by Riley Ashby
My blood chilled but I forced myself to keep moving, giving Conrad hell no matter how bad my back ached beneath his weight.
“Expect to hear from me soon. From both of us. And I suggest you take a good listen whenever I deign to put your daughter on the phone, because whatever you hear from her might be the last words she ever utters.”
She yelled loudly but I couldn’t make out any words, the noise cut off quickly as Conrad ended the call and finally climbed off me completely to remove the battery and SIM card, the latter of which he dropped to the floor and ground beneath the heel of his boot.
“You’re barbaric,” I spat, wiping away the tears and snot that ran unashamedly down my face. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What happened in your childhood to make you like this?”
He grabbed my cheeks in his hands and brought his face so close to mine I could feel his breath. “This isn’t about me, you piece of shit whore. Don’t you get that? This is about punishing your mother.” He threw me backward only to slap me across the face, catching me off guard and sending me falling to the side. But as soon as I hit the mattress, he grabbed my neck and yanked me back up. The persistent headache that had never quite left ever since the previous evening surged forth. My vision went black temporarily, then white stars burst forth in the black. Conrad was yelling at me, but I couldn’t hear his words through the cotton in my ears.
He’s too angry. Something had happened, something wrong.
“Do you hear me?”
“What?” I tried to pop my ears as if that could clear the congestion blocking his voice.
“I said, if you challenge me again, I will make you forget every good thing that ever happened to you.” He released my shoulders to hit me across the face, and this time, when my head hit the mattress, he let me lie. “Let’s see if you learn any faster than your mother.” He spit, saliva landing on my face as I laid there struggling to breathe. I didn’t even hear the door shut, I knew subconsciously he had gone. The only sound I heard was my thumping heart, echoing in the room where I now found myself alone. As the feeling returned to my lower body and the aching in my head eased from excruciating to bearable, the tears I’d been holding behind my eyes fell forward, and the barely contained panic that had simmered below the surface finally erupted. I stuffed the baby blanket into my mouth as I screamed.
*
There was nothing for days. I was a live wire, a tightly bound ball of yarn that only grew more knotted the longer I was left alone with no one to talk to, nothing to do. I wasn’t beaten any further. There were no threats. Not even promises. I sat on the bed with the baby blanket, clutching it to my chest like a talisman, and waited to die.
Joshua brought me food three times a day. Each time I ignored it, no matter how loudly my stomach protested. It was only oatmeal, nothing like the bacon and eggs he used to make me each morning at Meyer’s house, but after the first day it smelled just as good. I refused to even drink water in front of him, filling my belly from the tap in the bathroom after he left. I was so desperate for something to chase away the hunger, even bringing myself to vomiting a few times. Eventually I learned to sip more cautiously, to not overwhelm my system with volume when what it really wanted was calories.
Meyer wasn’t coming. That much was clear. By the time the sun set on the third day—or so I assumed—I had completely given up. Staring at the wall listlessly was my new way to pass time. The depression I’d felt in the first few days with Meyer was nothing compared to the absolute desolation I felt now. The complete and utter lack of hope that I would ever see the outside of this room unless it meant I’d be experiencing excruciating pain. For the first time I thought I understood what drove Meyer to hurt himself, the desire to feel something that would bring me out of the unchecked … nothingness. I didn’t have any blades, of course, not that I wanted to see my own blood anyway. But my fingernails did the trick. Thin, purple, half-moon bruises dotting the pale skin on the underside of my arm. It was the only thing I could do to distract myself from the aching loneliness and fear when staring at the wall became too much to bear.
Falling asleep wasn’t a conscious decision, but I started awake as the door opened, blinking at Joshua as he stepped into the small room. Bright sunlight poured through the door behind him, alerting me that I had fallen asleep at some point. It was morning. Day four, by my calculations. I pushed myself up to sitting and slid along the bed as far from him as I could get, even as he approached me with a tray. He sat it on the bed next to me, yet another bowl of plain oatmeal.
“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” he said with a hint of apology in his voice. “But you need to eat.” I looked at him.
“Get me out of here, Joshua.” It sounded a little too breathy. I cleared my throat and swallowed before speaking again. “We could make it somewhere safe.”
He shook his head and gestured to the bowl again. I started at it apprehensively, unwilling to give in, but so hungry after starving myself for days.
“We tried that once.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
Again, he pointed at my food. I extended one finger, than another, until they hooked on the edge of the tray and I could tug it toward me. Gripping the spoon, I raised it to my mouth and took a bite, chewing the gluey oats and forcing myself to swallow them. My taste buds groaned. My stomach rejoiced.
“That was the letter. He wanted me to take you somewhere Conrad couldn’t get to you.”
He only watched me as I waited for him to continue. Still staring, I took another bite.
“I gave him the idea, actually. After he tried to kill himself the night you came here. I caught him a lot earlier in the process of downing the pills, and I only had to make him throw them up. Then I yelled at him, saying he might as well make it a murder suicide, because whatever Conrad had planned for you would be worse than death.”
My mouth was dry from trying to eat the oats. No orange juice with this breakfast. Still, I forced myself to continue to eat as he spoke. I craved conversation with someone who was holding on to his sanity with barely a thread.
