by Nicole Thorn
I didn’t have to think about it. “No. I just want to be alive again. That’s the only thing I’m mourning. I miss feeling like I could do anything I wanted to do. That I could grow up and have this wonderful life with all those things you’re supposed to want. I keep waiting, and it still doesn’t feel like I have a tomorrow.”
“Easy fix,” he said, but it felt like a lie. “I think you just need to do a little living. Some mindless stuff, or something to look forward to. Do you have something you can look forward to?”
I thought for a second. “Halloween?” It sounded like I was asking permission.
“Perfect. You can put together a costume and go trick or treating. I’m taking the boys this year.”
My lips twitched like I wanted to smile. “Are you dressing up?”
He snorted. “No.”
“So I’m supposed to dress up, but you won’t?”
“You are correct.”
“Boring.”
“Adult,” he incorrectly corrected.
I smirked before I saw his arm. Little goose bumps from the cold were all over his skin, and it was my fault. The rain was heavier, and he sacrificed his warmth for mine.
Without thinking, I reached out to him. My fingertips touched his skin, and I realized what I was doing. I looked up at him and found approval in his eyes. He watched me with fascination, and I think I was doing the same thing to him.
I looked back to his arm while I felt him. He wasn’t warm anymore, and the goose bumps got worse as I ran my fingers down his arm. How was I making him colder? I ignored it and let myself just enjoy the sensation. He felt solid under my hand. Real. He wasn’t made of paper like I was.
When I was done touching his skin, I wasn’t done. But I had to stop. My hand fell limply to the ground beside us.
He didn’t say anything as he moved his umbrella so that it was propped up by his shoulder, leaving his hands free. He slid the sleeve up my arm almost hesitantly. I let him do it, because I was being touched. There wasn’t fear when he did it, holding my palm to push my sleeve.
My wrist was exposed, and I figured out a little late that it was the goal.
His fingertip traced around the scar and then the scar itself. “When?”
My eyes hooded. “He didn’t tell us when a day passed, and there was no real sense of time. If I had to guess, I might have been fifteen.”
“All of you did it?”
“Yes.”
“Only once?”
“This way.”
His fingers slid up my palm and entangled with mine. I wasn’t able to break his gaze. “But you all made it.”
“We did, and we wished we didn’t. When I—” I had to pause. “When I killed him, that was it. It was going to be the last night, no matter what. We promised.”
Wilson didn’t seem to take that very well. “What would you have done? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s just that this”—he looked quickly to my wrist—“is supposed to be hard to survive. I can’t imagine you had a lot of chances to do stuff like that.”
Not as many as I would have hoped for. “He used gas lights. When he was finished filing my nails, he forgot to put the nail file back. I found it and told one of my sisters. We talked about it, and I decided that I was the one who had to do it. And I told her if I couldn’t do it, then we needed to end it anyway. Either the four of us got out, or none of us did. We would use the lights to start a fire while he was asleep, and then we would wait. We were hoping that the smoke would get us before the fire did. That way we could just fall asleep.”
I didn’t realize until then that I was having a hard time getting air. I don’t know why I didn’t just stop talking there, but my voice broke in a dozen places when I did. “I saw them every day, and now I can’t see them at all. They won’t let me. I lived and died with them, and now I’m all alone.” I dissolved into violent sobs that hurt the inside of my chest as I pictured them in my head. My hand squeezed Wilson’s; he didn’t make me stop.
He pulled me to his chest, and I cried against his already damp shirt. I felt him speak against my hair.
“Please don’t cry, baby.”
y the time I stopped sobbing, the rain had let up a little. Thunder was still booming, but not as badly as before. Wilson felt warm again, and he served as a nice pillow. He kept holding my hand.
To make the mood lighter, he asked, “How’s Kermy been doing?”
I smiled against his shoulder. “He likes crickets, and he likes your music. He looks less angry when I play it.”
That seemed to please Wilson. “Have you been playing it a lot?”
I nodded. “I like it a lot.” To show him, I had to let go of his hand. It was upsetting, but I didn’t let him see. I reached for the paper in my pocket, unfolding it as I spoke. “I wrote down all the songs I heard and liked. I don’t know how to work the iPod, so I couldn’t repeat them unless Welly did it for me.”
“You just keep that on you?” He laughed.
I nodded. “I do it because if I look at the names of the songs, I feel better. They make me smile.”
There was a moment of grief for me before Wilson grabbed the list and started skimming it, smiling when he saw what I wrote down. “A lot of Sweeny Todd on here.”
“I knew it was a movie, but I’ve never seen it. The music was really good. I like the one where a bunch of people are singing about Johanna.”
“It’s a good one,” he agreed, still looking through the list.
“There was also another song that I liked, but I didn’t look to see who did it.” I sang it for him.
“The Offspring,” he said. “Nothingtown. They have a lot of good music, actually. Do you have an iPod?”
“No. Just the phone, and I haven’t even opened it.” Then I had a thought that put me on my feet. “It looks just like yours. Can you help me with it?”
