“Hey,” I answered. I didn’t even try to sound happy. He knew happiness was absent in his house for the moment.
“Millie is grounded for the weekend,” he said. He sounded tense and tired. The band was in Alaska for a concert the night before and weren’t scheduled to fly down to Seattle until tomorrow to give their production crew a head start. With the time change and Jack’s tour insomnia, I was pretty sure he had been woken up.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Millie’s behavior was getting worse as the days wore on. I was trying to be patient with her and discuss better choices she should be making but I was losing grip on the girl.
“It is not your fault, Penelope. She admitted she should have held her tongue. How are the other children? She said they were crying.”
“I settled them down and they’re napping,” I explained as Ellie walked into the family room and cuddled up next to me. “Well, most are napping.”
“She loud,” Ellie said at full volume. Ellie was still having problems understanding when to use a quiet voice. “She mean. She scare.” She was what Ellie called her mother. Never once did she call Crystal mama like her brothers and sisters.
“Let me talk to Ellie,” Jack said. His voice was tender and I knew he was smiling knowing Ellie was next to me.
“Poppy wants to talk to you,” I said to the girl in a quiet voice.
“Poppy! Poppy!” she yelled with excitement and I put my finger to my lips.
“Remember how the little synagogue mouse sits and watches minyan?” Ellie’s face brightened with understanding.
“Mousie shhh… Ellie shhh…,” she whispered.
“Koroshaya devochka,”[7] I said and kissed her forehead before handing the phone to her.
“Poppy shhh… Poppy shhh…,” she said super quiet. I doubted Jack could hear her and what Ellie did next confirmed that. “Poppy shhh! Poppy shhh!” she yelled to clarify for him. I didn’t say anything to Ellie. She understood the concept I was trying to teach her; execution, however, was still a problem. Her voice returned to being quiet as she talked to her papa and after about ten minutes she handed the phone back to me. “Nee-Nee shhh…”
“Of course,” I whispered and Ellie lay down on the couch. My hand smoothed her hair that had escaped from her two braids.
“I miss her,” Jack said, his voice sullen. “I miss them all.”
“I know.” That was all I could say. Anchorage was the first American stop on this leg of the tour. They’d begun overseas with dates in Australia and Japan and there wouldn’t be a break until April for Passover and Easter. He’d be gone almost a solid three months without seeing the kids. Even the tour wouldn’t bring him near us until they played the last two shows – one in Philly and the next night in Atlantic City. Crystal, however, made plans to join Jack twice along the way for what I considered quickies. Those dates were coming up soon as Crystal was five months along with the next baby and she wouldn’t be able to fly for long. The kids were not invited on these trips.
“I am sorry Crystal started this,” he apologized. It was not the first time he apologized for his wife.
“Don’t. I know how she can be. It doesn’t matter,” I said but deep down it did matter to me. I was the help, though. What she said to that second mother was the truth even though it humiliated me.
“Penny, you are to be respected by everyone including Crystal. What she did was disrespectful and rude.” I didn’t say anything in response; I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t used to someone sticking up for me. Jack was the first who ever did.
We chatted for a few more minutes. As I figured, he had been asleep and I told him to take a nap.
Crystal’s rule implementation continued even though Jack told her to stop. He even told the kids to disregard the silly rules but they were a little scared not to follow them because Crystal intimidated the kids. Millie, of course, defied all of the rules but the other kids weren’t so brave. If Crystal was around, they were supposed to go to her first unless her bedroom door was closed and she was in it. I wasn’t allowed to interact with the kids on my rare time off and I no longer shared meals with them. This ended up harming my anorexia. When the Terrible Voice was quiet, I ate normally with the kids at the kitchen or dining room table but when Crystal said all meals were to be eaten in the dining room and I was relegated to eating at the cooking island, the Terrible Voice became very loud.
It’s your fault. You aren’t good enough to eat with them. You are just the help.
