nine
We eat dinner with Bill and Pam. It’s a tense meal. Dad and Bill sit at the table. Mom and Rachel sit on the couch. Jeremy and I sit on the floor. Pam stands by the door to her bedroom, eyeing all of us suspiciously.
Nobody is talking.
“So,” Dad says in an awkward attempt to make conversation. “Bill, I have to say, it’s been quite a while. You’ve been living here the whole time?”
“About the only place Dermott can’t find me,” says Bill darkly.
I exchange a glance with Jeremy. Dermott!
“And you’ve been raising your daughter out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Bill nods. “Pam’s completely under the radar. Marsha gave birth to her here, in this very house. No pregnancy records, no birth certificate, nothing. Nobody knows about her. Well, I mean, we go into town every few weeks to get food and supplies, so people in town know I have a daughter. But to anyone who matters, she doesn’t exist.”
I exchange another glance with Jeremy, this one incredulous. Is Bill saying that, aside from the occasional venture into town with her dad, Pam’s entire life has been here in this house? With no friends or brothers or sisters or anything? What a lonely existence.
I glance over at Pam, who seems a bit uncomfortable with the conversation. Well. At least this explains her weirdness when she first met us. Is it possible that Jeremy and I are the first kids her age she’s ever met?
We’ve always been sheltered. Our parents—Dad more than Mom—have always been strict about letting us go places, usually insisting on coming with us even for a bike ride around the block. We were homeschooled up until Mom had pregnancy complications with Rachel. I’d say we’ve always been watched more, had less freedom, than other kids our age.
But we’ve always been allowed to make friends, no matter how difficult it’s been with all the moving around. And we’ve always had each other.
Dad clears his throat and asks, “Where is Marsha now?”
Bill lowers his gaze. “She left. Ten years ago. Couldn’t stand living like this any longer. She wanted to take Pam with her. I told her over my dead body. I begged her to stay, but my Marsha was a stubborn one. She left, and three weeks later, Dermott got her.”
Jeremy speaks up. “Who’s Dermott?”
The two men swing around to look at us. I think they forgot we were even here. “Dermott is who's after us,” Dad says quickly. “That’s all you need to know.”
“So he's after you too,” Jeremy says to Bill. “You and your daughter. What is this—some sort of organized crime ring?”
“Your father and I are not criminals,” Bill says disdainfully. “But the people who are after us are, and in order to stay safe from them, we all need to trust each other.”
Jeremy makes a derisive noise. “How are we supposed to trust you guys when you won’t even tell us anything?”
Bill shoots a glance at Dad. “Do they know—”
“They know what they need to know,” says Dad, a hint of warning in his voice.
Nobody talks much after that. We finish dinner. Bill collects our dishes and hand washes them in the tiny sink.
“Bedtime, kids,” says Dad.
“What?!” I look at the clock on the wall. “It’s like eight-thirty!”
“Well, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to get some shut-eye. I need you all to at least keep it down.”
I realize Dad has been awake nonstop since whatever time it was in the morning when he pulled us all out of bed and told us to get in the car. And he’s been on edge and stressed the entire time, which can’t help.
Bill sets up sleeping arrangements for everyone—he’ll share Pam’s room, so that Mom and Dad and Rachel can sleep in his room. Jeremy and I will sleep in the living room on the couch, which apparently folds out into a futon.
Dad heads straight to bed. The rest of us stay up, although I can’t imagine what we’ll end up doing to entertain ourselves. I wonder if we can convince Bill to tell us anything about Dermott. He seems at least a little more receptive to the idea of telling us stuff than Dad.
But before I can get up the courage to ask, Bill pulls out a deck of cards. “Anyone up for a game night?”
Rachel claps her hands excitedly. “Let’s play Go Fish! Krystie taught me how to play Go Fish!” She runs over and sits in my lap. “Me and her will be a team.”
We’re in danger, we’re on the run, and we’re staying at an unfamiliar house with weird people we don’t know. I don’t want to sit around and play Go Fish. I want to dig for information.
But Rachel’s looking up at me with her big brown eyes, so trusting and innocent. Whatever she remembers of this experience when she’s older, I don’t want it to be fear and worry. I want her to look back on this experience and recall it as nothing more than a family vacation.
Even if it’s anything but.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s win this thing.”
We play a couple rounds of Go Fish—Rachel and me, Mom, and Bill. Rachel tries to persuade Jeremy to join in, but he shakes his head. I know he’s feeling as agitated as I am. Bill tries to persuade Pam to join in, but she sits in the doorway of her room, watching all of us with nervous eyes.
Finally Mom takes Rachel to get ready for bed, and Bill heads into Pam’s room and closes the door. Jeremy and I are left in the living room, finally alone.