“Sure,” he agreed.
I took his hand and yanked him up with me. He complied, but there was a little more than surprise on his face when I did it. He folded up his umbrella before I dragged him inside my house.
My mom was still in the living room, and her eyes widened at the sight of us. She greeted us halfheartedly, and she got an equal response back. Then Wilson and I were in my bedroom, and I let go of him.
I started sifting through my nightstand to look for the phone. I grabbed the box and his iPod, turning to hand them back to him.
He was looking in on the frog, bent over with his hands behind his back. “He does look a little pissy.”
I laughed. “I think he’s an old man toad. He watches over me benevolently and bitterly at the same time.” I handed Wilson the box and the iPod. “Thank you for letting me use it, and for helping me with my phone.”
He slipped both into his pockets. “Not a problem. I can have it all set up in a couple days. Sooner if I can get off of work early.”
It got quiet again when I ran out of things to say. Then I remembered what I was wearing. I forced myself out of the jacket and handed that back too. “It was very nice of you to sit in the rain with me.”
“Well…” He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do when I drive home only to see a girl having an existential crisis on her driveway?”
“Walk away,” I whispered.
“Not my style.” He smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said as he began to walk backward. “I have a little boy to take to dinner. Hmm…” He made a face. “That sounded less creepy in my head.”
With a sharp turn, Wilson walked out of my room.
I should have known something was wrong when I was greeted with breakfast in bed. They went all out this time. Both of my parents sat at the end of the bed while a tray sat on my lap. I started eating just so I wouldn’t have to look at them. It felt too awkward.
“How are you feeling?” my mom asked while I took a bite.
What kind of question was that? I felt as I’d been feeling for the entire time I’d been home. I felt nothin
g at all. Lower than hopeless and at the point where life was beginning to lose meaning.
“Fine.”
Mom was clearly the ringleader here, so she went on. “I don’t think you’re fine. I think that you’re very, very sad. You need to start talking about what happened to you. I think it’ll make you feel better. You can get all that weight off of you.”
Because talking about it was some kind of magical cure for the pain. Drudging everything up from the depths would somehow soothe me as opposed to drown me. Not likely.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I stated plainly. “It happened, and it’s over now.”
It would never be over.
“Riley,” my father said. “You’ve been through more than anyone could ever comprehend, and you should talk with Dr. Carpenter about it more. You killed someone. A bad, bad man, but you killed someone none the less.”
I didn’t want to talk about it again. I already had to tell the police where The Dollhouse was and talk to that very unhelpful doctor. The police wanted to talk with us again soon, so I knew I was in for another miserable afternoon. It would just be going over my facts again. They searched the bunker and found the body, but that was almost all I knew. Adalyn told me the rest of what her father knew once we got away from Mom.
“Why do I have to talk about it more? What makes you think it’s going to change anything? Dr. Carpenter couldn’t have cared less.”
Mom interrupted. “Don’t say that. She’s got all the credentials to back her up, and she’s just a busy woman. I bet you girls weren’t making it easy on her. But if you don’t want to talk to her, we can find someone else. They can put you on the medication that you may need.”
“Medication?” I couldn’t help the betrayal in my voice. I’d hoped they’d dropped that, but I guess I wasn’t very lucky.
“Yes. You don’t have to go through all this alone. There’s no shame in turning to medicine for help. There might be a chemical imbalance in your head.”
After years of being forced into being something false and plastic, I’d finally gotten free. Only for my parents to try and do it to me again. In different ways, sure. But it was the same thing.
“Am I allowed to say no?”
My parents exchanged an exasperated look with each other. I took the opportunity to eat a little, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to keep it down now. Not when there was the threat of a shrink on the horizon. Were they doing this to my sisters too? Of course I wouldn’t know that, since I wasn’t allowed to see them.
“You are,” Mom said. “But I think it would be a bad idea. This is just rotting in your head, and you’ll do more damage if you let it than if you try and work through it with someone.”
I already did. I told Wilson a little bit, and it felt fine. He didn’t judge me, and he didn’t look at me with pity like my parents did. He wasn’t afraid to touch me or to ask me what he wanted to know. No worry of him walking on eggshells.
“How about we let you think about it for a few days?” Dad offered. “If you change your mind, we can get you all set up with someone new. Then we’ll all be happy.”
Mom was shooting a thinly veiled glare at Dad. “Yeah, I guess we can do that after I see about Dr. Carpenter’s schedule again. Eat, and I’ll be downstairs when you need me.”
She started shoving Dad out the door, staring at Kermit on her way. She wasn’t happy when I brought him home. I think her idea of a pet was something more furry and domestic. Oh well. I loved him.
I ate the rest of my breakfast in peace while I worried to myself about a therapist. I didn’t think pouring my heart out to a stranger would do anything for me. Maybe if I could ask the girls what they thought, I would have a better idea of what to do. I knew that they weren’t keeping as quiet as I was. I could talk about it with them and feel comfortable. Only that wasn’t an option.
