Out to Find Freedom

by Lila Rose

  If only I could remember her number, but they’d wiped my phone clear of everything. At least they hadn’t been smart enough to end the direct debit payments for the bill from my account. Or they just didn’t care enough to look since they had a good supply of money to use.

  They’d even deleted my old photos of my father.

  A new voice caught my attention, dragging me away from my thoughts, and for that, I was grateful.

  “Yo, Warden, where you gonna put this garden shit?”

  I peeked out the window and that was when I saw him.

  He walked—no, strode—down the side of the house with his tall, muscular body. His biceps were bigger than my thighs, and one strained when he pointed somewhere. Then I heard his deep, rough, almost growly voice, “Put it down over there. Gonna build a shed soon.”

  I knew then that the person who’d moved in was the tall, well-built, dark-haired man with a hard gaze.

  With a glance behind me to the stairs, I wondered if I called for help, would he come to my rescue?

  I could be free from my hellhole, or was it yet another risk I couldn’t take for Harriet’s sake?

  All I had to do was open my mouth and shout out.

  Looking back outside, my gaze landed on some children running into the backyard. Were those his children? Did he have a wife? A girlfriend? Why did it feel like my stomach bottomed out with that thought?

  My door swung open. I flew down to sit on the cot and curled my knees up, my arms around them. I flicked my eyes to the small bathroom in the corner. I should have made a run for it and locked myself in there.

  Gloria came down the stairs, her hair a mess and make-up from the night before smeared over her face.

  My breath caught at the sight of the blade in her hands.

  She hadn’t cut me since that night. Why did she hold it once again?

  “Gloria—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” she snapped low. She came at me, her blade touched my neck, her hand gripped my hair. She pulled me up and moved me to look out the window. “Know you heard someone moving in. You even think to shout, to call for help, you know what will happen to not only you but your old friend.”

  “Y-you won’t get your money,” I told her bravely, if only my voice didn’t shake.

  She laughed, not even surprised I knew her play. “I won’t care. You’ll be out of my hair.” The knife dug deeper into my neck. “But you want to get smart. Look out there.” When I didn’t, she shook my head by my hair. “Look. See those kids, the women, the men?” I didn’t reply. She went on. “Yeah, you see them. Then you know if you get any type of attention from any of them, it won’t be you and your friend’s lives lost. It’ll be theirs.” My pulse raced. “You know what Lenny brought home last night? A gun, Emerson. A gun can do a lot more damage than this fucking knife. It can kill a lot more than one person. You do anything, their lives are on your hands like the others. Got me?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  She shoved me forwards, and I landed hard on my knees on the concrete floor. My upper body slumped over the bed. I sucked in a shaky breath, and tears trailed down my cheeks. I listened to her storm away, knowing she knew she had me.

  Knew I wouldn’t do anything to risk other people. Especially children.

  She’d always said my heart was too soft. She couldn’t understand why I mourned my dad for so long. Even called me weak for it. Only I knew Gloria didn’t have a good bone in her body. She would never understand how much it could crush a person when you lost someone you loved.

  I couldn’t let anyone else feel that loss.

  No one else would die for me.

  No one would know anything.

  I would keep my mouth closed.

  Stupidly, once more, I found myself praying for a miracle.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EMERSON

  Ryan Warden had been officially moved in for a week now. I remembered the woman calling him Ryan, and her man not liking it. It seemed all the others called him by his last name. Though I wasn’t sure if it was his last name and not a nickname. Either way, I liked his name.

  It was strong, like him.

  His place had many visitors over the week. Men, big scary men, and women who smiled and laughed a lot. I wanted to know what made them so happy in life, because I would love it for myself one day.

  Yes, I still held out hope. Stupidly.

  The door to my room opened. I quickly sat on the bed and waited. It would be a meal delivery—I got two a day. Thankfully, they were big meals, so I kept what I could in case I annoyed them enough to get nothing one day.

  Gloria glared at me, dumped the tray on the small table near the bottom of the stairs, and stomped back up, leaving without saying a word.

  I preferred those days. It was better than being yelled at, stomped, or spat on.

  She’d already inflicted enough scars. I didn’t need more.

  Glancing down at my arms, I traced a finger over the jagged lines. Tears welled, but I quickly wiped them away.

  I didn’t know what I did to deserve a life living with two monsters. Hadn’t God already taken enough from me? But he seemed to want more and more. Why else would I have to stay locked up with Gloria and Lenny? Though, I hardly saw Lenny anymore. The only times I did was when Gloria had to go out for some reason. He must have been effectively reprimanded by Gloria because he kept to himself when he entered. But his eyes still held something in them I didn’t like.

  “Warden, gotta head out” I heard called. I spun, got to my knees, and then stood on the bed. It was the biker with dark hair and a scowl. I was sure his name was Talon.

  All men called Ryan “Warden,” but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it. I liked the name Ryan for him. Maybe it was because it softened him a little compared to his rough look and large body.

  Ryan came into view when he replied, “All good, brother. Thanks for the hand.” They did some type of handshake, and Talon left. Warden looked back to the garden shed they’d been building for the last two days.