We look at each other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.
“What? Snoop around?”
I nod. “This is a safe base. This Dermott dude or whoever else is chasing us has never been here. Bill’s not even worried about Dermott coming here. So what do you want to bet they have a ton of information just lying around in the open?”
Jeremy doesn’t seem convinced. “How would we even know what to look for?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we just start with papers, pictures, computers… you know, stuff that could have information on it.”
Jeremy looks around sarcastically. “Yeah, I see so many papers and pictures and computers here in this kitchen/living room combo.”
He’s right. Probably the really sensitive stuff would be stored in the bedrooms, and of course we can’t go in there.
“We could look in the drawers,” I suggest, eyeing up the drawers beneath the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, dishes are great evidence.” Jeremy sighs. “Look, Krys, I know you wanna be all detective and all that. I just don’t think we’re really going to find anything.”
“We could at least look!” Is he seriously not at all curious about what we could find here?
Jeremy casts a nervous glance toward the two closed bedroom doors, one at either end of the room we’re in. My voice rose to normal volume as opposed to whispering on that last outburst; somebody could have heard me.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Jeremy sighs. “We can look. But we have to wait until everyone’s asleep.”
It’s a good point, but I’m antsy. “What do we do until then?”
“Pretend to sleep?” Jeremy suggests with half a smile. Neither of us is actually into that idea.
I halfheartedly hold out the pack of cards to him, and he halfheartedly takes it. We play rummy, spades, and spit. Finally, I glance up at the clock and see that it’s nearly midnight.
“Do you think everyone’s asleep now?” I whisper.
Jeremy cocks his head to the side, listening. “Someone’s snoring,” he says. “Mom and Dad don’t snore, so that must be Bill. And I bet Mom and Dad are tired from all the driving and worrying. It’s no biggie if Rachel’s up, so that leaves—”
“Pam,” I finish.
We both look at each other in indecision. We have no way of knowing what kind of teenager Pam is. Is she the way we are at home, always staying up late to finish homework and watch funny YouTube videos that take forever to load on the cheesy laptop we share? Or does she like to get to bed early so she can be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning? Or, since her entire life is spent in this same little house, does she not even have a consistent sleeping and waking schedule?
I creep over to Pam’s door and listen. All I can hear is Bill snoring. I shrug and walk back over to Jeremy. “Let’s just do it,” I whisper.
Jeremy just stands there, unsure, but I open the first cabinet I come to and peer inside. Cereal. Boxes and boxes of cereal. I shut that door and open the next one to find a loaf of bread, some English muffins, a box of Wheat Thins, and a package of Tostitos.
“I told you there won’t be anything,” Jeremy complains.
“There are more cabinets,” I retort.
Jeremy opens a drawer that turns out to be silverware, then a cabinet full of pots and pans. I open more food cabinets and then a drawer with stuff like plastic wrap and aluminum foil. I’m starting to run out of hope. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Anything with information would probably be stored in one of the bedrooms, and we can’t go in either of those right now.
I’m about to give up when Jeremy whispers excitedly, “I think I found something!” I hurry over to join him by the living room coffee table. He’s holding a purple spiral-bound notebook with a pair of eyes drawn on the cover in permanent marker. He opens it up to the first page, which looks like a poem titled “Eyes Everywhere”.
I read it silently:
Nobody is talking.
“So,” Dad says in an awkward attempt to make conversation. “Bill, I have to say, it’s been quite a while. You’ve been living here the whole time?”
“About the only place Dermott can’t find me,” says Bill darkly.
I exchange a glance with Jeremy. Dermott!
“And you’ve been raising your daughter out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Bill nods. “Pam’s completely under the radar. Marsha gave birth to her here, in this very house. No pregnancy records, no birth certificate, nothing. Nobody knows about her. Well, I mean, we go into town every few weeks to get food and supplies, so people in town know I have a daughter. But to anyone who matters, she doesn’t exist.”
I exchange another glance with Jeremy, this one incredulous. Is Bill saying that, aside from the occasional venture into town with her dad, Pam’s entire life has been here in this house? With no friends or brothers or sisters or anything? What a lonely existence.
I glance over at Pam, who seems a bit uncomfortable with the conversation. Well. At least this explains her weirdness when she first met us. Is it possible that Jeremy and I are the first kids her age she’s ever met?
We’ve always been sheltered. Our parents—Dad more than Mom—have always been strict about letting us go places, usually insisting on coming with us even for a bike ride around the block. We were homeschooled up until Mom had pregnancy complications with Rachel. I’d say we’ve always been watched more, had less freedom, than other kids our age.