When I tried to eat, the Terrible Voice often kept me from doing so. When I ignored It and did eat, my guilt would rise and It would tell me to make myself throw up. While the kids were still eating, I would sneak down to the basement bathroom and stick my finger down my throat. As far as I knew, no one knew what I did.
I never complained to Jack. I didn’t want him to feel bad for his career and being away from the kids. They thrived regardless of the rules as I nurtured the kids as much as possible when allowed and that was what was important. There were times when I missed Crystal as a friend, however.
“Are you warming up?” Jack asked back in the cell. I was still chilly but my shivering had stopped.
“I’m better,” I responded.
“Good,” he said and continued his pacing.
Eventually, more natural reactions kicked in and it was time to utilize the buckets. For Jack, this would be an easy task but for me? Not so much. Jack put the bucket next to the door where he hoped it would be somewhat shielded from the camera. I turned my head as Jack peed. He then approached me looking uncomfortable.
“How shall we do this?” he asked.
“I can wait,” I said. “The urge isn’t so bad.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Neither of us had drunk anything yet and I wanted to make sure we kept as hydrated as possible. What was worrisome, besides the nightmare we were living, was not knowing how long this so-called orientation would last so we knew how to ration the water.
“That’s not enough,” I noted after Jack picked up a bottle. He opened it and drank half, then held the bottle to my lips. It was his suggestion we try to just drink half a bottle every day. There were twenty-four in the case and one was being used for hand washing, leaving twenty-three. “If we do that, it means we’d be in here for over twenty days and our survival rates wouldn’t be that good. And besides, a half a bottle of water is not adequate to stay hydrated.”
“Good point,” Jack replied. He then proposed we each drink one bottle a day. That would give us eleven days of water. “I cannot imagine they would make us go that long either.”
“And hopefully,” I said, “we’ll be rescued by then.” I was worried, however. Even one bottle a day was not enough and my mind started to think of ways to give some of my water to Jack. It was imperative he make it home to the kids. I was, after all, expendable. I was just the help.
A little while later, there was an ominous clanking noise of metal and my arms began to lower. The pain in my shoulders was intense and my legs gave out on me but Jack caught me before I hit the floor. It felt so good to be off my feet.
“Thank God,” I said and closed my eyes. The manacles left my hands with some mobility but it was painful to move them. “The bucket,” I said quickly. “I need it now.” Jack brought it over to me and then stood between me and the camera, giving me privacy. My arms moved enough for me to pull down my yoga pants and relieve myself. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it that long but I had. I finished and wiped and Jack moved the bucket away.
The dim lightbulb went out and we were plunged almost into darkness. There was a dull light coming through the painted windows but not enough to actually see Jack.
“Der’mo,” Jack responded. Yes, shit indeed.
“Maybe it’s time for you to try and get some rest anyway,” I suggested.
“And you, too,” he added. “You have been through hell today.” Even though I was stressed from the situation, I was ti
red again. I’d gone with such little sleep in the last few days I felt as if I could sleep for a week straight plus the standing had tired me out. It took me several attempts to find a position that was less painful for my ribs and didn’t get me knotted up in the chains. Finally, I settled down on my right side and I was able to use my arm as a pillow. Jack lay close enough to me that I felt his body heat. I did not mind this. I was a little, more like a lot, scared and having him close made me feel safer.
“Let us hope this is the only night we spend in this hell,” he said.
“I agree.”
“Spokoynoy nochi,[8] Penelope,” he said. Although he had been in the US for twenty-three years, he shared with me that first year of our friendship he had a terrible time learning the English language despite his Big Brain. When he was nervous or overly excited, he still stumbled with English on occasion and when he gave his first award acceptance speech at a televised awards show, he began it in Russian and it was Danny who had to tell Jack to switch languages. Jack covered but when I talked to him later that night after all the after parties, he admitted to being embarrassed.
“Yes, good night to you, too, Ivan.”