  It had been a sight to watch them.

  A very nice sight.

  My eyes seemed to like watching Ryan.

  A lot.

  I didn’t understand the attraction, why him more than others. Why would I feel interested in a male after being treated the way I had been by Lenny?

  I didn’t have an answer; all I knew was how my attention always swung to Ryan.

  He stood in the yard, hands on his hips, sweaty, dirty, and yet he still caused my heart to beat faster.

  Never had I had this type of reaction for a man, until then.

  Living next door to Ryan gave me a form of entertainment besides the ratty books that I’d read over and over, piled behind some of the boxes. Safely hidden from Gloria. I had no doubt she’d get rid of them if she knew I liked them. It would be something she’d do.

  Ryan turned. He dragged out his phone from the back pocket of his snuggly fit jeans and did something on there as he made his way to the back deck, up onto it, before disappearing inside.

  Disappointment washed over me.

  Then guilt reared its ugly mug, telling me I should have felt the same attraction to Donny that I did for Ryan. Maybe then I would have saved him. If only I’d cared more.

  Shit, could I have…? Fuck. No. I couldn’t think like that.

  While guilt lived inside of me, I wouldn’t allow it to control my thoughts in that way.

  Sitting back down on the bed, I pulled the notebook out from under the duffle coat I used as a pillow. Flipping it open, I stared down at my drawing. Art had never been a subject I liked, but over the past couple of years, I had tried to draw what the other men looked like in the room that night.

  I wasn’t the best artist, but time had given me the gift to work on the pictures, and I was sure I had them near perfect.

  The boss had blond hair, blue eyes. A jaw that sat a little crooked, a long, slim nose, and bushy brows. The rapist had long, light brown hair.
His nose was thicker, his eyes darker, his jaw straight, but a scar ran from the tip of his chin down his neck.

  I hadn’t thought I’d remember them so clearly after everything.

  My mind should have shredded the memory of that night, but it hadn’t. I met that night over and over in my dreams. I pictured them perfectly in my nightmares.

  In the hope that one day my drawings would help someone.

  If they didn’t kill me first.

  What I couldn’t remember was what the girl looked like. I hardly saw her face—just a glimpse of red hair, a side profile of pale skin, a splatter of freckles over her cheek.

  That was when my dreams screwed with me, because in them, I was that girl on the couch. Then on other nights, I was Donny being shot in the head.

  They happened so often that I tried not to sleep. Even after two years. I’d thought they’d lessen somewhat, but they hadn’t. Maybe it had something to do with still being trapped. Still feeling alone. Forgotten. Or maybe I just couldn’t forget—and, in a way, I didn’t want to.

  Naturally, the tragedies would plague me in the waking and sleeping hours. As they should. Donny deserved to be remembered, as did Mrs Minna, and even the young girl. Yes, I knew they had family to mourn them also, but I’d been there. I’d been through it with them. They died because of me, so it was my sin to remember, to keep living and feeling the event of their deaths, their pain.

  Sniffing, I put the notebook aside and got up from the bed to stretch. I walked over to the toilet room. That was where I was soaking the sleeves I’d torn up to use as a pad for when that time of the month kicked me in the guts. I had to be inventive for a lot of things. For the cold nights where I had no socks to wear, I found a pair of long woollen gloves in a box and used those, washing them when the days were warmer and I hadn’t needed them. For blankets, I had a thin one and used the extra clothes I’d found. Some jackets, hoodies, even a long winter coat that looked like it came from the seventies based on the multicolours over it.

  I wasn’t sure where or who the clothes belonged to. I couldn’t see Gloria or Lenny ever having worn them. However, it didn’t matter. I needed them. Even if they smelled of mothballs.

  After wringing out the sleeves, I took them into the basement and hung them over boxes. It would take a while to air dry them, having to flip them over and over, but they’d get there. They were stained, of course, but using them again and again was better than ruining my only pair of underwear. Underwear that nearly dropped off when I wasn’t wearing pants, jeans, or shorts. I’d lost a lot of weight. Too much. But I couldn’t do anything about it.

  My head dropped forwards, chin nearly hitting my chest.

  My fucking life was devastating.

  What was I honestly waiting for? To turn twenty-five and then be killed once they got my inheritance? Why didn’t they forge my signature? Why didn’t they get me to sign something now and then kill me? Why wait? Unless they liked the torture. Or maybe the lawyer or whoever was in charge of the inheritance needed to see me in person to sign it over?

  If that was the case, would that be my chance of escape?

  A fire lit inside my chest. Stupid hope played with me once more.

  But if they did have to take me out of the house, I might have a chance to do something to get away from them. Then I would race to Harriet’s, to save her before saving myself and calling the police to ruin Gloria.

  The new fire spread throughout my body. I felt giddy. A small laugh fell from my lips, so I slapped my hand over my mouth. With wide eyes, I tilted my head to the side and listened. No one approached.

  Did I honestly dare to hope I could escape them?