But we’ve always been allowed to make friends, no matter how difficult it’s been with all the moving around. And we’ve always had each other.
Dad clears his throat and asks, “Where is Marsha now?”
Bill lowers his gaze. “She left. Ten years ago. Couldn’t stand living like this any longer. She wanted to take Pam with her. I told her over my dead body. I begged her to stay, but my Marsha was a stubborn one. She left, and three weeks later, Dermott got her.”
Jeremy speaks up. “Who’s Dermott?”
The two men swing around to look at us. I think they forgot we were even here. “Dermott is who's after us,” Dad says quickly. “That’s all you need to know.”
“So he's after you too,” Jeremy says to Bill. “You and your daughter. What is this—some sort of organized crime ring?”
“Your father and I are not criminals,” Bill says disdainfully. “But the people who are after us are, and in order to stay safe from them, we all need to trust each other.”
Jeremy makes a derisive noise. “How are we supposed to trust you guys when you won’t even tell us anything?”
Bill shoots a glance at Dad. “Do they know—”
“They know what they need to know,” says Dad, a hint of warning in his voice.
Nobody talks much after that. We finish dinner. Bill collects our dishes and hand washes them in the tiny sink.
“Bedtime, kids,” says Dad.
“What?!” I look at the clock on the wall. “It’s like eight-thirty!”
“Well, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to get some shut-eye. I need you all to at least keep it down.”
I realize Dad has been awake nonstop since whatever time it was in the morning when he pulled us all out of bed and told us to get in the car. And he’s been on edge and stressed the entire time, which can’t help.
Bill sets up sleeping arrangements for everyone—he’ll share Pam’s room, so that Mom and Dad and Rachel can sleep in his room. Jeremy and I will sleep in the living room on the couch, which apparently folds out into a futon.
Dad heads straight to bed. The rest of us stay up, although I can’t imagine what we’ll end up doing to entertain ourselves. I wonder if we can convince Bill to tell us anything about Dermott. He seems at least a little more receptive to the idea of telling us stuff than Dad.
But before I can get up the courage to ask, Bill pulls out a deck of cards. “Anyone up for a game night?”
Rachel claps her hands excitedly. “Let’s play Go Fish! Krystie taught me how to play Go Fish!” She runs over and sits in my lap. “Me and her will be a team.”
We’re in danger, we’re on the run, and we’re staying at an unfamiliar house with weird people we don’t know. I don’t want to sit around and play Go Fish. I want to dig for information.
But Rachel’s looking up at me with her big brown eyes, so trusting and innocent. Whatever she remembers of this experience when she’s older, I don’t want it to be fear and worry. I want her to look back on this experience and recall it as nothing more than a family vacation.
Even if it’s anything but.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s win this thing.”
We play a couple rounds of Go Fish—Rachel and me, Mom, and Bill. Rachel tries to persuade Jeremy to join in, but he shakes his head. I know he’s feeling as agitated as I am. Bill tries to persuade Pam to join in, but she sits in the doorway of her room, watching all of us with nervous eyes.
Finally Mom takes Rachel to get ready for bed, and Bill heads into Pam’s room and closes the door. Jeremy and I are left in the living room, finally alone.
We look at each other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.
“What? Snoop around?”
I nod. “This is a safe base. This Dermott dude or whoever else is chasing us has never been here. Bill’s not even worried about Dermott coming here. So what do you want to bet they have a ton of information just lying around in the open?”
Jeremy doesn’t seem convinced. “How would we even know what to look for?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we just start with papers, pictures, computers… you know, stuff that could have information on it.”
Jeremy looks around sarcastically. “Yeah, I see so many papers and pictures and computers here in this kitchen/living room combo.”
He’s right. Probably the really sensitive stuff would be stored in the bedrooms, and of course we can’t go in there.
“We could look in the drawers,” I suggest, eyeing up the drawers beneath the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, dishes are great evidence.” Jeremy sighs. “Look, Krys, I know you wanna be all detective and all that. I just don’t think we’re really going to find anything.”
“We could at least look!” Is he seriously not at all curious about what we could find here?
Jeremy casts a nervous glance toward the two closed bedroom doors, one at either end of the room we’re in. My voice rose to normal volume as opposed to whispering on that last outburst; somebody could have heard me.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Jeremy sighs. “We can look. But we have to wait until everyone’s asleep.”
It’s a good point, but I’m antsy. “What do we do until then?”
“Pretend to sleep?” Jeremy suggests with half a smile. Neither of us is actually into that idea.
I halfheartedly hold out the pack of cards to him, and he halfheartedly takes it. We play rummy, spades, and spit. Finally, I glance up at the clock and see that it’s nearly midnight.
