by L. G. McCary
I have learned to hate this cold. I shudder as the Other Me appears, sitting against the tree. She is watching the beach below with a soft smile. She hasn’t noticed me. I step out of Her line of sight. I remember the way Rylie ran and jumped on the sand. I think of her skipping rocks and throwing bread at seagulls.
I kneel on the pavement and weep. If I can see the past, why can’t I change it?
“God, please. Let me fix it!” I shout into the wind. I just need to find the right moment. The right memory that will let me end this. “Please, let me fix it!”
My phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.
“Rylie?” I croak as I pick up the call. “Rylie, are you okay?”
“Charlotte? It’s Tori.”
It takes all my self-control not to throw the phone.
“Oh.”
“What’s the matter?” Tori asks.
“I’m at the lake looking for Rylie.”
“You’re looking for Rylie?”
“She disappeared from the lock-in.” There’s silence on the line, and I almost hang up. “Why are you calling me? I need to keep the line open in case Rylie calls.”
The phone is muffled, and I can hear her saying something about Rylie.
“Charlotte, I don’t—”
“What?”
“Greg left me a message on my cousin’s phone.”
A voice I don’t recognize says something about calling the police. My stomach fills with lead.
“Tell me.”
“He called most of the night,” Tori says, her voice breaking. “Ever since about midnight or one. But the last one was just a few minutes ago. He said, ‘Come home, or I’ll make sure Rylie never wants to see you again.’”
I stare at the old live oak, bare branches stark black against the gray early morning sky as her words sink in.
“Charlotte, I’m so—”
I hang up and run to the car faster than I ever thought I could run. Greg has my daughter. I hit the speakerphone and dial David’s number as I pull out of the parking lot. I’m closer to Tori’s house than he is.
“Did you find her?” he says.
“David, Greg took Rylie.”
“What?”
“Greg took her! I’m going to their house. Get there as soon as you can. Bring the police!”
“Honey, slow down,” David says. “I can’t understand you.”
“Tori called me! I’m going to get her.”
“I’m coming!”
“I have to drive. Wherever you are, get to their house.”
“What did Tori tell you?”
His tone. It’s that tone.
“You don’t believe me,” I spit through gritted teeth.
“I believe you! What did she say so I can tell the police?”
Rage hits me like a brick wall, and I can barely drive. “That he has her!”
“Honey—”
“Listen to me, David!” I scream into my phone. “I’m not crazy! Tori told me Greg has Rylie, and I’m going to get her right now. Meet me there!”
I jab my finger at my phone to hang up and drive as fast as I dare across town to their house. Thank you, God, that traffic is light so early in the morning.
David’s number lights up on my phone again. I let it ring as I turn down the street to Tori and Greg’s neighborhood.
Forty-Five
My throat hurts from crying, and the steering wheel is sticky from my sweaty palms. The cross-shaped air freshener on the rearview mirror sways back and forth. I pull my eyes away from it to peer at the house through the dirty windshield. The house is so perfectly kept. I see the lilac bushes in bloom. The hedges are pruned, and the front walkway is swept. The windows are bright and clean as always, but Tori’s bright-green curtains have been replaced with plain white ones. Even with the windows closed, I can sense her absence.
There’s something wrong with the lawn. I’m not sure what it is at first. I stare until I figure it out: the grass has been mowed but not edged. Greg always edges the lawn in a very specific way. I follow the edge of the lawn around the front of the house and next to the walkway. He edged the east side, but he stopped halfway through. Greg does not let anything interfere with his lawn routine. My stomach fills with lead. I remember the time I visited Tori for lunch so many years ago. I talked to Tori in the living room, and Rylie played in the kitchen. And Greg came home from work early.
I jump out of the car and run to the front door. I know Rylie is in this house. I know it because She knew it. My heart nearly stops as I grasp the doorknob. The door is unlocked and ajar. It is silent in the house as I push it open, but I can see the door to the patio standing open. Maybe he is outside in the backyard.
