by M. Homer
His eyes look me over carefully, his tongue licking his lips. “Damn, you turned out fine. Just like your mamma,” he says.
The fear begins to grip me harder as I see madness enter his eyes. “Your dad, my brother, he got everything he ever wanted when we was growing up. When he saw your mamma that first time, he told me he was gonna marry her. I told him to back off as I liked her too, but damn him, he wanted her bad. Of course, he got her and got her knocked up pretty fast too but I made sure I was close by, waiting for when she got bored.” He gets up and starts walking around, lost in his own mad mind as he thinks about the past. “When you and your brothers were born, they asked me to move in and help with the finances, you know the family business.” Now he laughs harshly, looking back down at me in anger. “Your mamma and your dad, they sold pot so that they could look after you all. I got roped in to help but did they end up in jail? No they fucking didn’t–just good old me!”
What? I know I don’t have many memories of my birth parents but hearing him talk about them this way throws me off. I always assumed they were innocent, lulled into a false sense of security by my uncle rather than people who used their family to sell drugs!
Is everything about my youth bad? Is it possible that even the two people predisposed to love me were losers who didn’t give a shit about any of us?
“They died, remember?” I answer back quietly, trying to bring the conversation back to what I know, what I understand.
“Yeah, I know. I lit the fire. I was sick of them, sick of your mamma only using me to sell weed. I loved that bitch and she fucking knew it! She used me to get me to do what she wanted, but damn if I got the last fucking laugh!” he shouts at me, spit flying out of his mouth.
I am crying openly now as I realize that my life was destroyed on purpose because of his sick twisted mind and my parents whom I always thought were innocent.
“You let my brothers die! Why the hell did you save me?” I cry out.
He leans in close again and leers down at me. “I always knew you were going to be a pretty little thing and I knew you could fill a hole your mamma left behind. Those boys, they were a pain in the ass, always watching you, never letting me be alone with you. I couldn’t wait to see the end of them!”
My brain is consumed with anger and I struggle against the cords desperate to get away or kill him. Either way I need to do something.
“Ah, hush your body. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just want us to be together, finally,” he says, rubbing my hair with his calloused hands. “Look right now, you need to get comfortable. I’m gonna go make us some breakfast but I’ll be back soon.” He kisses me again and this time I feel him lick my cheek and breathe in deeply. I close my eyes tight, willing him to leave, and keep them closed until I hear the door shut behind him.
I open my eyes, tears streaming down my face, and scan the room once again looking for anything I can use to escape. In the cellar there is a washing machine and a tub, a boiler and a few empty shelves. I try and move my body around so I can see if anything is on the shelves. From where I am lying I see nothing. I wriggle around further but nothing inspires me. I cry out in frustration and once again try pulling on the cords which I now feel cutting into my wrists. I struggle for what feels like hours until I am physically exhausted and pass out from either the pain of the cords cutting through my circulation or the mental exhaustion going through my brain.
I come to when I hear loud heavy footsteps once again coming down the stairs. Has it been hours since I was awake? I have no sense of time being locked down here in the cellar and that scares me more than I ever thought.
“Okay now, I am going to bind your wrists in front of you so you can sit up and also eat. You be a good girl now for Uncle Dean and don’t cause me no problems,” he says as he approaches me. He waits, looking at me expectantly until I nod in submission. “That’s my girl,” he says, smiling and moving his body into action. He cuts through the cord and I feel pins and needles travel all the way up my arms. I eagerly rub them as I sit myself upright and glare at him.
“Come on now sweetie, hands in front together,” he says, demonstrating what he wants. I hate the false tenderness in his voice. He really believes he feels something for me and this is more scary than anything he could actually do to me.
I imagine getting up, smacking my first into his face and running out of here but instead I simply comply and feel him rub each finger tenderly as he grabs my hands.
“Hmm, you’re so soft,” he murmurs. When he sees my eyes, which are scowling at him in hatred, he quickly snaps out of his trance and rebinds my wrists leaving my hands free to grab the porridge he has slapped in front of me. “Eat this up fast, we need to be heading back.”
“Wait, where are you taking us?” I ask him in terror.
“Home, baby,” is all he says as his eyes darken and he licks those damn cracked lips again.
“Where are we now?” I ask him.
“Well, after I picked you up from the club, I took ya for a little drive. We’re at my old friend’s house but don’t you be worrying, he told me his folks go away in the summer. This house won’t have anyone here until we’re long gone.” Then he turns and walks away quickly, leaving me with the gray porridge and a sinking heart.
I drift in and out of my nightmare as I sit there thinking of one hundred ways I could escape but knowing I am helpless. My wrists are raw from where I have sat trying desperately to break the cord. My teeth hurt from where I have tried to bite through it too and my head is still pounding from where he hit me. The porridge sits cold and congealed at my feet, my appetite lost.
Seconds, minutes or hours pass then I hear Dean come down the stairs once again. He halts in front of me with a scowl when he spots the cold porridge.
“Now Samantha, that’s no good,” he says.
