I didn’t think they kept in touch anymore.

  And why a cow?

  My thoughts raced, and I tried to snag one that made sense. None of the words rhyming with ‘cow’ seemed to fit, but—

  An unusual combination of panic and grief hit me all at once as things started to click in place.

  They knew.

  In hindsight, I should have known. Mrs. Fletcher giving me a really generous “birthday bonus” this year. Her always asking how I am, but in a way that’s more than just polite chit-chat.

  And I didn’t recall when exactly, but she’d started sending lots of leftover food with me on Fridays. I’d assumed that was meant for me and my dad, so I never turned it down for fear she’d know he wasn’t around. Not to mention, the leftovers were awesome to have on days that I didn’t work at the diner. Between the two, I rarely had to cook for myself.

  Then there was the conversation with Mr. Fletcher earlier. That was definitely strange.

  But how? I didn’t think anyone knew my Dad had taken off earlier this year. I certainly hadn’t told anyone. I’d put distance between myself and the few close friends I had in fear one of them would find out and let it slip. Not even the school knew, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  I’d heard enough horror stories about foster care to know that was not for me. Plus, I was already sixteen—I could hold down the fort until my dad came back.

  He’d been seriously stressed before he left and spending more time at the lab, hardly eating, stuff like that. I hated that I might have been part of the problem. Though I’d never stepped a toe out of line, it couldn’t have been easy being a single dad with a teenage daughter.

  He just needed a break. I was under no illusion my mother would return, but I knew my dad loved me. So why didn’t Mr. Fletcher call her a coward?

  “Pasta’s ready!” Thank goodness for Zane. I hadn’t even heard the timer go off.

  Silently, I berated myself for not focusing on what mattered at the moment. I had all the time in the world to think about this—later.

  After dinner and dishes were done, the twins argued about which game to play. Since they couldn’t agree on house or superheroes or princesses, I came up with something on my own.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” I lowered my voice, causing them to lean toward me, hanging on my every word. “We’re gonna,” I paused dramatically, “build a gigantic fort!”

  Zane leapt into the air and screamed with excitement. Zoe’s eyes lit with interest. “And then play house in it?” she asked.

  “We’ll see. We have to build it first.”

  That seemed to pacify her. I sent them off to gather as many pillows and blankets as they could find and meet up in Zane’s room with the spoils. He had a loft bed that would be perfect for a fort.

  By the time we finished gathering, there was a sizable amount of soft, cushy material to work with. Together, we created a base and stretched the largest sheets across the room. Then we built on to that, adding “rooms” and tunnels until most of Zane’s room was a maze of blankets and pillows. Other than the occasional “No, this is my space, stop breathing in it!” it was a total success.

  We might have to do this every Friday.

  When the finishing touches were in place, the twins and I collapsed inside with flashlights, books, and at least a dozen of Zoe’s stuffed animals. We played and read and talked about their week, and before I knew it, they were both fast asleep.

  My mind drifted to tonight’s football game. It had to be winding down by now, if it wasn’t already over. Had we won?

  Yeah, we probably won. I grinned to myself as I lay back, staring up at the canopy of pink sheets we’d pulled from Zoe’s bed. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was that I’d forgotten to turn on the elephant nightlight.

  3

  I bolted upright and tried pulling in a breath, but my lungs felt as cloudy as the air around me. Coughing, I lowered myself back down, heart pounding as I searched for the nearest flashlight. When I switched it on, my stomach dropped.

  The beam of light didn’t make a dent in the thick, black smoke.

  This was bad. Very bad.

  My mind scrambled for what to do next. There was a fire. We had to get out. Yet I couldn’t seem to think past those glaringly obvious concepts and turn them into action.

  “Phoebe…” Zoe whimpered. Then she coughed, gasping for air. “Phoebe!”

  Her cry of terror speared through the smoke and penetrated my hazy thoughts. I reached for the twins.

  Zane was still out.

  I shook him, but he wasn’t waking. Terror clutched my insides. Had he already inhaled too much smoke?

  Bending over, I listened for the sound of his breath. Relief washed through me when I felt a distinct inhale and exhale.

  I tore down the nearest blankets and handed one to Zoe. “Cover your nose and mouth with this.” The smoke burned my throat and my voice came out raspy.

  Zoe did as I said, her eyes wide with fear.

  Think, Phoebe. Think!

  I told Zoe to stay put while I crawled toward the door that we’d shut to hold up the fort. How was there this much smoke in the room? I had a feeling that wasn’t a good sign.

  Carefully, I touched the handle. And flinched back. It was hot.

