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I scurried to the bathroom. I didn’t know how long it would take for the guys to use this camera or how long it would be for them to figure out what was going on. If Marie was going to text them that I wasn’t feeling well, and she would tell them so at the bus stop, they might just believe the lie. What would Nathan think if she was wearing his shirt? What about the shorts? Would he recognize them? They might not check on me at all in person until after school.
What could happen between now and then? What if my mother gave up early and called the police sooner? And why would our father abandon us? Why did she insist he take me wherever he went? What if he was really just on a business trip and had taken all his clothes because it would be a long one? Excuses, conjecture. Not helpful. I didn’t have all the answers and I didn’t have enough time right now to figure it out.
And why was she shoving me off on him like unwanted leftovers? What about Marie? I understood why she wasn’t in the closet with me, but our mother didn’t make it sound like Marie was supposed to go with our father, too. Did she hate me that much?
I found the vent on the ceiling. Even after climbing onto the sink to stand, it was too high to reach. I needed a ladder.
What would I do if I could reach it, anyway? I couldn’t stay there and make sign language into the camera lens. If Marie was going to do her part, and if they followed procedure, it might be hours before they would even think to check. It might not even be until tomorrow. It would be too late.
I chewed my lip.
“Sang!” My mother called.
I was running out of time.
An idea occurred to me. I didn’t have to stand in front of the camera to alert to them that something was wrong. I was the only one who knew the cameras existed. So if I left something that they would know was me, they’d see it and know I was leaving them a message. What could I leave that they would understand?
The angle of the camera was hard to make out, but it looked angled toward the shower. I yanked the shower curtain back. I opened the cabinet under the sink, looking for something to mark the basin with. I found a bottle of old shampoo, the goo inside was a deep green color. Would they see this against the tub?
I crouched on the edge of the tub basin. She wasn’t going to shower. She hadn’t done so in a while. I estimated a spot from the angle of the camera. They would see a message but if she came in to use the toilet, she might not notice. It was my only chance.
I opened the bottle, dumping the contents onto the bottom of the tub. With my fingers, I moved the goo around until I had a green heart. Hidden hearts. They had to know it was me. Would they see it? Would they understand? I’m here. Come find me.
“Sang!” My mother’s voice croaked near the door.
I left the shower curtain open, walking away and flushing the toilet for good measure. I chucked the bottle under the sink and washed my hands. I swallowed, pulling the coat on again and opening the door, doing my best not to give the tub another look or risk drawing attention to it.
My mother stood in the doorway, her wild eyes flared at me. She was shorter than me, but with the demand and anger in her eyes, she seemed a thousand times bigger than me. She was awake and she was angry, left by her husband. For some reason, I was at the center of her hatred toward him.
“Sorry,” I stammered. “I really had to go.”
“Get in that closet,” she said, each word spoken with venom.
I shuffled forward, heading toward the closet again. Obey as long as it isn’t dangerous, they’d said. Lie if I had to. I would trust their advice. Hiding in the closet wasn’t dangerous. Maybe it wasn’t normal, but I wouldn’t die in there.
“Wait,” she commanded.
I stopped in my footsteps, my heart in my throat. Did she spot the heart? Did she find the camera?
She pointed at the coat. “Give me that.”
I glanced toward the bedroom. Marie was gone. I removed the coat, letting it fall from my shoulders and to the floor.
“Get in there.”
I slipped into the closet, naked and alone.
Secret Messages
Hours later, I was kneeling on the carpet, my butt on my heels. I bent forward, my arms folded on the floor, my head on my forearms.
I breathed in the fibers of the floor, listening to the sounds of the house. Every creak, every whisper of air shifting, I hoped it was the boys coming for me and at the same time, I hoped it wasn’t. Maybe I’d made a mistake. If they came for me now, the police would be called. I was also running out of time. If my father didn’t come home, she’d call the police and have me sent away anyway. Either option was going to end up badly. What would the police do? The fact that I didn’t know made me worry so much more. I thought if it happened that I’d probably never see the guys again.