I just stare at him, loathing him and his madness and hoping my eyes convey every thought as if I had shouted them aloud.
“You destroyed my family,” I finally whisper to him, needing him to hear the venom in my voice. “You can kidnap me forever,” I seethe, “and even force me to eat but you will never get me to even like you one tiny bit.”
His eyes narrow and I see a muscle in his jaw jump. He looks down at the porridge I have left and chooses instead to focus on that.
“Now you won’t get a chance to eat again for a while. That’s just plain stupid.”
He walks around me in a circle and I feel the madness radiating off him in waves.
“You know you shouldn’t make me upset,” he says, his voice going quiet. “I made you food and you should God damn fucking eat it!”
With that he kicks me on my back. The pain rips up my spine and I whimper, trying to hold in my tears.
“Eat the fucking food, Sam!” he bellows.
I shake my head, keeping my eyes closed but feeling tears leaking out regardless. “Fuck you!” I whisper angrily.
My words enrage him and he roars out loud and kicks me over and over again until I feel the world black out and I see, hear and feel no more.
“I’m sorry sweetie, but I have to do this,” I hear as I come to later on and before I can move or blink he puts a rag over my mouth and nose. I try not to breathe but of course I have to and before I can open my mouth to swear at him again, I pass out cold.
Nathan
Chapter Thirty-Two
I am going out of my fucking mind. After I heard her scream, I remember flying out the door into a cab and racing to the club. I had come home to talk to her, not being able to stand not knowing what the fuck was happening, worried I had lost her for good. Of course when I got home, I saw she was out. Our room had clothes haphazardly thrown around it. The kitchen had bowls piled in the sink. I remember thinking I should never have left her.
As I raced to the club I dialed her damn phone over and over again but got nothing except her sweet voice asking me to leave a message on her voice mail.
When I got to the club I ran in and searche
d until I found her useless friend. I screamed at her to tell me where Sam had gone but got no answers. Realizing I was wasting my time with someone who did not even know Sam had disappeared, I left her and went straight to the police.
Now I run my hands absently through my hair for the thousandth time waiting in the police precinct for someone to come and talk to me. I have discovered the hard way that threatening them doesn’t help, so I pace up and down, up and down.
Finally a bald, slightly overweight older man approaches me. “Son, what seems to be the problem?”
“My girlfriend is missing.” I repeat the same message I have been telling them for the past hour. I take a deep breath to calm myself down before I punch him in the fucking face. Has no one here been listening to me?
He writes something in his book. “How long has she been missing?”
“I don’t know!” I reply, exasperated. “I was talking to her on the phone at about twelve. I heard her scream and then the phone went dead.”
He closes his note pad and looks at me with a frown. “Son, you know in order to report a missing person, they actually have to be missing for forty-eight hours. She has been missing for two hours.” He looks pointedly at the clock on the wall behind me.
“I told you I heard her scream as the call was disconnected. Something’s happened to her, I know it,” I reply biting my cheek. I put my hands behind my back so I don’t knock him out.
“Tell you what,” he says, still looking at me skeptically. “You go home, have a sleep and then call me in forty-six hours if she is still missing.” He picks up his card and holds it in front of me. I grab it automatically and storm out the precinct before I get myself arrested and therefore unable to help Sam. There is no way in fucking hell I am sitting here doing nothing for that length of time.
The second I get home I call her family. I know they will be asleep but I can’t wait a second longer. I pray somehow, they know where she is.
“Hello,” a sleepy confused voice answers the phone.
“Hello, Mister Marsh, it’s Nathan,” I tell Sam’s dad.
“Nathan, what’s wrong?” he says, focusing quickly when he hears my voice. “Is Sam okay?”
I feel my voice break as I fight for control. “Mister Marsh, she is gone. I called her at twelve and something happened. I heard her scream. Now I can’t get hold of her and no one will help me. I have no idea where she could be!”
“Oh, my God,” I hear Mrs. Marsh on the extension, crying.
“Mrs. Marsh, Mister Marsh, do you have any idea where she might have gone?” I ask them desperately.
“No, no of course not!” they both say. Then Mister Marsh has a suggestion. “Have you tried Sally?”
“No, but it’s a good idea.” I have no faith Sally will know where she is but I have to give them some hope. Her scream is still too fresh on my mind. “Mister Marsh, I need to ask you something…I don’t suppose you have any details on Dean?”
“No. Dear God, you don’t think he found her?”
“I don’t know, but I have to explore every angle. What is Dean’s full name?”
“His name is Dean West. You can call the officer over here that let us know about his release. His name is Barry Jones.”
I write down his number once they find it and tell them I will call them back if I hear any news. Then I call Barry, leaving a message on his phone asking him to call me back urgently.
I pace around the house but feel myself going crazy. I still keep trying her phone, willing her to answer it and for her to be safe, but knowing something bad has happened. I finally can’t take the waiting anymore. I find Sam’s car keys and head back out to the club in her car.