  My fears confirmed, panic started to seep in. If there was one thing I knew, it was to never open a door when there were signs of fire on the other side.

  Grabbing another sheet, I stuffed it under the door to stop the onslaught of smoke.

  We had to get out of here.

  Since going down the stairs was out of the question, our next best bet was the window. Except we were on the second floor!

  I crawled back toward the twins, then froze as I heard something outside.r />
  Sirens.

  Hopefully I wasn’t dreaming up that sound. For a second, I thought everything was going to be okay. Then the house groaned and creaked, which was the only warning I had before the ceiling caved in.

  I flung myself over the twins as bits of flaming wood and ceiling fell on top of us.

  Covered in powdery dust, Zoe rasped, “Phoebe!”

  Desperate, I pulled the twins out of the rubble. I couldn’t tell if anyone was hurt, and I didn’t have time to check. Beyond the fact that the roof could completely collapse at any moment, I couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen in my lungs. My energy was draining.

  Trying to stay low, I hooked an arm around Zane and dragged him in the direction of the window. I pushed away countless blankets to get there.

  Stupid fort.

  Apparently, it was a hazard in an emergency.

  Zoe clung close to me as we made our way across the room. I felt like I’d sprinted across a football field when we finally reached the window. To my horror, bright red flames licked the outside of the house.

  Head spinning, I set Zane down and tried to catch my breath. “It’s okay,” I told Zoe, who whimpered and coughed next to me. “We’re going to be okay.”

  Sucking in a breath and holding it, I stood to unlatch the window and open it. As soon as I did, a blast of fresh air hit my face.

  I didn’t have time to appreciate it, because the fire that had entered through the ceiling suddenly jumped. I felt the sizzling heat of it on my back.

  Flickering lights outside caught my attention, and relief whooshed through me when I spotted a large red firetruck racing toward the house. As soon as it pulled to a stop, I waved my arms with what little energy I had.

  The truck’s passenger door flew open. “Here!” My voice sounded as ragged as I felt. “We’re here!”

  A wave of dizziness hit me so hard I had to grip the window ledge to keep myself upright. The thick smoke poured in from the window.

  I continued to wave and scream until a firefighter pointed up at me. After the last “help” I could muster, I retreated back inside. Zoe was now lying on the floor next to her brother, her eyes closed. “No,” I croaked. “Please, no.”

  The fire behind us had grown, now covering the walls and ceiling. I dragged the twins as close to the window as I could, and, grabbing a blanket, I threw it over us. My vision, already blurry from the smoke, was fading in and out. No matter how much air I tried to force into my lungs, it wasn’t enough.

  Help is on its way.

  I fought for consciousness, though each breath I took was excruciating. The air was hot, the smoke clogging up space in my lungs. Everything hurt. I couldn’t breathe.

  I didn’t want to die, and Zoe and Zane had so much to live for. The thought of Mrs. Fletcher’s devastation caused water to leak from my stinging eyes. I didn’t cry often—not when Mom left, and not even when Dad went to work one day and never returned home that night.

  But now, with only moments remaining of my life, the tears finally began to fall.

  Wrapping my arms around the twins, I ducked my head down, closed my eyes, and prayed we’d still be alive when the firefighters reached us.

  What could have been seconds or minutes or hours later, I felt one of the twins being ripped from my arms. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. And the tears were long gone.

  All that was left was smoke and the noise of the roaring fire before the world descended into endless black.

  4

  My mouth dropped open, and I inhaled the biggest breath of my life. I could literally feel my empty lungs expand behind my ribs as they filled with air. And it hurt.

  I tried peeling my eyes open, but it was like someone super-glued them shut. And even closed, they burned.

  Burn…

  My fingers twitched, gravel biting into my skin. I was lying on my back. Something scratchy covered my face. I felt hot all over, but particularly my face.

  Heat…

  Voices surrounded me, several conversations happening at once. “We need an adult contact,” a nearby voice broke through the noise with no small amount of authority. I zeroed in on that voice, though it wasn’t one I recognized.

  “I’ll take care of it.” That voice was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My brain felt foggy, my thoughts wisps of smoke I couldn’t quite catch.

  Smoke…

  “I appreciate that, sir,” the woman said, her tone irritated. “But it’s our responsibility to notify the girl’s parents. We’ll have a grief counselor on hand to help out.”

  Grief counselor? Did someone die? How—

  Everything came back in an instant. The smoke. The fire. The twins! Were they okay? The lady mentioned a girl.

  No. Not Zoe.

  And what about Zane? Was he alive?