I stand in the white foyer on the khaki and white patterned rug. All the pictures are missing from the stairway and hallway walls. I peer into the living room. He’s taken down every picture in the living room, too. His office looks the same. Then I notice the patches on the walls where the picture frames had hung. There are patches everywhere. One of the bookshelves has a broken shelf. And the chair Tori reupholstered is on its side, the cushion torn and exploding batting onto the rug. Every wall has holes and patches. The stairs are missing balusters and a few are splintered in half.
The house looks like a war zone.
“Charlotte?” Greg is standing on the landing between the two floors. His eyes are wild, and there’s a cut on his forehead that has been bandaged.
“Where is she?” My voice is sharp as a knife.
“Charlotte, I didn’t hear you knock. I’m so glad to see you.”
“Where. Is. She.” The words echo off the ceiling. I feel a hundred feet tall. I will destroy him if he lies. If he moves. If he even flinches. I will attack. Everything in me is begging him to give me an excuse.
“Tori still hasn’t come home.”
“Not Tori! Where is my daughter?” I shout.
He doesn’t move. “Charlotte...”
“Where is Rylie?”
“I heard that Rylie ran away. I’m sure you’re upset.”
For a moment, I waiver. Maybe I’m crazy. I’ve never liked Greg. Maybe I’m blaming him for something he has nothing to do with. I look him hard in the eye, and the cold hits me again. I’m almost used to the blast of ice, but I still blink. My eye catches something moving in my peripheral vision. I glance at the kitchen through the dining room and see Her. She runs from the kitchen counter, and I see Her scoop up an invisible Rylie.
“She’s always been so wild,” Greg’s voice echoes above me. The Other Charlotte is terrified, but when She looks me in the eye as She flies past me, I know. Something in Greg’s voice is wrong. He’s pleased with himself.
My palms hurt from my fingernails pinching into my fists. I grind the words out through gritted teeth. “Give me my daughter. Now.”
“I don’t have her, Charlotte. I know you must be upset. If you were to instill more discipline in your house—”
“Shut up and give me my daughter!” I run up the stairs toward him. He backs away from me, yelling something I can’t understand. “Rylie! Rylie, I’m here! Run, Rylie! Run!” I scream as I run up the stairs. My shoe catches on the rug on the landing, and I stumble forward onto the second flight.
“Charlotte, calm down. Think about what you’re doing.” He backs down the hall.
“Rylie, I’m here! Rylie!” I scream her name over and over as I stumble up the stairs, tears streaming down my face. If he’s hurt my baby, I will tear him apart. My muscles are screaming with adrenaline, and time slows down as I claw my way up to the second floor. The walls are pockmarked with holes the size of a fist, and a sickening feeling fills my stomach.
Greg is at the end of the hall, both hands outstretched in front of him. “Charlotte, please calm down!”
“Give me my daughter now!”
He winces and puts an arm up to guard his face. Outlined by the window at the end of the hall, he looks like an animal cowering in a cage. His clothes an
d hair are disheveled, and he’s barefoot. He’s so pathetic that I stop and draw back a little, unsure.
What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve totally lost it, and he has nothing to do with it? What if all the whispered prayer requests and worried comments people make when they think I’m not listening are right? I clear my throat to speak.
Something flies toward my face. I react without thinking and jerk back as Greg’s old softball bat whizzes past my nose. He freezes, the bat in both hands. His eyes are almost glowing with hatred.
I jump at him and claw his face with my fingernails as hard as I can. He wasn’t expecting me to fight back. He jerks away, leaving his groin unprotected, and I kick him. He doubles over and falls into the wall. I keep kicking and try to knock the bat away. He curls up on the ground, yelling at me but doesn’t let go of the bat. I stomp on his hands and arms. I’m scaring myself.
Suddenly he swings the bat, and I feel a sickening crack as it crashes against my shin. The pain sends me to the ground, but I don’t stop. I reach for his ear and yank as hard as I can. He screams like a child.
I kick him with my good leg and throw myself on the arm that is holding the bat. I slap and scratch his face and tear at his eyes. He yanks at my hair but can’t get a good grip on the short strands. I bite his arm that still holds the bat, and he drops it with a scream.
