“Ah, you’re awake. Sorry about the force of my backhand in there. I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

I press a cheek to my jaw, still on fire where he hit me, the skin by my right ear tight and tingly like a sunburn. I scan the walls for an exit, but they’re solid sheets of drywall without a single window. There are only two doors—the double garage door to my left, and the door leading into the kitchen. The button that lifts and lowers the garage door is just inside.

I’m trapped. There’s no other way out.

He leans over and checks the gauge on the tank, and my pulse ignites. He’s going to drown me like he did Katherine.

Full-beam headlights flash on the windows, a series of rectangular sheets of glass high across the top of the garage door. Micah scowls over his shoulder, taking in the car coming down the driveway and me, watching from the floor.

“That’s Chet.” Micah stalks across the garage, stepping over the puddle his truck has dripped onto the ground. He reaches into his waistband, pulls out a gun and leans down, both hands propped on his knees. “Okay, so here’s the deal. You make any noise, I shoot your brother. You open that garage door or break out a window, I shoot your brother. You do anything that makes him even look at me funny, and I shoot your brother. Are we clear?”

A car door slams, and footsteps sound on the concrete right outside. A swishing noise as my brother jogs up the steps.

“I said, are we clear?”

My gaze lands on the gun and I nod, my heart knocking against my ribs. Clear as crystal.

The doorbell rings, and Micah presses a finger to his lips, then disappears inside the house. I hear the thwunk of the dead bolt sliding into place, then a big stretch of silence before his voice worms its way through the wall.

No, not the wall, the pressed wood of the garage door. The voices are coming from right outside. I picture Micah’s front porch, the steps leading down the side to the patch of concrete. Fifteen feet at most, separated by a thin sheet of wood shavings and glass.

“Hey, Chet, what can I do for you?”

“I’m here for Charlie. I’ve been trying to call her, but she’s not picking up.”

Too late I realize my mistake. I missed my chance to have said something, called for help and told Chet to play it cool in those precious seconds of dead air when Micah was in the house, but I wasn’t thinking. I run to the truck, clearing the wet glass with a hand. No key, of course there’s not. Micah took it with him when he went inside.

Think, Charlie, think.