Stained

by Cheryl Rainfield

  “Sarah?” Mom says, her voice panicky, and I know she’s afraid I’ve disappeared again.

  “I’m still here. But, Mom—”

  There’s a click on the line.

  “Sarah, is it really you?” Dad asks, his voice hoarse.

  Tears fill my eyes. “Yes, Daddy, it’s me.” I haven’t called him that since I was little, but it feels right, somehow.

  “Are you all right?” Dad asks. “Tell me—”

  “She’s all right,” Mom says. “She’s somewhere near the summer cabin. She escaped.”

  “The cabin?” Dad says, sounding confused. “Why—?”

  “It doesn’t matter!” I pound my fist against my thigh. “You have to get out of there. He’s going to come after you!”

  “Oh, Sarah, honey,” Dad says. “I know you’re scared. But are you really okay? Did he do anything to you?”

  How can I tell him? “He—” I feel Brian’s hands on my body, hear his voice grating in my ear, smell his cologne.

  “He did, didn’t he?” Dad says, his voice shaking. “I’ll kill the man who did this to you. Just kill him!”

  I have to tell him it’s Brian. But I know him. He’s going to feel responsible and guilty. The words lodge in my throat.

  “Honey, there’s someone at the door. Hang on a minute,” Mom says. “Nick, would you get that?”

  “What? Don’t let him answer it!” I shout.

  “Sweetie, it’s all right. It’s probably just Nick’s father wanting him home.”

  I grip the phone harder. “Don’t go!”

  “She’s still here, honey. And so am I. We love you, Sarah.” Dad makes a choked sound. “I can’t believe it’s really you. We never gave up looking for you. Never gave up hoping you were alive. I want you to know that.”

  Tears burn my eyes. “I know.” But I didn’t. Not always. Hearing his voice now, I wonder how I ever could have doubted him.

  “I can’t wait until we see you,” Dad says. “Until I can hug you again. We missed you every second of every day.”

  Mom’s voice sounds muffled in the background; she must have covered the receiver. I grit my teeth so hard they squeak.

  “Dad, who’s Mom talking to?” I ask, fear gripping me. “It isn’t Brian, is it?”

  “No,” Dad says. “It’s—”

  “Sarah,” Mom says, her voice clear again. “There’s a police officer at the door. He’s come to escort us. We’re driving up to meet you.”

  Thank god. My lungs expand.

  “We’re coming to get you,” Dad says. I hear the jingle of his car keys.

  “Do you need anything? Should we bring you anything?” Mom says.

  “No. Just come.” I want to crawl down the phone line and jump into their arms. I want to be with them now, not just hear their voices.

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can. It’s a three-hour drive, but the police escort should make it shorter,” Dad says.

  “We can take you with us on our cell,” Mom says.

  I want to stay on the phone with them, as if that’ll keep me safe, but I know it won’t, and I can’t. I’ve already spent too long being distracted. I have to be ready, in case Brian finds me. I clench the knife tighter. “No—I’ve got to deal with some things. Just get here, okay?”

  “We’re on our way right now,” Dad says. “Hang on, sweetie. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  I hear Nick’s voice in the background, asking something. He really is there!

  “Now, honey, I know you want to see her,” Mom is saying.

  “No! Let him come!” I say.

  “Are you sure?” Dad asks, his voice strained.

  All those months, Mom and Dad were all I thought about. I longed to be with them—but I’m almost afraid to be alone with them now. Afraid they’ll see how different I am and be disappointed. “Yes. Please. I want to see you all.” I try to explain so they will understand. “I want to have some of my life back.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “We love you so much,” Mom says.

  “I love you, too.” I hang up fast, my hand shaking.

  I know they love me. I could hear it in their voices. And yet I’m still afraid.

  Damn Brian. Why can’t this be over?

  I hear the floor creak behind me. I grab the knife and whirl around.

  Eliza’s standing there, a cigarette in her hand, her gun in the other. “Whoa, girl. Didn’t mean to scare you. Your parents on their way?”

  “Yes,” I croak.