Waiting was the worst. There were so many questions left unanswered and all I had to do with my time was think. My father was gone. But she assumed he had abandoned us. His closet was empty, but what did it really mean? Did he leave without saying anything at all? Did he mean it to be forever?
I could almost understand it. It was hard to envision, but after at so many years with an ill, possibly dying wife who did nothing but spout misery, rape and evil, he must have gotten tired and disappeared. I hardly knew anything about him. I couldn’t blame him totally. Wasn’t I drawn to the guys because they were nice to me? Wasn’t Marie at Danielle’s every weekend to avoid the emptiness of the house? I knew it happened to other families. I’d heard it from other students. Daddy left last night. Weeks later they might spot him at the grocery store, buying frozen dinners and booze, and sometimes a box of condoms.
What did it matter if he left completely if he was never here anyway? Was that even a concern? Why didn’t I feel sadder about my dad not being there? Maybe that should be the worst thing. Kota said I was dismissive of things like that. I didn’t even care that I was in the closet so much. I was more stressed that I was putting the guys at risk and that my father might get the police called on him for reasons unknown to me.
And it was all my fault. If I hadn’t wanted to go to Nathan’s, or if I’d stayed in bed and slept at home like I was supposed to, it wouldn’t have happened at all. I would still have my secret phone. I’d have gone off to school. If my dad was gone, I wouldn’t have been in the middle of this. Would I?
I felt the guilt of it on my shoulders. I made too many mistakes. Maybe Victor was wrong. Maybe I needed to keep them out of some things. I could have sucked in my loneliness for the night and made it through. It would have been better than this.
More time passed. My mother made phone calls to the bank like she promised. She rattled off account numbers and she questioned the amounts. She made them repeat information to her. When she hung up, she grumbled. That was all. No revelation as to the condition of the accounts.
A little later, she called my father’s office, asking them to leave him another message, and requesting that the secretary try to call through to him. Family emergency.
My mother didn’t sleep. It left me without a chance to escape. Cell phone or not, I thought if I could get up to my bedroom, I could at least leave a note. Maybe I could send smoke signals. She never gave me the chance.
A distinct ding-dong echoed through the hallway and into my parents’ bedroom.
It startled me because I’d never heard the
sound before. It took a while for me to recognize it as the front doorbell.
My mother shuffled on her feet, tracing back and forth from what sounded like the door of her bedroom to the bed and back. Was she contemplating ignoring it?
The doorbell rang again. My heart thundered in my chest. Despite not being able to see, I crawled on my belly toward the light, staring out at the other closet as if doing so made me hear better.
My mother hobbled down the hallway. The sound of the front door swinging open resonated back to me.
A voice. Attention demanding. Elegant. Perfect.
Mr. Blackbourne. My heart thundered in my ears leaving me unable to concentrate. I listened, desperate to make out a word he was saying.
My mother replied to him. Something negative. Mr. Blackbourne’s voice grew in strength, but despite that, I couldn’t make out the conversation. My mother replied, loud, angry and shut the door.
The guys knew something was wrong. They were looking for me. It was enough to know that little bit after hours of worrying what would happen to me if my mother did try calling the police. The Academy boys knew.
My mother crossed the bedroom to the closet, opening the door and peering in at me, as if wondering if I was still there.
I kowtowed on the floor, my naked back exposed as I tried to cover everything else. I turned my head toward her, waiting.
Her scowl etched on her face. “Why would your teacher from school come looking for you?”
I had no idea what Mr. Blackbourne told her. “Because I’m not there?” I said flatly, not really caring if that was the answer she wanted. Mr. Blackbourne was outside somewhere! I wanted to hug him, him with his cruel steel eyes and ever-demanding requirement for perfection. I wouldn’t care. His voice had drifted to me, letting me know everything I needed right then. It was all I needed to find my courage. I would wait forever knowing someone out there wanted me. The boys did. Even Mr. Blackbourne.
Her eyes narrowed at me. She shoved a paper at my face, flicking the light on. I blinked as the closet light temporarily blinded me. I rubbed at my eyes.
