AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’ll unchain me?”
“Soon.”
Soon, the girl thought. She had heard that often enough.
“I just have to put something in place first.”
“What thing?”
Her Captor sat on the bed beside her. They smelt of dried sweat and baking. “Sweetheart, I just want to keep you safe. You know that?”
“Yes.”
“And I realized, well, that window, it was just temptation. Taunting you. It was cruel.”
“Okay.”
Her Captor sighed. “So, I’m going to stop being cruel. I’ve ordered some bricks and cement and I’m going to take out that old window and brick it up. It’s for the best.”
For the best.
Her Captor kissed her quickly on the head and stood. “Now you enjoy your snacks.”
For the best.
Her Captor walked from the room and back up the stairs.
For the best.
The girl looked at the cookies and the jug of red liquid.
For the best.
She wanted to scream and throw them at the walls, but that would only incur her Captor’s wrath.
She took several deep breaths and from the depths of her mind she tried to summon up a call. To put out a thought to the other side of the wall. To the outside. To him.
“I need you. Come soon. There isn’t much time. Help me. HELP ME!”
32
Grief was a cancer. You could spot the grieving like you could spot those in the throes of a terminal illness. The light had been lost from their eyes, their skin was dry and sallow, their cheeks hollowed and even their movements seemed labored.
People often talked about the stages of grief—denial, pain, acceptance. But few mentioned the fourth—terminal. Those for whom there would never be any recovery. Barbara remembered one grieving mother telling her: “I’m already with my little girl. This heap of flesh and bones just hasn’t caught up yet.”
Janice Anderson looked like she was half gone from this world already. She was a slight woman with brown hair in a straggly ponytail. It didn’t seem like it had been washed in a while and her shirt was missing a button. Barbara got the impression that staying upright and breathing were taking everything she had. In comparison, her husband, Ed, was stiff and tense. Like he was using every muscle to hold in the scream.
Barbara could feel her own heart growing heavier, just by being in the house. It was a modest home just off Main Street. Barbara imagined that “before,” it had been a cozy, cluttered place, scattered with the detritus of a teenage boy. Sneakers discarded on the floor, coats slung over chairs, an ever-multiplying pile of dishes and dirty mugs beside the sink.
Some of those things were still here. She had noticed a boy’s sweater hanging in the hall and shoes lined up by the door. But the kitchen was clean, and the house felt cold. Barbara knew this was probably because Janice and Ed had been away, staying with Janice’s parents, but she had a feeling it might never feel warm again.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Barbara said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Janice gazed at her blankly. Ed cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“I’d just like to ask you a few questions about Marcus, if that’s okay?”
Ed looked at her from under hooded eyes. Patchy gray stubble covered his chin and cheeks. “Rita told us the video isn’t real. The boys faked it.”