“Where is my daughter!” I ignore the sharp pain in my leg and reach for the bat. It rolls away from my hand toward the stairs.
“I don’t know! I don’t know! Stop, Charlotte! I don’t know!”
For a moment, I am frozen, staring at him on the ground, my fingers reaching behind me and finding nothing but air. I realize how vulnerable I really am. I caught him off guard, but he’s taller and stronger.
A crash sounds in the bedroom next to us. Rylie is here.
His fist shatters against my jaw, and I see stars. I’m too stunned to move. There is blood on my hand. Is it mine or his? He tries to hit me again but misses and grazes my shoulder. The room spins, and I flip over, lunging for the bat. My bad leg is jerked from under me, and I wail from the pain. He grabs my other leg, and I hit the floor hard, knocking the wind from my chest.
My mind flies to when Rylie was born, and the cold pours over me. The pain, the fear, the certainty that I was going to die. The memory is sharp like stepping through broken glass.
“Rylie!” I cannot leave my little girl without a mother and in the hands of a monster. I gasp for air and flail against him. My fingers barely connect with the edge of the bat. I claw at it until I get a good grip, and slam it on his arm with every scrap of rage in my body. I kick away as he curls up against the bannister and stand over him. My bad leg is on fire.
“Never touch her again!” I scream, bringing the bat down on him with each word. “Never!”
I leave Greg whimpering on the floor and grab the doorknob. It’s locked, but I hear movement inside the room. There’s a muffled cry. I frantically jerk the knob in my panic until I see the lock and twist it. The door pops open.
Rylie is sprawled sideways on the floor, her mouth gagged with a scarf. She knocked over the chair she is tied to. Her arms are bound to the chair arms, her legs to the legs, and she is struggling against the jump rope he used to hold her waist. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore to youth group, minus her shoes and jewelry. She screams “Mama” through the gag.
“Baby, I’m here!” I tear at the gag, but it’s tied too tight. I set her upright and grab the back of the chair, tipping it toward me. I drag her out of the door and down the hall, hopping on my good foot, the two bottom legs of the chair scraping and gouging the wood floor that Tori refinished by hand. Greg is still next to the wall. I don’t know what to do. I have to get something to cut the ropes. I can’t break the chair, so I have to cut the ropes somehow. I can’t leave Rylie to run to the kitchen for a knife, but I don’t know how to get her down the stairs. I keep telling her that it’s okay. That I’m here.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m getting you out of here.”
I want to keep hold of the bat, but I can’t carry it and Rylie. I throw it down the stairs so he can’t reach it. Then I grab Rylie and the chair from behind and lift, praying I can get them all the way down. I lean against the stairwell wall as I scrape the chair down the stairs one excruciating step at a time. Rylie is whimpering, but I can’t see her face.
My leg is on fire as we reach the landing. I can’t carry her anymore. I let the chair down on the back so she’s looking up at me, crying and screaming through her gag. I slide down onto the last flight of stairs below her and pull her toward me on her back, trying to slow the slide with my body. I cry out when the chair leg hits my shin, but I won’t stop until I get her down the stairs. The room spins as we both slip and slide down the stairs onto the entryway floor.
“This is all her fault!” Greg roars from the second floor. I hear him stumbling toward the stairs, and I force myself to stand.
“I’m getting you out of here,” I whisper in her ear as she whimpers and cries, looking up at me in terror. Where is David with the police? What is taking them so long? What was I thinking? I have nothing to defend myself and Rylie.
I dig for my phone in my pockets, but they are empty. Did the phone fall out, or did I leave it in the car? Do they have a phone in the kitchen?
“All of this is her fault! Tori has ruined me! She leaves, and then that little brat costs me my job!” His voice is almost whining.
I pull Rylie toward the kitchen in the chair, trying to look for anything to cut the rope around her arms. I see rope burns and welts around her wrists. My leg hurts so much that I don’t know how I’ll keep going. Somehow I pull her around the kitchen island and grope for the knife block on the counter, trying to stay low so he can’t see us if he makes it down the stairs. I hope I hurt him so much that he can’t walk.
