Chapter 5: Hatchet Ride to Nowhere

He even brought a hatchet from home the next day.

He swung it by his side, like it was just another tool. But I knew better. That hatchet wasn’t for protection—it was for control.

He said, “It’s a long way—bring a knife for self-defense.”

He grinned, but his eyes were flat. I could feel the threat behind the words. I shivered.

I knew he wasn’t worried about others. He was worried about me.

He kept the hatchet close, never letting it out of his reach. It was always between us.

And when I got up that morning, I noticed my foster father wasn’t home.

The house was too quiet, the coffee pot cold. Something was off. The silence felt dangerous.

He usually got up after ten, but today he left early.

I peeked out the window, saw the old pickup missing. He was out there, waiting. My escape routes were closing fast.

He must’ve been waiting out there to make sure nothing went wrong. They weren’t taking any chances. Not with the SATs so close.

The whole family was wound tight as a drum. Every move was watched, every word weighed. I was suffocating.

But if I waited until the day of the test to deal with the pendant, it would be too late!

I felt the noose tightening. I had to act now, or never. I clenched my fists.

The weight of my own fear pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. I could barely move.

On the way, I kept thinking about what to do.

I stared out the truck window, watching the fields blur past, mind racing. I needed a plan.

The old pickup truck bumped along the winding dirt road, yellow dust swirling with the sharp smell of diesel.

The ride was rough, every pothole jarring my bones. My brother sat beside me, hatchet resting on his lap, eyes never leaving me. I felt like prey.

I sat next to my brother on the bench seat. The hatchet at his waist swung with the vehicle, sometimes brushing my calf.

Each time the blade touched me, I flinched, reminded of what was at stake. My skin crawled.

“Hey, when we get to town, stop right in front of the jewelry repair place,” my brother told the driver.

His voice was cool, commanding. The driver just nodded, eyes on the road. No one questioned him.

“No rush.” I touched the lucky pendant on my chest. “I heard the bookstore just got new review guides. I want to check them out to improve my chances for the SATs.”

I tried to sound eager, like a normal kid worried about tests, not survival. Maybe he’d believe me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother’s pupils contract sharply.

He tensed, grip tightening on the hatchet. I could see the calculation in his eyes. He was deciding if he could let me out of his sight.

He clearly hadn’t expected me to suggest going to the crowded bookstore.

He liked control, and crowds meant chaos. He didn’t like chaos.

“Don’t go. The test’s coming up, and there are a lot of people there—crowds mean germs. You could catch something,” my brother tried to persuade me.

He tried to sound caring, but I heard the panic in his voice. He was desperate.

I shook my head, looking serious. “I’ve found some knowledge gaps lately. I can’t rest easy until I fill them.”

I put on my best worried-student face, hoping he’d buy it. Please, just let me go.

My brother’s face turned ugly.

His jaw worked, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t like losing control. I saw the anger simmering.

If there weren’t other people in the truck, he probably would’ve forced me to change my mind.

He shot me a look that promised trouble later. I braced myself.

But with outsiders present, he didn’t dare act rashly and just stayed silent.

He glared out the window, stewing. The silence was thick.

After more than half an hour, we finally arrived.

The town was busier than usual, the air buzzing with chatter and the scent of hot asphalt. I felt exposed.

For my own safety, I made sure the driver stopped right at the busy entrance of the bookstore.

I slid out of the truck before anyone could stop me, heart hammering. Every second counted.

I hopped out in one quick motion. My brother quickly followed, afraid I’d run.

He was on me in a flash, hand on my shoulder. I could feel his breath on my neck.

But running away was exactly what I wanted to do.

I scanned the crowd, looking for an opening. I had to move fast.

The next second, I dove into the crowd, trying to use the wall of people to block my brother, but the place was packed, and I was soon hemmed in.

I pushed through the throng, but he was right behind me, relentless. My heart pounded.

My brother’s big hand suddenly reached through the crowd and grabbed my arm, panting and glaring at me.

His grip was iron, his eyes wild. I could smell the sweat on his skin. The fear was real.

“Bro, why are you running?!”

His voice was sharp, cutting through the noise. Everyone turned to look.

As he spoke, he flashed the hatchet at his waist.

He didn’t bother hiding it now. The threat was clear. I swallowed hard.

I wanted to shout, draw attention, and make a scene at the police station.

I opened my mouth, but the words died on my tongue. Who would believe me?

But then I remembered—my legal papers were with theirs. What could I say at the station? That I was about to be body-swapped? Who would believe me?

The reality hit me like a slap. I was trapped, no matter what. There was no way out.

Desperate, I pointed to the area selling review guides.

“Look! The SATs are coming up—so many people are buying books. If I’m late, I won’t get any.”

I yanked my arm free, feigning urgency. I hoped he’d buy it.

Saying this, I broke free from my brother’s grip and rushed off again.

I ducked into the stacks, pretending to search for books. I kept my head down.

Seeing that I was really looking at review guides, my brother visibly relaxed.

He leaned against a shelf, watching me but no longer hovering. I had a window.