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Sliding down, I curl into myself on the dirty floor. Urine and feces coat my clothes, stinging my nostrils and causing me to gag. My stomach twists and vomit rises to the surface. I turn away from the bars and spill the contents of my gut onto the concrete floor. When there is nothing left to expel, dry heaves rack my body until every ounce of energy is gone, leaving me weak and hollow.I’m going to die.
My thoughts run a mile a minute.How did I get here? What happened?
The events of the night crash into me. The van. The strong hands. The fear.
Curling into a ball, I rock back and forth as a million horrific possibilities assault me. Every terror-filled movie I’ve ever watched, fromTakentoThe Silence of the Lambs, runs through my imagination.
I’m going to have my skin peeled off. Or worse... be eaten alive.
I cry out, but there isn’t anyone around to hear me. I’m alone. Utterly and truly alone. At this stage I regret all the times I thought to myself that life couldn’t get any crueler. Right now, in this cell, I know it can getfarworse.
Shannon would notice, right? Maybe they have people out looking for me.
I never texted her.
“Fuck,” I yell, grabbing both sides of my head and squeezing to try to stave off the thrashing headache.
No one is looking for me. I did this. It wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t hold up my end of a bargain with Shannon, but karma has finally caught up with me. They probably think it’s like every other time. Shannon will check in within a week, but a week is too long. Will my parents even notice I’m gone?Depends on what state they’re in.
I feel for my phone, finding it missing. My pockets are empty, purse nowhere in sight.
Of course.It’s probably still lying in that cornfield, out of sight where nobody will find it for another month, if ever. Dread fills me. How long have I been in this place? There is no sense of time, no windows to separate day from night. It could be hours; it could be days. I don’t know how long I slept.
The reality of my situation, coupled with everything from the past year, moves over me like a tidal wave of heartache. It’s too much. This has all been too much. I’m a walking tragedy. Who else has this much bad in their life? Sorrow takes hold of me, pouring out as if the dam holding my emotions in check has given way. Tears run unbidden down my cheeks and I don’t hold back. I let them out. Eventually, my body gives in to exhaustion and I fall asleep.
I peer out over the heavy quilt into the darkness of my room. The small night-light by my bed illuminates just enough to see the area directly in front and to the sides of me. A noise near my closet has me fisting the sheets so tight my knuckles begin to ache. I dare not speak, for fear it’ll hear me. It’s been in my room every night for the past week. It leers at me from the corner. I know it’s there. I can hear it breathe. Some nights I see the glow of its red eyes. Slamming my own shut tightly, I silently pray to God to keep me safe.
“Rina?” My mother’s voice calls from the doorway.
“Y-yes?” I say quietly, afraid the creature will hurt my mom if she sees it.
“What was that noise?”
The light flicks on overhead and I hold my breath in anticipation of seeing the creature in the light, but nothing is there. My room is empty.
I exhale in relief, eyes scanning the area for signs of what I know was there moments ago. My mother walks to the side of my bed, pulling the covers away from my face and holding my hand in hers.
“Someone was here. I know it.”
My eyes widen at her declaration. Finally, she’s ready to hear my truths.
“Was it Molly? Did she come back to us?”
I deflate as she punctures the hope I had. It always comes back to Molly. No matter how many people try to explain to her, she doesn’t get it. Molly never lived. She didn’t even take one breath. I want to scream that Maggie and I survived. We’re here and we need her, but that doesn’t matter. It never has.
“No, Mom. It wasn’t Molly.”
It’s easier to appease her. Just like my dad always has. We feed into her delusions that Molly might actually be out there somewhere.
“All right. Good night,” she says, bending over to kiss my forehead, the potent smell of alcohol clinging to her.
I turn to my side, pulling the covers with me, and shiver at the sight of my open window. There is no doubt in my mind that it was closed. Once my mom is soundly asleep, I sneak out of my room and crawl into bed with Maggie. We have each other. We only have each other.
* * *
I awaken with a jerk. It wasn’t just any dream, but a memory from years past. It’s been ages since I’ve thought of those days. Maggie and I were so young and vulnerable, but we were alone. My father thought that Maggie and I had inherited some gene from our mother that caused delusions. Therapists tried to explain to him that what my mother was dealing with was entirely different from what Maggie and I were describing, but he never believed that. He thought she transferred her grief and aberrations to us. Eventually, he convinced her of the same, and that was the start of our foray into years of psychoanalysis.
I try hard to repress those years, but with Maggie’s disappearance and now this current situation, it’s like a doorway has opened to my past. It’s not enough that I’m living out my own version of hell, but my mind insists on reliving every horrible childhood memory right along with it. I shiver in the cold air circling around me. There must be a vent somewhere. I stand, searching for the source of the draft.