  “Good,” Eliza says, her voice almost kind. “Why don’t you come on into the kitchen with us? Tessa’s cooking you up something. And don’t you worry—we’re ready if that bastard comes by. Windows are locked, shades drawn, our weapons are at hand. We won’t let him get you.”

  My lips tremble. I don’t understand why. I never used to cry when people were nice to me. I nod, unable to speak.

  Eliza squints at me. “Come on, now.” She turns on her heel and walks away.

  NICK

  Day 122, 6:00 P.M.

  SARAH’S OKAY. SARAH’S OKAY! It’s like a song in my head. The air in the car feels charged with excitement.

  I can’t quite believe it. And I can’t believe the Meadowses let me tag along. But Sarah asked them to.

  I know she probably just wants me there as a buffer between her and her parents. Or maybe between her and everything she’s been through. It’s got to be weird to lose four months of your life. But she asked for me. Whatever the reason, I’m glad.

  Mr. Meadows follows the squad car clearing a way for us through the traffic, its lights flashing. He leans forward as he drives, muttering, “Come on, come on!” like it’ll make us go faster.

  Mrs. Meadows twists around to look at me, her eyes stretched wide with shock. “Isn’t it incredible that Sarah escaped?”

  “It’s amazing,” I say, and nod. We’ve already said the same thing six times to one another, but it never gets less amazing.

  Mrs. Meadows laughs. “I knew she had it in her!”

  So did I. My Sarah is a fighter.

  SARAH

  6:01 P.M.

  TESSA’S BUSY AT THE stove, flipping pancakes. Eliza sets her gun on the table next to her and sits. It looks so Norman Rockwell—the old pine table and chairs, the napkins and place mats laid out at each place, the salt and pepper shakers, and a basket of sliced homemade bread in the center. A clock above the stove ticks quietly. It’s stuff I never would have noticed before, but now all this normality seems like luxury. If you don’t count the gun, and all the knives and scissors laid out next to Tessa.

  The smells are so rich—fried potatoes, pancakes, salty bacon, sweet chocolate, yeasty bread. I breathe in deeply. If I could eat the scents, I would be full right now.

  “Sit yourself down,” Eliza says, motioning to the chair opposite her. She lights a cigarette.

  Tessa turns and smiles. “Hey there. Come join us.”

  I pull out a chair and sit down awkwardly, the knife still in my hand. It feels strange not crouching on the floor. Not being treated like an animal.

  I rub my hand against the scarred tabletop. I don’t know what to say or do. I feel so out of place in this room, with its yellow curtains like rectangles of light, and the kettle steaming on top of the stove. I can’t stop seeing all the shadows, the places someone could hide.

  I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for Brian to burst through the door and drag me back. Waiting for him to kill me. To kill us all.

  I stare down at my hands to calm myself. My skin is roughened, and my nails are jagged and dirty. I don’t fit in here, not in their homey kitchen, their clean-smelling home. No wonder Eliza didn’t want to let me in.

  “I’d better wash my hands,” I say, scraping my chair back.

  Eliza shakes her head. “I wouldn’t. I know it must be hard, but it’s best to let the cops see what this guy did to you. Best not to change anything at all. You might be glad later on down the road, when
they catch him.”

  If they catch him. “But . . . I smell.”

  “Hell, girl—I don’t mind that. What I mind is what that man did to you. I wish we’d known and been able to help.”

  “You’re helping me now,” I say. My stomach growls. “I’m grateful you let me into your house like this.”

  Eliza’s cheeks grow pink. She stubs out her cigarette in an ashtray, grinding it down. “I’m real sorry about before. We’re just so used to folks playing tricks on us. People around here don’t like gays much.”

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. “You seem like good people to me.”

  Eliza nods. “You got that right.”

  “Now, Eliza, don’t you put our troubles on this girl,” Tessa says. She sets a big plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and home fries in front of me, and a mug of hot chocolate. “I know you said you weren’t sure you could eat anything, but it would please me if you’d try. Food can help a body feel better.”

  “Thank you.” My plate shimmers through my tears, but thankfully Eliza doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in!”