Sleeping that night was awful. The room was cold and the hardness of the floor bothered my back and hip. I had a fear of the thugs coming for us as we slept and every time I dropped off, I jerked awake. Eventually, exhaustion won and I fell deep asleep. Then the nightmare hit. Landon was dragging me back to the ravine.
This time you’re going over, he growled. I fought him in the dream, just as I had in real life, but he was just so strong and I so weak. He tossed me over and I held onto the guardrail for dear life. No, no, no, no I kept screaming. I realized I was actually screaming in the cold room. Jack was shaking me awake and I climbed out of the nightmare. I was quaking and sweating and so scared and having a hard time catching my breath. I needed to gulp for air but my broken ribs were prohibiting me. Jack put his arms around me and talked to me in a calm voice.
“Match your breaths with mine,” he said and put my hand on his chest because the cell was dark and I couldn’t see him. It took me a few moments but I was able to get my breath under control with Jack’s help.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling. “It was so real; like he was trying to throw me into the ravine again.”
“It was just a nightmare,” he said. “And you are awake now. It is just you and me in this room.” I wasn’t an adult hugger but the nightmare had shaken me hard and I needed just a few moments of feeling safe. It had been so real, reminding me how close I came to death.
When I felt better, I pulled myself out of Jack’s arms and settled back down. The nightmare left me so rattled that even though I was still tired, I couldn’t fall back asleep.
Mechanical noises cut the quiet and my arms began raising. I had to quick get to my feet or be pulled upwards. It stopped higher than the day before and the balls of my feet were off the ground. There had been no chance to use the bucket and I was humiliated as Jack had to pull my pants down and hold the bucket between my legs so I could pee. Jack said nothing as he wiped me and put the bucket back. I just wanted to cry which, of course, I didn’t.
“You are higher than yesterday,” Jack noted, looking at me.
“Yes,” I confirmed and tried to hide my discomfort. Jack just shook his head and started pacing.
Our day was gray; the single lightbulb was not turned on. Jack took care of our water but after a couple hours, my calves were cramping. I did my best to keep this from Jack but the more I tried, the more I started to shake.
“What is wrong, Penny?” I shook my head but Jack knew me too well just as I knew him. “Tell me.”
“Charlie horses,” I replied. Jack knelt down and began massaging my calves. It helped a little but didn’t alleviate them.
“Here,” he said and sat down with his legs crossed. “Put your feet on my knees. It will give you a few inches and give you a little relief.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said,
“You will not. Now, please, humor me.” I did as he instructed and felt the pain in my shoulders and wrists lessen and my cramps ease.
“Thank you,” I said. On the days where I was unable to put my feet flat, Jack would sit beneath me and I would stand on him. My feet were growing painful regardless and numbness was beginning to spread down my legs from my repaired back. I was miserable but I tried not to let it show. My wrists were raw within a few days and each time I was lowered, there was more pain in my shoulders.
Our light was never turned on. The light through the painted window lit the space just partway. We fell into a routine as we waited for rescue. Upon waking, we would take turns with the bucket and then drink half of a bottle of water each. My hell would start when the chains rose. To take my mind off of my discomfort, we often chitchatted about the chances we would be rescued that day but eventually, we would stop talking. As the room grew dark, we would drink the other half of our water. Our conversations were often about who was behind the kidnapping.
A crazy fan was our first guess but Jack poo-pooed the idea. “They are professionals,” he explained. “Even my craziest fans could not afford their services.”
“What if it’s a crazy fan with money?” I countered and Jack said nothing in return.
My ribs continued to hurt and Jack annoyed me with his pulse checking and feeling my ribs. Breathing was a struggle often in my position and I would need to close my eyes and focus on each breath. This scared me as it did Jack.
“I wonder if it is a pneumothorax,” he pondered on day three. He paced in a circle around me and this made me feel even worse.
“What’s that?” I asked, taking as big of a breath as I could between the two words.
“Collapsed lung,” he replied in a somber voice.
“No, I’ve had that before. This isn’t as bad,” I said. “I’m sure I’m fine. Maybe it’s just because that lung’s been collapsed before from the accident and then Shane.” I frowned at both memories.