The knife block is empty.
“How many times have I said she needs to be more respectful?” His voice echoes down the stairs. His words are muffled, as if his mouth is full of cotton. Rylie’s chest heaves, and she bites down on her gag. I put a finger to my lips and search the drawers as quietly as I can. “None of this would have happened if she had done what I asked of her!”
I find a knife in a drawer. It’s small, but it looks strong enough. I show it to Rylie and go to work on the gag in her mouth. The scarf is one of Tori’s favorites. It rips and tears easily. I jerk it away from her face and kiss my little girl’s cheek.
“Mommy,” she whispers. “I love you. I’m sorry!”
“I love you, too, baby,” I whisper. “We are getting out of here.” She nods despite her tears and pulls against the ropes to give me more space. I saw the thick jump rope-like material. The fibers barely tear with each stroke.
“He said everyone would think I ran away,” she whispers. She eyes the doorway behind me.
“You’re going to have to run with me, honey,” I say, furiously sawing at the ropes.
“I can’t walk,” she whispers.
I look at her feet. One of her pinkie toes is bent at a sickening angle, and both feet are covered in cuts and bruises.
“What did he do to you?” I gently touch her heel, and she sucks in a breath. Where are the police? Why didn’t David listen to me?
“Did Tori tell you how she’s been lying to me all these years?” Greg’s voice makes me jump and nearly cut Rylie with the knife. “How she’s been keeping us from having a child?”
I block out his ranting and go back to sawing, but I taste bile in my throat. I’m halfway through.
“All I’ve ever wanted was a family. To be a father. To raise children that are respectful and obedient.”
It’s taking too long. The fingers on Rylie’s right hand are slightly purple.
“That woman lied to me for five years!”
The rope snaps, and I hurry to work on the other knots.
“She said she wasn’t ready! Then she said there was something wrong with h
er. That they were trying to figure it out.” He’s in the living room now, and my hands cramp around the knife. Rylie squeezes her eyes shut. “She told me they had to do tests! That she couldn’t have any children. Lies!”
The knot snaps and unravels. Rylie’s hands come loose, and I rip at the bonds around the chair legs.
“I would have been the best father to our kids. The best!” He limps around the doorway into the kitchen and leans against the oven, but I can’t look at him. “It’s all her fault. All your fault!”
Ice. Cold pours over me and She’s standing in the kitchen doorway, looking into the living room. I know exactly what she’s looking at. Seven years ago, I stood in this kitchen and felt like I was too protective, watching my daughter tap dance in the hallway for my best friend’s husband.
“Crawl behind me and go out the back,” I whisper to Rylie as I stand up straight with the knife in front of me. “Go as fast as you can and scream for help.”
I don’t look back, but I hear her shimmy for the door as I look Greg straight in the eye.
“You actually think you’d be a good father?” The words come out like cement blocks. “What kind of father beats a child?” Weight after weight, I imagine the words tied around his neck and dragging him to the floor. “You kidnap an innocent girl and hurt her, and you actually think you would be a good dad. Are you insane?”
“It was for her own good,” he seethes. “You and David disgust me.”
“How dare you,” I hiss. I never thought I could kill someone before, but right now, I know I can.
“I told your precious little brat that she could go home when my wife came home!” Blood drips from his nose onto the white tile floor. He cradles his jaw in his right hand and steadies himself against the door. I hear Rylie screaming outside. I know she’s looking for the neighbors.
“Tori is never coming back! Never!” I scream to distract him.
He lunges for me. Everything is a blur of arms and legs and the flash of the knife blade. He hurls Tori’s owl cookie jar at me as I duck around the counter. The bottom smashes into tiny shards, but the head bounces down beside me intact, black eyes staring at me. I shove away from the counter and lurch into the main room toward the television. There’s nothing left to throw. The lamps are gone, the bookshelves are empty, and even the throw pillows are missing from the couch. My leg is on fire.