“So he decided it would be easier to play along. That’s what he’s done his whole life, after all. Stick to the plan.”
I coughed a little as a ball of food stuck in my throat, and Joshua produced a cup which he filled with water from the tap. I drank gratefully and wiped my upper lip. “Then why did he do it again?”
“You said you hated him. And he couldn’t handle that, no matter how much he already knew it was true.”
The spoon clinked against the bottom of the bowl. It was plastic—no chance of forging a weapon—but the sound was metallic. “But he didn’t kill me.”
“Of course not. He couldn’t kill you, not after he’s lost everyone else he loves.”
I tapped the spoon again, this time against the side of the bowl. The sound was flatter there. “He doesn’t love me. If he did, he wouldn’t have left me the other day.” My voice shook a little as I scooped out the last bite of food and spooned it into my mouth. I sucked away the oats until all that remained on my tongue was the taste of hot metal.
“That’s what has me convinced he does. If he hated you, or was indifferent, he would have marched you over here and handed you over. Washed his hands of you. But he couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t handle staying with you, either.”
I set my spoon in the bowl and shoved away the tray, holding my hands over my mouth while I coughed. When I recovered, I folded them beneath my arms. “Well, now his feelings are going to get me killed.”
“I wanted to give you something to hold on to. When Conrad comes back.”
It would have been better to give me no hope at all. “Why are you telling me this?”
He looked at his feet, then leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “I’m not sure.”
I scooted back on the bed and picked up the blanket with one hand, covering the other with it. “You don’t have to do this.”
He sighed a
nd picked up the tray. “I do, Madeline. I don’t expect you to understand, but it is what it is. I’ll do my best to give you a head’s up when something is coming. But all the cards are on the table now, at least with Meyer.” He paused as he turned, cast in shadow by the light behind him. “What comes next won’t take too long.”
He closed the door before I could ask what he meant.
I waited ten breaths, intentionally breathing too deeply, my head swimming slightly as I clenched my fists. When I was sure no one was coming back, when I believed I was truly alone, I uncurled my fingers one by one and looked at the shining silver key in my palm.
Maddie
I didn’t quite know what to do with the key, as it didn’t seem to fit anything in the room. The door had no lock on the inside, no opportunity for me to even try to pick it. It looked more like the key to a pair of handcuffs, but not once throughout this entire ordeal had either Schaf man put me in chains. Nevertheless, I kept it on me at all times, tucked deep into my back pocket.
Why Joshua had suddenly decided to help me, and in this seemingly ineffectual way, was the more pressing riddle knocking around my head. It seemed Meyer wasn’t the only one too afraid to stand up to Conrad in any meaningful way. But Joshua had no incentive to help me, except for perhaps a long-dormant sense of justice or an understanding of right and wrong. What would it take to stoke that fire at little hotter, remind him that I was a human in the hands of a monster?
I didn’t get long to think about it.
After my interaction with Joshua I finally opted to use the shower, peeling off the filthy clothes I’d been wearing for days and dropping them in a heap on the floor near the shower. I placed the key in the back pocket of a pair of pants I found in the cabinet beneath the sink before stepping under the water. My hair soaked up the water greedily as dried sweat and blood sloughed off my skin and ran down the drain. I finally took stock of each new bruise on my body, fingerprints that wrapped around my upper arm and the tender spot on the back of my head. Would my skin ever be undamaged again? Would there come a day I could look in the mirror and see only my complexion, unmarred by bruises both fresh and healing or blood dried to a dark brown flaking away from barely-sealed wounds? If I couldn’t find a way to get out of here, probably not. One thing was for sure, I would not be giving in to whatever Conrad demanded of me. He didn’t have a child to threaten in order to ensure my cooperation. If he wanted me, he’d have to beat me into unconsciousness first.
I stood under the water longer than was necessary, trying to find a few moments of peace while no one was watching or threatening my life. After so many lukewarm showers with Meyer those first days when I couldn’t be bothered to bathe myself, the hot water felt more like scalding on my shoulders, but I welcomed the burn. It was the kind of pain that chased away all the worries I had been holding in my shoulders over the past several days. What surprised me was that when I stepped out of the shower, water continued to fall down my face. I leaped back into the shower as quickly as I could, cranking the water as I hot as I could and shoving a ragged washcloth into my mouth so I could scream while the water crashed down around my ears.
I was alone. I thought I’d understood that before, but the evidence was too overwhelming now for me to push down beneath the more predominant fear and pain that had consumed me until now. When he walked out the door that morning and told me it didn’t matter, that Conrad would be after me one day soon. And he was right. I just thought that by the time he came, Meyer’s good sense would have returned and he’d be standing by my side to fight him off.
“I wonder if you’ll ever stop making a fool of me.”
“Fuck, I hope not.”
