The Imposter by Marin Montgomery (ebooks online reader txt) 📕

her body to the barn. I should’ve finished this last time, but your father wouldn’t let me.”

CHAPTER 49

Sibley

The stench of smoke is filling my lungs, but the sound of rain has quieted; it’s now a light pitter-patter.

I hear a loud yell, and before I jump up, I wait to find out if it’s my imagination or the wind.

My name is called, and I rapidly abandon my corner for the steps. As I bang again on my side of the door, a man hollers from above. “Sibley!” the man’s voice screams.

I’ve never been so relieved to hear my name called in my life.

“I got a call!” the male voice yells. “Sibley.”

“Help,” I scream weakly. “Please help me.”

I can’t make out what the man says next, his muffled words too soft for me to hear, but he sounds familiar.

I bang my battered fists against the doors.

The voice is closer now. “Sibley.” The man’s voice is garbled above me. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. Help. Please help.”

“I don’t have a key for the padlock. I’m going to use the bolt cutters. Can you tell me where they are?”

“Uh, I don’t know, the toolshed, maybe?” I holler. I was blitzed the other day and can’t remember seeing them there, but it seems like an obvious location.

“I already checked there—that’s a negative.”

My next guess is the barn.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Are you still there?” I shriek.

“I’m here, honey. Just stay calm.”

“Don’t leave me,” I cry. “Please. I’m not going to make it.”

“I’m going to get you out of there.” He tries to soothe me. “I’ve gotta go to the barn, so it’s going to be a couple minutes. I need you to trust I’m gonna come back.”

“Deborah’s trying to kill me,” I yelp. “My own mother’s trying to kill me. I don’t wanna burn to death.”

“This is the chief, Sibley. I’ll be right back.”

“Help me, okay? I don’t wanna die.” My fingers claw at the wood. I hear footsteps crunch above me, and the smoke causes my eyes to water. I sit mournfully on the step, my jacket pulled up over my mouth and nose as I force myself to breathe under the fabric. My ears are perked for any sound of life.

It feels like hours but in reality is probably a matter of minutes before I hear his voice again. I’ve been forcing myself to run through the alphabet, assigning each animal a letter, and then I moved on to listing the state capitals.

His footfalls are solid and heavy, announcing his presence before he shouts out again, to signal he’s above me.

I hear the clank of the chain first before the chief tells me to go to the bottom of the cellar. “We’re gonna splinter the rest of this damn thing, so get back. Don’t wanna get you in the crosshairs.”

“Okay!” I holler. “Okay, moving down now.” I lower myself down the steps to the muddy bottom.

“I’ll count to ten, starting with one. Count with me.”

My voice is shaky against his loud baritone, and when we reach ten, I’m interrupted by the ferocious grunt of the chief as the padlock splits off the chain. If I were in a different kind of horror movie, the person standing outside the cellar with an ax would be the murderous killer instead of the petite, demented mother.

Staring up at the chief of police, Robert Fletcher, I’m reminded of Paul Bunyan, except he’s in his black police uniform, the tip of the blade resting safely on the ground, the well-grooved handle cradled in his hands.

He rests the ax carefully on the soiled ground, and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he envelops me in a hug. “Scared me for a minute,” he whispers. “Let’s get you to an EMT. You need to be checked out and treated for smoke inhalation.”

“I’m fine,” I sob. “I’m okay.”

Trembling, I’m aghast to see a massive cloud of smoke rising from the direction of the barn, the structure nothing more than a burnt-out frame, the partially dilapidated building nothing more than firewood feeding the underbelly of the flames.

“The firefighters are on their way,” the chief says.

I nod. I know it takes a lot longer to get emergency services out here on the farm. We rely on well water, which also poses a problem.

“Where’s Deborah?” I whisper.

“She’s in the back of the squad car,” the chief says.

“Where she belongs.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I weep. “How did you find me?”

“You can thank your husband.”

“My husband?”

“Holden, that’s his name, right?” He touches my shoulder gently. “Your mother didn’t know where you were. Said you ran off.”

“She’s a liar. I went to feed her cat for her,” I moan. “The fucking cat. Where is he? Where’s my husband?”

“Holden’s inside the house. He alerted the authorities. I happened to be on call, and luckily I wasn’t too far from here.”

Shakily, I walk by the police cruiser to get to the house, leaning heavily on the chief, and as much as I wish I could stare straight ahead and ignore her, I can’t.

I have to take a peek at her.

With her face pressed against the glass, she’s screaming something at me. Her fingers claw to get out; her palms leave smudge marks.

I can’t understand her, and truthfully, I don’t even stop to listen.

Disgusted, I turn away, the chief shielding me from a confrontation separated by glass.

Holden is in the house when I walk in, as if he has always belonged here, but his nervous energy keeps him from standing still, his tall form fidgeting as he leans over the table.

His blue eyes shift from troubled to stunned when he realizes I’ve walked in the house. Suddenly he becomes deathly silent, as if the air has escaped his lungs and he can’t breathe. After crossing the small space between us, he picks me straight off the ground and swings me around, his arms tight around my back, sturdy. Tears flow freely between us, and I nestle my face into his neck, soaking up