I get there at four and it is closed now. The dark building looks ominous with no lights on and I notice paths that are well hidden from view in all areas surrounding the club. Once again I curse myself for leaving her alone and go walking down the path with a flashlight looking for any sign she may have been here. I come across her phone lying broken near the dumpster. My heart stops as I pick it up and look at it seeking answers. It is broken with a big crack down the middle. I try turning it on, but it is either flat or completely destroyed. I put it into my pocket and spend the next few hours wandering the streets desperately seeking further clues which never eventuate. Where the fuck is she?
I finally give up and drive home at seven and have a quick shower, keeping my phone with me in case Barry calls me back.
I find some bread and toast it, more out of habit than hunger and as I sit down and chew it, I fire up the computer and put in the name ‘Dean West’. Twenty hits come up on my search engine so I scroll through each one searching for something that will help.
Thirty minutes later I find an archived news article about his arrest. It states very little other than the fact they arrested him at the trailer park in Hammond where he had been living for possession with the intent to sell.
One sentence grabs my attention. “Mister West had been looking after his six-year-old niece after a fire destroyed her home and family. She will now go into foster care until other family can be found and contacted,’ the sentence says.
“Samantha, where are you?” I whisper to the screen.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The shrill sound of my phone wakes me up. I must have fallen asleep at the computer hunting for answers. I quickly glance at the time before I answer the call. It’s now nine o’clock.
“Hello?”
“Um, is this Nathan? It’s Barry Jones returning your call. How can I help you?”
I quickly tell Barry what has happened and my concerns. I don’t disclose the abuse. I worry this may confuse the situation.
“So, you think he may have taken her?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I reply, finally snapping. “I just want you to contact Dean, see if he is around or if he has disappeared.”
“I can make a call in I suppose. It is part of the terms of his release that he stays in town,” he answers sounding unsure. “You know there is no reason to stop him seeing his niece. My files tell me she is his only family.”
“Mister Jones, did you ever consider why his only family never visited him in jail?” I ask him bitterly. “There is more to this story than I can tell you but I can tell you this much, Samantha will definitely not want to see Dean, not ever!”
I hear Barry cough politely into the phone. I guess he is considering what to say but I don’t give him time to respond.
“Does he still live in Hammond?” I ask.
“You know I can’t disclose this information,” Barry tells me.
Damn! “Okay, well can you please call me once you have been to see him and let me know what you find?”
“Okay, I’ll call you back in an hour,” he replies and then hangs up. This is reassuring. Finally someone is taking my concern seriously.
The hour is the longest one in my life. I walk around the house picking up the mess, just to give me something to do, washing the dishes and finally just sitting in our room. I feel close to her in here and I look over at the photo she has taped on the wall. I pull it off and have a closer look. I see three young children sitting outside an apartment complex. I can see a sign in the distance so I put the photo right under my nose trying to decipher the words.
‘Berkley Square, Hammond.’ This must be where they lived before the place burned down.
I jump off the bed and go back to the computer. This time I search Berkley Square, Hammond and there it is, a set of council housing blocks which all look slightly worse for wear. I look up flights to Hammond in case I need to go and to my surprise, discover a flight leaving in a few hours. I hesitate, agonizing whether I should fly out or stay here. What if I am wrong?
When the phone rings, I pick it up immediately.
“He has disappeared. All of his belongings are gone. Nathan, I think I will need to call this in,” says Barry.
“Barry, please just tell me, was he still living in Hammond?” I be
g him.
“Son, you never heard this from me, but no, he was given an apartment about an hour from Hammond. I have to go but I will call you if I find anything else.”
Indecision eats me alive but I know I can’t sit here any longer. I jump up, grab my bag which I still haven’t unpacked since getting home and rush straight out to the airport.
Hammond is your typical run down town suffering from a failing economy with empty shops sporting ‘for sale’ signs lining the street. It has a liquor store on the corner, a fast food burger joint down the road and row after row of apartment blocks. I turn and push my finger on the inside lock of the door of my hired car as I head towards Berkley Square. I have no idea why I feel the need to go there, but something pulls at me. I just follow.
I eventually find the apartment complex and park the car. I take a close look at the complex and measure it up against the photo Sam has in her room. Not much has changed since it was taken except it looks dirtier. Litter lines the street in front of it and a group of youths sit on their car bonnet eyeing me suspiciously.
I get out of the car, photo in hand, and walk up to them as calmly as I can, a visible twenty dollar bill in my hand. “Hey guys, I used to know a family who lived here a long time ago. Who can I ask around here about where they are now?” I ask them trying to sound relaxed and in control.
The tallest boy looks at me with hooded eyes. I pass the photo to him along with the money and notice his eyes skim it over.
“You could ask my grandma,” he finally suggests.
I nearly fall over with gratitude but hold it together. “Where can I find her?” I ask him, palming another twenty dollar bill.
“Number twenty-three,” he says, grabbing the money and stuffing it in his shorts and already looking away from me.
“Thanks man,” I tell him. As I walk off I wonder what sort of grandson sends a strange man over to see his grandma by himself.