  I tried to move, but it was as if my entire body had been encased in ice. Which would make sense if I wasn’t burning up.

  As if that weren’t enough, the possibility that the twins were dead made it feel like a ten-pound weight sat on my chest.

  “That won’t be necessary,” the man responded. “Both of Phoebe’s parents are out of the picture.”

  Wait, were they talking about me? I mean, it felt like I’d been to hell and back, but I wasn’t dead. Unless I was having one of those out-of-body experiences. That didn’t make sense though, because I could feel everything in my actual body.

  My muddled mind tried to wrap itself around the words they were saying. And who was saying them.

  The people speaking knew my name, and no one but Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher could possibly know my parents weren’t around. Then again, I didn’t even realize they knew until tonight.

  That was tonight, right? So. Many. Questions.

  “Okay, but there still must be someone we can inform that the girl is dead,” the woman said.

  “You just did. You’ve informed me.” Yes, that was definitely Mr. Fletcher. I recognized the finality in his tone, which I’d heard on more than one occasion when Zoe tried getting her way.

  Zoe.

  I forced my eyes open and found myself staring at… total darkness.

  “And who exactly—”

  An itch crawled up my throat, and as I sucked in more air, a coughing fit overtook me.

  Startled voices erupted from every direction.

  “What the—?”

  “No way!”

  When the lady spoke again, her words rocked me to my core. “But… it’s not possible. She’s been dead for forty-five minutes.”

  The cover over my body was ripped away, and I squinted at the sudden assault of light. When my had eyes adjusted, I saw a dozen or more people crowded around me. Every one of them stood silent, staring in shock. The only person I recognized was Mr. Fletcher, who, oddly enough, was the only one who didn’t look surprised.

  Someone bowed their head and made the sign of the cross. “Dios mío, it’s a miracle.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. Miracles seemed a lot less painful.

  Coughing again, I managed to roll to my side and curled my knees to my chest. Several voices cried out. It was as if they hadn’t believed I was alive until I moved.

  One guy—a paramedic?—seemed to snap out of it. “Let’s check her vitals. Get some oxygen over here!”

  It was a bit of a blur after that, though I do recall seeing Mr. Fletcher standing nearby, speaking on his cell phone.

  “Zoe… Zane…” I said through coughing fits, desperate to know how they were. Around that time, an oxygen mask was placed over my mouth. Mr. Fletcher stood watching me with his mouth pressed into that thin, firm line I recalled from earlier in the evening.

  He had every right to be upset.

  His house, his children… How had everything gone so wrong? Had I left the stovetop on in the kitchen? It didn’t seem likely. I’d never done that before, but I guessed there was a first time for everything.

  I felt like screaming. I was still so, so confused. How could I h
ave been dead for forty-five minutes? That wasn’t even remotely possible, right? But why would they say it if it weren’t true?

  And their reactions, the way they had that cover over me…

  Breathing became somewhat easier, and paramedics were preparing to lift me onto a gurney when several dozen figures rushed in. Some wore suits, while others were in black tactical gear.

  The atmosphere changed immediately.

  A tense exchange between Mr. Fletcher and the woman whose voice I’d first heard was drowned out by shouts from several of the EMTs who’d been working on me.

  My eyes snagged on the letters “SCC” stitched on the right breast pocket of the newcomers. I racked my brain for what that stood for.

  Maybe it was a special burn unit? They certainly weren’t dressed like the other emergency workers.

  I remembered the ceiling caving in. Fear—and probably adrenaline—superseded everything else when all I could think about was getting the twins to safety. But I didn’t remember being burned by the flames, nor was I in excruciating pain right now.

  Once, when I first learned to cook, I grabbed a metal handle without a pot holder and I distinctly recalled how badly it hurt. I didn’t feel any burns like that right now.

  I wanted to ask what was going on, but I still had the stupid oxygen mask covering my mouth. Lifting my arm, I tried getting someone’s attention but there was too much commotion. And this time, I wasn’t at the center of it.

  Or maybe I was.

  “She’s stable!” announced one of the men in black.

  “Let’s get her out of here,” another said.

  “Before the news crews get here,” a man in a dark suit muttered.

  The two paramedics standing closest to me were pushed aside, and I found myself being lifted unceremoniously onto a gurney. The men in black carried me quickly to the van they arrived in. Just before the doors closed behind us, I caught sight of Mr. Fletcher nodding at one of them.

  What did that mean? Was he going with us? I couldn’t afford whatever this was going to cost, but I didn’t want the Fletchers to pay for it either.

  I wanted to talk to Lana. Not that I needed a hug or anything, but, well, I could really use a hug.