  Then again, what was wrong with hoping? It gave me a new strength.

  Since I was nineteen, I had six more years to put up with what I was.

  Six more years.

  Could I do it?

  I glanced at the bed, the notepad.

  I would try.

  God, I wanted to, because it meant I might live. Live and be lucky enough to have found some type of happiness. Maybe even a happiness like I’d seen in the women who visited next door. A life around people who cared.

  When I heard a noise from next door, I rushed over to the window, hopped up to stand on the bed, and looked out.

  Ryan stood on the back deck with a beer bottle in hand. He’d taken a shower; his hair still glistened from the water. I watched as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drink.

  Why did I suddenly wish I were that beer bottle?

  That was a strange thing to think.

  I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling at the silly thought.

  His hand dropped. He gripped the bottle by the rim of it and took a couple of steps to the table on his deck. After he placed the bottle down, he pulled out his phone again.

  After a couple of seconds, he was smiling.

  That was a rarity. He tended to only smile around one woman. The one who was taken by the man called Declan.

  I liked his smile. Even my belly liked it, because it twisted in a way that thrilled me.

  Was it her on the phone? Had she texted him? Told him she wanted him? I shook my head at the foolishness. She wouldn’t do that to Declan. Even I could see the love they had for one another when I saw them at Ryan’s.

  So then what was he smiling at on the phone?

  I wondered if I could ever make him or any man smile like that.

  I slid my hand to my neck and brushed against my hair. I glanced down and picked up a part of my long, greasy dark locks. Only the scars on my arm caught my attention. I slumped down to the bed, leaning my back against the wall.

  No one would want me.

  If I ever got free, Gloria made sure no one would want me.

  How could they? I had scars on the inside and out.

  I was dirty, even though I washed every day.

  Dirty in ways a man couldn’t trust and love.

  Dragging my legs up, knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them and dropped my head to my knees.

  What did I have if I got free?

  Nothing.

  Nothing but my life.

  Could I make something of it?

  I didn’t know.

  People were cruel. And I wasn’t talking about monsters like Gloria and Lenny. People could be vicious with words, with looks…. They’d look at me, but what would they see? A broken woman, or one who was trying to be brave and live on?

  Then again, even if I became a lonely lady with a billion cats, it would be worth it because it meant I would be free.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMERSON

  A nother few days went by and Ryan hadn’t been around much. He had to have been working. I wouldn’t mind knowing what he did for a living. It had to be something to do with heavy lifting. Early one morning, I had the pleasure of watching him out on his deck in only tracksuit pants doing sit-ups and press-ups.

  Yes, I’d seen guys work out before, but Ryan Warden working out could be a new TV show every woman would watch.

  Thinking of it now, while I ate my dinner meal of mash and some type of funny-looking meat, it would be good of Ryan if he did his show every morning. At least one viewing seemed to keep my mind active for a couple of days. I couldn’t wait for a repeat though.

  Did that make me a stalker? A pervert? Maybe both, which in a way made me feel a bit sick about it. Right, from that day on, I would stop watching Ryan so much.

  At least I’d try.

  I’d also rip up the paper I had his phone number on. Earlier in the day, he’d been sitting drinking a coffee on his deck, talking on the phone about some drywall order. He told them his number, and while I’d been gripping my notebook to my chest, because I’d been writing, I quickly jotted it down. I didn’t know why or what I’d do with it, but my hand took action before my brain caught up with it.

  My attention on Ryan was becoming too much. Yes, I really had to stop. Especially when I knew nothing could come
from it.

  But then I heard his back door swing open with a bang through my already-open window.

  “This is nice,” someone said loudly, and I was sure it was a female voice.

  A woman.

  Was it the woman who’d been with Declan?

  Ryan’s friend?

  Pushing my dish aside, I climbed to my feet on the bed and glanced out, frowning when I saw it wasn’t his friend. Instead, it was a woman I hadn’t seen around Ryan before, and the way she looked at him twisted my stomach.

  Was it sane to hate a person I’d never met?

  “Yeah, I like it,” Ryan replied. He took a sip from the glass he held in his hand. It was dark outside, but a light from inside his house shined out onto the back deck. I could see the liquid in the glass was either dark brown or black.

  The woman held her own glass with the same coloured liquor—I doubted they’d be drinking cordial.

  “How long you been here?” she asked. Obviously she didn’t know Ryan well. So why were they together now?

  “Few weeks,” he said, voice low and rough. A voice I wanted talking to me. Eyes I wanted looking over my body like he was hers.

  Until I remembered I was nothing like her. She was big busted, with long legs, blonde hair, short skirt, tight top. I had visible scars, long dark hair, and dark eyes. Not only that, I was short and skinny like a starved greyhound.

  Was I jealous?

  How could I be jealous?

  Ryan was good-looking, but I didn’t actually feel things for him. That would be weird.

  I didn’t.

  The guy was practically a stranger.

  A headache suddenly throbbed at my temples. Finally, after years in a small, damp basement, I was losing it. Losing it enough to gain some type of feelings for a man I didn’t know. An older man.