There would be no more worry, no more fear.
I close my eyes. I know this is the heroin talking. But more and more, it’s getting harder to tell the difference.
* * *
When I wake, there is another journal page in my lap.
They’d been in here, and I hadn’t even woke.
I blink my eyes, then blink them harder, trying to focus.
I’m fucked up.
More fucked up than I’ve ever been.
It’s their point, I guess.
I look at the computer monitor.
Zuzu is sitting on her bed, and she’s crying. I have her golden curl in my pocket, and I grasp it. She must be lonely. She must be wondering where her mother and I are.
“I’m here,” I tell her, although I know she can’t hear. “I’m here.”
She still cries, and I’m still alone.
I slump into the seat. I read the paper.
Tomorrow is the day.
Everything is planned.
I will tell Susanna how I feel about her, and she will be so grateful that I have come to save her. We will go live in my father’s cabin in the country. No one knows where it is, and Susanna can teach the boy herself. There will be no need for school. I don’t want any questions raised. I have thought of everything.
Our life will be grand.
She will be grateful.
He mentioned grateful twice.
He was definitely delusional. He thought he was rescuing my mother from a bad life. It would be laughable if it hadn’t ended so tragically.
She thought she was being kind to a loner.
And he was a loner.
But he was also crazy. We just hadn’t known it.
It makes me wonder how many people I’ve come into contact with in my life who have secretly been insane or twisted.
It’s amazing what can lie beneath a false demeanor.
Everyone has a façade, I guess.
My façade was that I’m not an addict.
I lied to myself and I lied to everyone else.
To be fair, I thought I wasn’t. But it was always there, under the surface, waiting to re-emerge.
Leroy might’ve forced my hand, but this is all me.
I’m pathetic.
I grab a box because what is the point of doing anything else now?
I’m going to die.
I’m an addict.
So I’m going to do what addicts do.
I use.
It’s cocaine this time.
I snort one line, then another.
I grab another box.
It doesn’t matter anymore. When they kill me, I won’t even notice.
I push the plunger of heroin into my arm.
The room swirls into a binge of bright colors, too much to fathom, too much to sustain. I close my eyes against the brightness, against the dizziness, and I swirl in and among them, a vague hue in a vibrant rainbow. I’m only a piece of this fabric, only a strand.
I’m unraveling, too.
I’m full of holes.
* * *
They are pleased with me.
They’ve had to replace the boxes.
I used all of the others, and left them in a pile on the bed.
The man smiles as he re-enters the room, his arms full of white cardboard.
“I have treats for you,” he says, and he pus them down. “This is the last of them. Here is this, too.”
He hands me another page of the journal.
I glance at it, but my drive is gone. I can’t feel. I’m empty. I’m a void.
“That’s the last of the boxes?” I ask woodenly. He nods. “What happens when they’re gone?”
He shrugs. “Let’s worry about that when you get to the last box, shall we?”
I rifle through them, hunting. He laughs.
“It’s not there. I’ll bring it in separately when the time comes.”
It won’t take me long to go through these. Maybe a day. Two days at the most. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does.
“Send Zuzu home,” I tell him and my voice is dead. It lacks all emotion. “I’ve earned it.”
“You haven’t yet,” he says. “But you will.”
I look away. He leaves.
I read the journal page.
I’m sitting outside of the house.
The husband isn’t home yet, as I knew he wouldn’t be. He never is. I won’t even bother killing him. He’ll barely notice they’re gone. I saw them eating through the window. Macaroni and cheese and salad. I heard the boy say it’s his favorite. He’ll have to learn to like things like venison and rabbit after we leave. The next time I write in this journal, they will be with me. My life will be whole, and so will theirs.
I think back to that night.
I’d been in bed. I’d heard something in my mother’s room. I’d gotten out of bed, and padded down the hall, stepping over a toy on my way. A dump truck.
She was in there, and she was begging for my life.
Please don’t hurt him, she’d begged. She was crying and I’d never heard her cry before. Her nose was bleeding and it was spattered on her shirt. Leroy had a gun.
“Run, Pax,” she’d screamed at me, but Leroy grabbed me. He’d told me to make my mom behave. Can you help your mommy be a good girl?
I swallow now, and acidic bile is in my throat. It burns as it slides back down.
I’ll do anything. Please don’t hurt him!
Anything? He’d asked, and his teeth were yellow.
He unbuttoned his pants and they dropped to the floor. He had a coiled snake tattoo on his hip.
Don’t tread on me.
My mom hadn’t wanted me to see, so Leroy had shoved me into the closet, but I could still see through the slats.
He shoved her down in front of him, grabbing her by the hair.