That had been the night everything changed. When we both caved to the string tugging us toward each other, instead of pulling hard in the opposite direction and hoping it would break. And for a few hours we’d been bound together tighter than any blood bond; held fast to each other by a shared history we hadn’t been aware of until it was too late. Even then, Meyer hadn’t truly believed we’d make it out of the situation together, or even in one piece. He hadn’t truly believed in me, in us, because everyone he’d loved in his life had either hurt or abandoned him. He settled for playing pretend for a couple of days. But I … I had been convinced. Now the rug had been ripped out from underneath me, and I wasn’t sure I’d survive the fall.
When my lungs hurt from the screaming and my head pulsed in time with my heartbeat from the force of my sobs, I turned off the water and exited the shower for good. The towels provided were scratchy and riddled with holes, nothing like the luxury Meyer had let me experience even when he was still tying me to the foot of his bed. I stepped into my new set of clothes as quickly as I could, not wanting to be caught naked. As I was drying my hair, the door to the main room opened, and I froze.
“Are you done with your little pity party, Madeline?”
I closed my eyes as a fresh tear tumbled down my cheek.
No time for that.
“What do you want?” I wiped away the tear and grabbed the brush that had miraculously traveled from Meyer’s house to mine along with my clothes, but my head was too tender as I pulled it through the knots and I resorted to detangling with my fingers.
“There is a visitor here to meet you.”
My hands froze and I stared at myself in the mirror as my heart soared for one desperate moment before I remembered there was no way Meyer would be here to see me. And besides, he said meet, not see.
“That’s very nice, but I’m not accepting visitors at this time. Perhaps he can come back after the holiday sea—”
I jumped and spun as the door slammed open, Conrad filling the already small space with his bulk and grabbing my shirt by the collar.
“Not optional,” he growled, and pulled me out of the bathroom, through my prison cell, and into the main house. I blinked in the light, surprised by how bright it was compared to my little room with its one flickering bulb. I didn’t have any time to orient myself at all as he dragged me down the stairs Joshua had carried me up the day before. We passed through three more rooms before he threw me to my knees on a marble floor. My hands flew out to catch me as I kept falling forward, the shock traveling up my bones to my elbows and causing me to grit my teeth. I dared to glance up as Conrad strode past me toward a man standing near the window, texting on his phone with one hand.
“This is her, Alexander.” Conrad said, and the man turned to look as if he hadn’t heard us struggling down the hall, or the clack of my bones on the hard floor. He didn’t smile, didn’t show any expression at all as he turned his head slightly to the left and strode toward us.
“Her? You’re sure?”
I looked between the two men as I climbed to my feet, testing my muscles for the first time in days. The stupidity of my hunger strike hit me hard as my legs shook no matter how tightly I tensed my muscles. I should have been eating, should have tried to keep active while I was locked up. The only strength I had was from a bowl of plain oatmeal eaten hours ago. If I got the opportunity to run, I would have to use my energy judiciously.
“I’m sure. I tested her blood to be sure. She’s a genetic match.”
My eyes were roaming the room, searching for the closest item I could use as a weapon if need be, but I froze as the final two words leave Conrad’s mouth. I looked between him, then the man before me, as he closes the final steps between us and comes to stop in front of me. He looks nothing like Conrad; his hair was graying, but I could still see the dark strands showing through, and the hazel eyes that turn darker near the outside.
Like mine.
“No,” I screamed, but it only came out as a whisper since I hadn’t taken a breath in several seconds. I didn’t want this. Had never wanted this, not even once since I found out the truth. He opened his mouth to speak but I was already moving, backpedaling only to fall to my ass. My wrists screamed as they hit the floor for the second time in only a few minutes.
I tried to
get up and run to the door but Conrad grabbed my arm, hauling me back to my feet as the man stared down at me.
“Hello, daughter,” he said with no trace of emotion in his voice.
“I’m not your daughter,” I choke out, fighting back the fresh tears in my voice. I shouldn’t have eaten; I was going to throw up all over the floor and embarrass myself in front of these two men. “My father’s name is Joseph.”
He grabbed my hand and held it against his, lining up our fingers. Line mine, his pinky finger bowed out further than any of the others. When I was younger, I always assumed I’d broken it as a baby. “My children have this same defect. It’s a rather persistent hereditary trait.” I twisted my wrist until he dropped me. My skin crawled where we’d made contact. “Joseph is only the father on your birth certificate.”
“And in practice.” I wrenched my arm away from Conrad but he held fast. The world was going dark, but I couldn’t lose consciousness here. Not when two powerful and dangerous men were both looking at me with such obvious malice, as if they would like to see the inside of my skull. I focused on the wall over Alexander’s shoulder rather than look him in the eye. At the same time, I stepped toward the door, determined to run at the first chance if I could ever free myself from Conrad. “If you’re insinuating you have some claim over me just because we share DNA, think again. You’re a rapist, and a criminal, and I want nothing to do with you.”
“Hmmm.” He looked me up and down, taking a lock of my hair briefly in his fingers before I slapped it away with my free hand. He chuckled. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you, for being so battered.”
“You’ll remember Eva was the same way.” Conrad’s voice was a strange mixture of proud and resentful, as if he simultaneously took credit for my mother’s fight and also hated her for it.
Alexander snorted. “I do. Worth it, though. Best birthday party I’ve ever been to.”