“Do you think everyone’s asleep now?” I whisper.
Jeremy cocks his head to the side, listening. “Someone’s snoring,” he says. “Mom and Dad don’t snore, so that must be Bill. And I bet Mom and Dad are tired from all the driving and worrying. It’s no biggie if Rachel’s up, so that leaves—”
“Pam,” I finish.
We both look at each other in indecision. We have no way of knowing what kind of teenager Pam is. Is she the way we are at home, always staying up late to finish homework and watch funny YouTube videos that take forever to load on the cheesy laptop we share? Or does she like to get to bed early so she can be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning? Or, since her entire life is spent in this same little house, does she not even have a consistent sleeping and waking schedule?
I creep over to Pam’s door and listen. All I can hear is Bill snoring. I shrug and walk back over to Jeremy. “Let’s just do it,” I whisper.
Jeremy just stands there, unsure, but I open the first cabinet I come to and peer inside. Cereal. Boxes and boxes of cereal. I shut that door and open the next one to find a loaf of bread, some English muffins, a box of Wheat Thins, and a package of Tostitos.
“I told you there won’t be anything,” Jeremy complains.
“There are more cabinets,” I retort.
Jeremy opens a drawer that turns out to be silverware, then a cabinet full of pots and pans. I open more food cabinets and then a drawer with stuff like plastic wrap and aluminum foil. I’m starting to run out of hope. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Anything with information would probably be stored in one of the bedrooms, and we can’t go in either of those right now.
I’m about to give up when Jeremy whispers excitedly, “I think I found something!” I hurry over to join him by the living room coffee table. He’s holding a purple spiral-bound notebook with a pair of eyes drawn on the cover in permanent marker. He opens it up to the first page, which looks like a poem titled “Eyes Everywhere”.
I read it silently:
Little boys and girls beware,
Dermott has eyes everywhere
They watch you when you go to school
They watch you when you break a rule
They watch you when you’re at your house
They watch you when you click a mouse
They watch you when you’re on your phone
And when you think that you’re alone
They watch you when you’re being rude
They even watch you when you’re nude
They watch you when you’re on the street
They watch you when you drink and eat
They watch you when you’re in your bed
They try to learn what’s in your head
Little boys and girls beware,
Dermott has eyes everywhere.
Dermott has eyes everywhere
They watch you when you go to school
They watch you when you break a rule
They watch you when you’re at your house
They watch you when you click a mouse
They watch you when you’re on your phone
And when you think that you’re alone
They watch you when you’re being rude
They even watch you when you’re nude
They watch you when you’re on the street
They watch you when you drink and eat
They watch you when you’re in your bed
They try to learn what’s in your head
Little boys and girls beware,
Dermott has eyes everywhere.
I look up at Jeremy. “Creepy,” I comment.
“No kidding. But is it true? I mean, we don’t even know who Dermott is.”
“We know he's one of people who are coming after us.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know why. Because nobody will tell us anything.”
I turn the page of the notebook impatiently. “Exactly! That’s the whole reason we’re looking at this notebook in the first place! I bet if we read the whole thing, we’ll find out what we want to know.”
I didn’t realize how loud I was getting. But I must have raised my voice at least enough to be heard through the bedroom door, because next thing I know the door creaks open and Pam’s standing there, in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, glaring at us.
“Why are you reading my diary?”
“No kidding. But is it true? I mean, we don’t even know who Dermott is.”
“We know he's one of people who are coming after us.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know why. Because nobody will tell us anything.”
I turn the page of the notebook impatiently. “Exactly! That’s the whole reason we’re looking at this notebook in the first place! I bet if we read the whole thing, we’ll find out what we want to know.”
I didn’t realize how loud I was getting. But I must have raised my voice at least enough to be heard through the bedroom door, because next thing I know the door creaks open and Pam’s standing there, in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, glaring at us.
“Why are you reading my diary?”
Next: Chapter 10
Hi Readers! We're so excited that you're reading this mini-series! We enjoy creating mini-series because they motivate us to write quickly and to keep moving forward with a new story. Our mini-series episodes are usually first drafts which means there are often a lot of edits that can be implemented to make the story even better. We recently read through what we had of Escape (23 chapters), and stayed up late at a coffee shop replotting the entire book to make it twisty-er, more nuanced, and better paced. This unfortunately meant we also had to come back and begin rewriting from chapter 11. We will return to posting new chapters every other Saturday on November 5.
If you're looking for something to read in the meantime, try our ongoing mini-series, We Are Not Friends.
If you're looking for something to read in the meantime, try our ongoing mini-series, We Are Not Friends.