  I set the carving knife down. I can’t believe how much food Tessa managed to pile in front of me. I cut a piece of pancake, the knife screeching against the plate, and stuff it into my mouth. It’s fluffy yet crisp, buttery and light. I’ve never tasted pancakes this good. My stomach clenches with the need to fill it.

  Eliza pushes the glass bottle of syrup toward me, and I pour some on. It’s real maple syrup—dark and sweet. I take another bite of pancake, letting the taste fill my mouth before I swallow. I cram in mouthful after mouthful, stuffing in the good feeling.

  I forget everything except how good it tastes. I just keep gulping it down. They sit there watching me, Tessa smiling, chatting now and then about the weather, the food, Eliza watching me silently over her mug of coffee. I stuff myself past where my stomach feels stretched, past even where it hurts. I can’t seem to stop. It’s like I’m afraid there’ll never be food this good again.

  Finally, I push my plate away and lean back, my belly distended. I feel queasy.

  “Well, you certainly were hungry.” Tessa grins like I’ve made her happy.

  I can’t believe I guzzled my food like a pig gulping slop. I pat my lips with my napkin. “It was amazing. Thank you.” But I don’t want to think about food right now. I can’t.

  “You’re very welcome, hon,” Tessa says, squeezing my hand.

  My stomach cramps hard. I breathe through the pain, willing it to go away. I hope I won’t have to rush to the bathroom.

  A fist thuds against the door—bam-bam-bam!—the sound reverberating through the little house.

  SARAH

  6:15 P.M.

  I SNATCH UP THE carving knife, my stomach clenching harder.

  Eliza grabs her gun. “Probably just the police.”

  “Hello?” a man calls, thumping on the door again. “Anyone home?”

  “It’s Brian!” I hiss.

  “It is, is it?” Eliza says grimly, standing, her gun like an extension of her arm. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”

  I leap up. “Don’t let him in!”

  “Of course not, girl,” Eliza says. “Tessa, you call the cops again. Let them know he’s here. Shut off the lights as you go.” She looks at me. “You go with Tessa, and stay out of sight.” Eliza stalks to the front door, flipping off the lights on her way.

  “Hello?” Brian yells again. “Are you there? I’ve lost my daughter. Have you seen her?”

  I shudder.

  “Hold your horses, man!” Eliza shouts. “We’re not all spring chickens.”

  “Come on,” Tessa says, grabbing my arm. I follow her so closely that I step on her heels. She pulls me behind her, then snatches the phone up with a shaking hand and dials.

  I peer around Tessa. Eliza’s at the door, her gun ready. I can just make out Brian’s blurred face through the windowpane.

  Eliza aims her gun at him. “Haven’t seen no girl. Now be gone—we don’t like strangers around here. I’ve got a thirty-eight pointed right at you, case you get any ideas.”

  Tessa’s whispering urgently into the phone. I clench my knife.

  “I’m not looking for trouble!” Brian calls. “Just a little help.”

  Tessa hangs up the receiver and whispers, “They’re still about ten minutes away. There was an assault up at the old McFarland place.”

  “My daughter’s got a vivid imagination!” Brian shouts. “She lies even when she doesn’t mean to. I hope she hasn’t scared you good people.”

  “I told you—we haven’t seen any girl!” Eliza holds her gun steady in two hands.

  “Listen—could you open the door? I feel silly yelling. After all, we’re neighbors!”

  I look at Tessa, my heart pumping so hard I can barely breathe.

  “Don’t you worry,” she whispers, and squeezes my arm.

  “I told you twice already,” Eliza calls. “You deaf? No girl here. You’d best be looking someplace else.”

  There’s silence. Brian doesn’t move from the door.

  He knows I’m here. I don’t know how he knows, but he does. I shrink back against the wall, behind Tessa’s bulk. I breathe shallowly, straining to hear.

  “All right, ma’am,” Brian calls. “Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll be on my way.”

  I peer over Tessa’s shoulder. Brian’s shadowy outline recedes from the door. His footsteps shudder on the stairs and then are gone.

  Eliza lowers her gun a fraction.