The food in front of me seemed much less appetizing now that I looked at it. I ate because I had to go through the motions. Even if it was starting to feel like this was the best it would be. I would forever be missing something in me. This was nothing like I thought coming home would feel like.
After I was finished eating, I fed Kermit and then took my time with my shower. Even after I was dressed, I lingered in the bathroom. I brushed my teeth twice and my hair once. I tied it all up into a bun so I wouldn’t have to deal with it, though I liked how it looked up. Maybe short would work. I just needed something to be different.
Welly was playing in the living room when I got down there. He had a Lego set that appeared to be brand new. Something from a show or movie I’d never heard of. Shocking, I know.
“Wanna play with me?” my brother asked when he heard my footsteps.
I answered by sitting down with him and taking a look at the instructions. It didn’t seem all that complicated. Just a little pirate ship. I started sorting out the pieces for him to put together. He was a pro, assembling the thing in record time.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked while he put together a little pirate figure.
He didn’t look up from his work. “Jude can’t play today because he’s with his dad. I was gonna watch a movie. We can watch one together.”
“Okay,” I smiled.
Maybe he could catch me up on some of the things I’ve missed over the entirety of his life and beyond.
I got to listen to more stories about his and Jude’s adventures over the years. Stories of trees climbed and rocks thrown. They got to grow up together, and they didn’t have to live without each other. I was unfairly jealous of him. My sisters were all broken up, and we had no way of finding each other without one of our parents letting us. Jude was right next door.
My parents were talking upstairs, and it would seem that they didn’t notice when the phone rang. I waited to see if either of them would get it, but it would have gone unanswered if I left it.
I hurried to the kitchen and picked it up, not sure of how to greet the person on the other end.
“Hello,” a friendly sounding woman said. “My name is Felicia Mac. May I speak to Riley Cain, please?”
“Um, that’s me.”
“Oh, fantastic. I work closely with the local channel four news, and we are very interested in getting you and your”—she paused awkwardly—“Well, the other girls that were taken.”
I was stunned into pure silence for several seconds. “What?”
“We were hoping you girls would want to come into the station and tell us your story. We’d be more than happy to show you around, let you see all the fun little things we have going on. You’ll get full makeup and wardrobe so you can look absolutely lovely for the camera.”
She sounded so excited about this, like she was offering me an adventure.
“How—” I closed my eyes. “How do you know about us?”
“Oh sweetheart, everyone knows about you four. And you. You’re the hero. You saved your life and the lives of your friends.”
No, no, no, no. No one was supposed to find out about that. They promised they wouldn’t tell anyone which of us did it. The officers promised we were safe now. They wouldn’t find out that I killed anybody, and they wouldn’t find out our names.
When I was still quiet, she kept talking. “We’ll make you very comfortable. The set is very open and light.”
I cut her off. “Why do you want to interview us?”
She seemed thrown by my reaction. “You girls all lived through hell for a very long time. Your story is a powerful one, and I think it can help other people who’ve been in situations similar to yours. Getting your story out can show people just how strong all of you were and still are. Otherwise, I’m afraid of what may be said about you.”
I leaned against the counter, exhaling. “What do you mean?”
“Well… if you come on my show, you can get all the facts out. If not, then the other news stations will just report on speculations. I hate to admit that some of my peers aren’t very moral sometimes. They may make
up facts to make the story more interesting.”
Instantly, I felt panic in my chest. What would they say about us? That we wanted to be there? That I was crazy and killed him for other reasons than getting away? The ideas burned through my head.
“They would say bad things about me?” I asked.
“They might.” Her voice was sullen. “Your friends have already agreed to come and talk with me. We’re just waiting on you.”
Why would they agree to any of this? They felt the same way about talking that I did. But… maybe they didn’t want lies to be told about us. We were being pushed into a corner. The options were to bite or cower.
“I actually have some people who wanted to know if you were interested in writing your story down. I imagine any publisher would love to have you.”
And now she wants me to find a way to put it into words. As if that were possible to do. You couldn’t describe what happened to us with words. How it left us broken. The perfection he wanted us to be was destroyed in every action he took. Almost ironic. There were so many cracks and tears in us that it was a miracle we were still able to stand.
“I don’t know about that,” I whispered. “But when would you want us to do the interview?”
The phone was ripped out of my hands, and I saw my mother’s glare at nothing specific.
“Excuse me,” she growled into the phone. “But who do you think you are, trying to trick my daughter into giving you a story? Do you have any compassion at all?”
There were quiet murmurs on the other end, and they did nothing to calm my mother down. The tone didn’t sound contrite in any sense of the word.
“I told you already,” Mom snapped, holding the counter for balance. “She’s not interested in coming down to some news station and talking on TV. She just got home. She needs time to adjust. Don’t call again.” She hung up and nearly broke the phone when she slammed it down.
When she looked at me, all I felt was fear. What would my punishment be for this? What I was used to might not have been the norm. I wouldn’t remember my mother ever hitting me like he hit me. I wouldn’t be locked in a room until I healed to perfection.
