Page 45 of Kylie

If there was any positive to be had, it was that, unlike in the hospital, I could tell day from night. I could also tell the house was tucked into some trees because at no point did the sun shine directly through any of the windows. A sliver would peek through, sliding along the floor and the wall as the minutes ticked by, but for the most part, it was shaded. That was a godsend, considering the aforementioned lack of air conditioning.

There were no lights in the room, but during the day it wasn’t so bad. At night, it was dark. Really dark.

Since there was nothing to do, I spent hours quietly listening for any sounds that would tell me where we were. If there were a road nearby, I couldn’t hear any traffic. I had to assume that meant we were likely secluded. The lack of vehicular noise wasn’t the only thing that brought me to that conclusion. The most notable was whatever was moving around under the house and on the roof. Probably squirrels or possums, maybe a raccoon, or even field mice. Between that and the structure of this house, it made sense that they were keeping me in an old farmhouse or hunting cabin.

Every so often, I would hear a car engine, but it always sounded close. I figured it was whoever was out there monitoring things. If I was right, they were working in eight-hour shifts. I had no idea who they were because no one had come into the room since Creepy Guy locked me in here eight days ago. Whoever they were, they weren’t going to let me out. I learned that when I spent the better part of an hour beating on the door and shouting. No one had so much as acknowledged my presence.

And I got the feeling that was going to continue.

In my one little patch of floor where there weren’t any tack strips threatening to stab me, I sat with my back to the wall, knees up and bent, my arms propped on them. It allowed me to rest my head without having to lie on the filthy mattress. I didn’t want to think about where that thing had come from or what was crawling inside it. Nor did I want splinters where splinters didn’t belong because of the chipped and broken floorboards.

I hated this so much, but I’d become resigned to my fate: passing time while trying to figure out a way to escape. I’d come up with two options so far. One, I could dig out the floorboards with my fingernails, or two, I could dig out the sheetrock with the cap from the water bottle. Neither option was even remotely possible, but the hopeful side of my brain was willing to ponder them until something viable appeared. It was my only option because no one was coming for me. According to Martin, no one even knew I was alive, much less being held captive, so I doubted I would be leaving this shit hole anytime soon. In fact, I would probably die here in this room.

However, there was one positive thing that came with the sweltering heat: hallucinations.

Oh, yeah. Despite my prayers, I knew my husbands had not come to rescue me, but they were certainly with me at times.

Today, Gage was front and center, appearing like a hologram. I figured it had to do with today being his birthday. At least I thought it was today. The tally marks I was making on the wall told me it was based on the last date confirmation I’d gotten from Nurse Ratched. But that was assuming my trip from the hospital to here had only been a few hours, not a few days.

Regardless, my thoughts were on Gage and what he was doing today. He was forty-two this year. I remembered celebrating his 40th back before I … died. Since my family believed I was dead—at least according to Martin—I found it easier to think the same.

“What are you doin’ today?” I whispered, talking to my imaginary Gage.

Whatever he was doing, I bet he was happy.

I smiled. “Did Travis wake you up with breakfast in bed?” Or maybe the kids did. Kate loved to deliver pancakes for birthdays at our house. Once, I even let her make them herself, right down to stirring the batter. They hadn’t been edible, but Gage hadn’t cared. He’d convinced our daughter they were the best pancakes he’d ever had.

Were they going to the diner for dinner? Or was there a big celebration at Curtis and Lorrie’s? Maybe they’d already done the June birthday celebration. Due to the sheer volume of celebrations, we’d started doing them monthly years ago. June was one of the smallest months, with only three that I could think of: Gage, Haden, and Beau.

A tear slipped down my cheek. I couldn’t help it. Whenever I thought about my family moving on without me, it caused my heart to ache. I missed them so much. My husbands, my babies. I missed my dad and my sister, Curtis and Lorrie, all of my brothers-in-law and their significant others. I was blessed with so many people in my life.

Or I had been.

I wiped the tear with my sleeve and focused my attention on Gage. As long as I pretended he was there, I could hold on to my sanity for a little while longer.

Or perhaps that was my sanity slipping away bit by bit.

Chapter Twenty

Sunday, June 26, 2022

Kylie

Exactly eleven little lines—which denoted days that I was aware of—from the day they stuck me in this shit hole, Martin Calloway paid me a visit.

I knew the passing of time because I had used the lid from one of the water bottles to mark the Sheetrock. Or rather, that was my intention. The jagged etchings through the paint and paper were about an inch and a half long and little more than a ragged white scar in the wall. But they counted. My clusters of five tallies were multiplying and, at least in my opinion, making an improvement to my surroundings.

I heard the engine of a vehicle first, followed by the slam of a car door. It was followed a few minutes later by the sound of voices—both male—coming from somewhere in the house. The walls were thin, so I heard anytime someone or something moved around. In a strange way, it brought me some peace knowing that I wasn’t completely alone. Not that I wanted the squirrels or raccoons to make a personal visit, but I figured if they could survive out here, I probably could, too. Granted, I doubted the four-legged critters were going to do much good if the house were to catch on fire. The thought of me going up in flames because no one was there to unchain me from the floor had caused me more than one sleepless night.

Based on how well these people treated me, they wouldn’t give me a fleeting thought when they ran out into fresh air while I succumbed to the smoke and flames, but still.

Speaking of the chain in the floor … it wasn’t coming loose, but I was doing my damnedest to make it so. I spent far too much time twisting and jerking the bolt, attempting to free it from the wood to no avail. It had to be secured in a joist because it wasn’t giving an inch, and I had the blisters on my hands to prove it.

Not wanting to feel small and helpless, I got to my feet and moved to the far side of the room when I heard someone on the other side of the door. The rattle and clank of the chain had just ceased when the door opened, and Martin stepped into the room. His gaze swung around all four corners before coming to land on me.

In my mind, I was lunging at him, wrapping the chain around his neck and squeezing until his eyes bugged out of his face.

In reality, I was staring at him like a deer in the headlights, bracing to be bulldozed by four thousand pounds of steel, aluminum, and glass.