Hunger hit us hard in the first couple days but after day four, the hunger pains dwindled to just an occasional annoyance. We were lightheaded and weak the longer we went without food. The Terrible Voice was so proud the first couple days but when It realized the longer I went without food meant the closer I came to death, the Terrible Voice quieted. The Terrible Voice never wanted me dead, just in a constant state of hunger for punishment.
Our moods fell. Day after day passed without our kidnappers visiting us or the cavalry coming. I grew tired of being strung up and sometimes struggled to keep my head up. When the manacles descended, Jack had to catch me before I fell. He would spend many minutes massaging my shoulders but eventually his touch hurt too much. Sleep was hit and miss no thanks to me and my awful recurring nightmare. I apologized numerous times to Jack as he tried to comfort me after I woke him up with my screaming but he told me not worry. I didn’t like how the nightmares left me feeling so vulnerable and weak. I didn’t like appearing that way in front of Jack at all. I tried to stay awake when he slept but I was just too exhausted. I would sleep until the nightmare hit, maybe a couple hours, and then I would be awake again.
Seven days passed and then an unbelievable ten. Standing up became even more difficult when we woke and Jack often found himself crawling to get the water that struggled to keep us alive. Even going to the bathroom was a challenge as it took so much energy. The room stank from the piss and shit buckets and we began to stink ourselves as we went without bathing. Our mood fell to new lows while our thoughts went from being rescued to the kids. We were both worried about how they were handling our disappearance.
“I do not get it,” Jack said at the end of day eleven. It was hard to hear his voice as he was so weak. Neither of us was doing well. Jack vomited up the last water he drank and I felt the telltale signs of a urinary tract infection. I’d had several over the years, my first coming when I was just nine years old, and I was afraid what would happen if it got a
ny worse. I kept this from Jack, though. He had enough on his mind. There was something worse to think about at that moment – we were out of water. “They kidnap us and leave us to die?”
“They won’t let you die,” I replied. “You’re the trophy.” I looked in his direction although I couldn’t see him. A snowstorm a couple days earlier covered our window with snow and we’d been in the dark since. I wanted light; I needed to see Jack. My fear level had never decreased and I missed Jack’s eyes. They always comforted me during the rough spells over the last seventeen years. I was trying to keep strong in this ordeal but I was feeling weak both physically and mentally. The one good thing about the darkness is it hid the fear I was certain showed on my face. Jack had always told me I was a strong person and I didn’t want to let him down even more by showing I was not.
“I am a person, not a trophy,” he replied. I heard anger in his voice. “I damn whoever is behind this to hell.”
Neither of us slept that night. We were too cold and the floor too hard that our previously damaged bones throbbed. When I peed into our fifth bucket before the chains rose, I felt severe pain. It was as if I was pissing razor blades. I couldn’t stop the small cry that escaped my throat.
“What is wrong?” I heard Jack say.
“Nothing,” I lied. I had pain in my pelvis and I was shaking. I was certain I was running a fever.
“Your nothing sounds like something. Spill it. We should not keep anything from each other in this situation.” Jack had a point. If something was wrong with him, I would want to know.
“I think I have a urinary tract infection,” I admitted. He knew of my past experiences with them. I felt Jack’s hand on my forehead.
“You feel hot,” he said, “but my hands are so cold so I am not sure if you are running a fever. You need to drink more water.”
“But we have no water.”
“Maybe that is a good sign and they will come back and soon.”
Another sleepless night passed and the next day dragged and I felt worse and worse and when I had to pee, or felt like I had to pee which was often, Jack had to bring the bucket to me which was a struggle for him. It was embarrassing but necessary that he had to hold the bucket between my legs. The pain as I urinated was the worst I ever felt with a UTI and I struggled to hold the severe discomfort in. When I finished, I was sweating from the exertion. Jack struggled to move the bucket back and it sounded as if he collapsed to the ground from his efforts.
Deceptions Page 10
