The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen by R.T. Lowe Read Free Book Online Page A

here. There had to be a way out. The heroines in the books she liked to read always found a way out. They always survived. And she was clever and strong, just like the girls in those books. She just needed to think. This wasn’t how her life was going to end. If her life was a story, then she was the heroine, and of one thing she was absolutely sure: heroines don’t die on page twenty . And her story was still in the early chapters.
    But the grotesque man towering over her was a giant. And he looked strong—strong enough to bench press a car. Even if he didn’t have the knife, she didn’t have any chance of overpowering him. She was one of the best athletes at her school—a starter on the basketball team and an all-league soccer player for the past two years. But the Faceman was huge . Big enough to squash her like a bug. People can’t be this big, she thought. It was almost like he was unreal: The monster in a fairy tale that lives under a bridge terrorizing travelers until the heroine comes along to dispatch the horrible beast with a swift stroke of her shining sword. But no one was coming to her rescue; she would have to do it herself. She glanced all around, thinking. The shed was empty except for some cigarette butts and an orange candy wrapper sticking out of the dirt in the corner. There were no windows. The lone exit was a narrow cut-out on the far side—directly behind the Faceman. Rectangular lengths of light probed through wedges in the oxidized metal sheets, but they were far too narrow to squeeze through.
    The Faceman was watching her, his eyes colorless and measuring. “As much as I’m enjoying our little chat, it’s time to begin the test.” He motioned with his hand. “Stand up. Up, up, up. C’mon now.”
    She wasn’t sure if her legs were going to cooperate, but it didn’t look like she had a choice. She braced her back against the wall, and using it for support, slowly pushed herself up. Her legs were shaking, and her feet felt cold, prickly and a little numb, but she kept her balance. She looked straight ahead and sucked in a panicked breath. Her head only reached up to the bottom of the Harley Davidson logo on the Faceman’s shirt. He had to be at least eight feet tall. She felt like a toddler.
    “You’re an only child?” he asked.
    She couldn’t answer. Her vocal cords seemed paralyzed as she gaped at the hulking behemoth. His chest was three times as wide as a normal man’s. Where on earth does he get his clothes? You can’t buy—
    The knife flashed out at her face, slicing through a flutter of sun caught dust. She jumped back and crashed into the aluminum panel. Better reflexes this time. Her legs felt less stiff, less like wooden boards. Not springy, but better than before. That was the good news. The bad news was the knife was so close to her face she could see the individual serrations etched into its polished surface.
    “Angela, my dear, I will gut you like a rainbow trout if I have to. And”—a thin smile touched his face—“I’ll enjoy it. But first things first. Answer the question.”
    She stared at the knife. It was long enough to cut her in half. “Yes,” she said faintly.
    He nodded. “I knew the answer already. I’ve done my diligence on you. But I do enjoy a little dialogue now and again and I was hoping you would answer so I could tell you that being an only child can be advantageous. It might help you.”
    Angela’s brow wrinkled in confusion. She didn’t understand how that could help her. The Faceman killed teenagers. And she knew the teenagers he killed were almost always only children. So why would it be a good thing to have no siblings?
    “But please stop crying. Crying won’t help. It never does. Okay?”
    She brushed her hair back from her forehead. Then she wiped her eyes, but it didn’t do much good; they were swimming with tears.
    “Do you know why you’re here?”
    She shook her head.
    “Would you like to guess?”
    “I don’t know!”