  “Well,” Tessa whispers. “That was close.”

  It was too easy. If Brian knows I’m here, he won’t give up. “Tessa—do you have a back door?” I ask urgently.

  “Sure,” Tessa says. “Out through the kitchen.”

  There’s a thud, and then a splintering sound. The back door smashes open, and Brian bursts inside.

  Tessa screams and pulls me behind her. I yank away—I have to know what’s going on. Have to do something. I clench my knife, but he’s too far away for me to throw it at him.

  Eliza whirls around and shoots, the gun bucking in her hands, the sound deafening.

  “Ahhh! You crazy bitch!” Brian cries, and staggers, his hand flying to his shoulder. He aims his gun at Eliza, and there’s another bang.

  Eliza shoots again, her gun jerking, and Brian turns and runs back out.

  “This isn’t over, Sarah!” Brian screams. “I’ll get you when you’re not expecting it!”

  Eliza strides after him, her gun aimed at the open doorway, and fires off another round.

  I run after her, Tessa close behind me.

  “I got him,” Eliza says. “Got him right in the shoulder. Not sure how long that’ll hold him; he’s one determined bastard. But at least I got him.”

  The kitchen door is splintered, hanging crookedly by its top hinges. I start dragging the table over, the dishes rattling, knives and spoons falling off and clanging to the floor.

  “Good idea,” Tessa says, and grabs the other end.

  Eliza hauls the door shut, and we ram the table in front.

  “Maybe we should put something heavier on top,” Tessa says. “Just to be sure.” She hurries to the living room, grabs the metal basket that holds chopped wood, and together we carry it to the table, grunting. Eliza’s already cleared the table off, so we heave the basket on top.

  Eliza’s moving carefully; even in the dark, I can see that. My stomach drops. “Eliza—did he get you?”

  Tessa gasps and runs to Eliza.

  “It’s nothing but a flesh wound.” Eliza flicks her hand. “He nicked me, is all.”

  Tessa shoves back Eliza’s sleeve. Dark blood runs down Eliza’s arm. I close my eyes. I did this. I brought this on her.

  “Sarah,” Tessa says sharply. “Run down the hall; the bathroom’s on the left. Bring the antibiotic ointment, some bandages, and gauze from the cupboard above the sink.”
She pushes Eliza into a chair. “And you—sit!”

  “Tessa, it’s nothing,” Eliza says. “You know I’ve had worse. Don’t scare the girl.”

  I run as fast as I can, breath pushing out of me. I snatch the supplies from the cabinet, then race back to the kitchen. Tessa’s already cleaned Eliza’s arm.

  “Thank you,” she says quietly. She bandages Eliza up, neat and fast. Eliza rests her head against the wall, her face a grimace of pain, and for a moment I see how old she really is. Then her eyes snap open and she smiles. “Bastard got himself worse than this,” she says with satisfaction.

  My breath is coming in short pants. “I never should have come here. I’m sorry,” I say. “So sorry.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Eliza says. “You were smart to. Didn’t we drive him off?”

  I glance at Tessa, sure she doesn’t feel the same way, but Tessa nods. “We couldn’t have lived with ourselves if we didn’t help.”

  My eyes burn. “I don’t know how long he’ll back off. Brian likes to win.”

  “Fine. Then we’ll be ready for him.” Eliza reaches down and picks up her gun. “Now I want you two to get away from the windows. Get back to the alcove and stay down.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my teeth chattering. “I’m the one he’s after.”

  “All right, girl,” Eliza says. “If that’s what you choose. Just be ready.”

  SARAH

  6:28 P.M.

  WHEELS CRUNCH OVER GRAVEL. I stiffen.

  “Let me go see who it is.” Eliza hefts her gun. “You two sit tight.”

  I follow her to the door. Red and blue lights pulse through the windows.

  “The cops,” Eliza says. “Your boy won’t stick around here now.”

  I’m not sure about that. Brian is crazy determined.

  Footsteps pound on the stairs. Eliza opens the door, and uniformed officers march into the living room, their shoes thumping. Large men with big shoulders and hands, staring at me.