If you don’t do this, I’ll kill your son as you watch.
For so long, I had blocked these memories out of my head, but I can see them now. As if they’d happened yesterday. I can’t un-see them. I can’t shake them.
I was overcome with wanting to help her. Her shoulders were shaking and she was helpless, and I was the only one who could.
So I’d rushed out and tried.
And she’d died.
Trying to help her had killed her.
I won’t make that same mistake again.
I watch Zuzu on the monitor. She’s still now. She probably cried herself to sleep.
I can’t fight them, or she’ll die.
I can’t risk it.
I open another box.
I push the plunger down, and the heroin disappears into my vein. My consciousness goes with it.
This is for the best.
26
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mila
I’ve been in this bedroom for eight days. I have bled a little, off an on, but I try to keep my anxiety at a minimum, and I try to lay still in bed.
The only thing I can see is Pax on the monitor, but at least he’s untied now. That’s something. And he’s alive.
That’s everything.
He sits on the floor now, staring at the wall, and then abruptly, he climbs up and does push-ups. I lose track of how many. He moves fast, like a machine. I don’t know why he’s so frenzied and focused.
The doorbell rings. I can hear it vaguely from through the house. It rang once the other day, too. I have no idea who it was since I can’t see from this room. All I have here is a view of the gardens and the pool. Once, I thought it was charming and quiet. Today, it secludes and isolates me.
I did finally eat. I had to for the baby. I drank my water and ate my toast, and I cup my belly protectively now. While my baby is here, inside of my body, they can’t take it like they took Zuzu.
Children make you vulnerable. That is certainly true. They ripped my heart out when they took her.
I can’t think of her right now. Because if I do, I’ll lose my mind.
I put my h
and on Pax’s on the television screen. He’s still now, quiet. Sweat beads on his brow.
Anyone on the outside looking in would think that we have the world on a string, but here we are… separated by a thousand miles and two locks rooms….against our will.
He’s there.
I’m here.
I take a breath, and steel myself.
There has to be something I can do.
I pace, then pace more.
And then… then… there’s a movement. Out of the corner of my eye.
I turn, and there is someone outside my window. Hunched down, but I still see them. Gasping, I cross the room and peer out, and Roger is peering back at me.
Pax’s driver.
His eyes are wide.
I’m sure mine are too.
“Are you ok?” he mouths. I shake my head no.
He nods in confirmation.
“What are you doing?”
Natasha’s voice comes from the doorway. I turn quickly, trying to block Roger.
“Staring outside. It’s all I can do. You’ve taken everything else.”
She smiles, and brings in a sandwich along with a bottle of water. “That’s true, isn’t it?” she agrees. “You only have what we give you at this point.”
My phone is in her pocket. I see the corner of it sticking out. I try to ponder a way to get it, but with Roger right outside, I don’t take the chance.
I sit on the bed so that her attention is on me, rather than the window.
“When are you going to let me go?” I ask her.
“Not until after I’m long gone,” she says pleasantly. I get the feeling she’s determined to not lose her cool with me again.
“What about my husband?”
She levels her gaze at me, and it is cold. “I think we already established that.”
Ice forms over my heart and shivers run down my spine. There isn’t much time left. I feel it.
I count the minutes until she leaves the room, and then I scurry across the room to my nightstand. There is a sketchpad inside, and a piece of charcoal for drawing. It’s not the best to write with, but it has to work.
I scrawl out a message.
Held captive. They have Pax at the lakehouse. Call my sister and tell her. We’re not supposed to call the police. They have Zuzu.
I race back to the window, where Roger is waiting, hunched down.
He reads my words and his eyes widen in alarm. I nod.
Hurry, I mouth silently. I flip the page over and scribble one last thing.
They’re going to kill Pax.
He spins around and is gone, hugging the side of the house as he goes. My heart is racing and my hands are clammy. Our lives are literally in the hands of someone else, a car driver that Pax hadn’t even wanted.
I try to focus. I try to sit still, but I can’t. My fingers shake, my toes. My mouth is dry, my thoughts are blurry. I have too much adrenaline and no way to use it.
So I get up and pace. I do circles around the room, and I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. I breathe in, then out.
I don’t know what is going to happen, but I had to do something.
It was never going to end well.
At least this way, we’ll go down fighting.
Even if we all die.
Zuzu’s face flashes in front of me, and even though they’ve been using her to keep me docile, I know they’ll kill her too. They won’t have a choice. They’ll have to get rid of us all.
But Roger knows now.
He’ll tell Maddy and Gabe, and they’ll help us.
Gabe was an Army Ranger. He’ll know what to do.
He has to.
27
My Peace Page 17
