Into the Night

by Marin Montgomery

  “Nebraska.”

  Our eyes lock and he decides to stop guessing. “Another excursion for the two of you?”

  “No...well, actually, I wanted to find out the name of the surf shack we took lessons from and a phone number.”

  “It’s cheaper if you book through me. The hotel can offer you a ten percent discount.” He seems offended.

  “Actually,” I lie, “I took my favorite necklace off at our lesson and left it with them. I just want to see when a good time to pick it up is.”

  “Oh, certainly,” his tone changes, “let me write the info down for you.” He grabs a pen and piece of paper. “What was your last name?”

  I tell him, and he looks through his previous reservations.

  Scribbling the name and number down, he hands me the scrap of paper. “Here you go.”

  I delicately hold it in my hands, like it’s the most precious commodity in the world. It might as well be Queen Elizabeth’s diamonds.

  As soon as you call this number, you’ll talk to the boys, find out Bristol is with them, and this nightmare will be over. Done. You’ll go meet them and it will be over. It’s the not knowing that has me anxious and riddled with doubt.

  When I get back up to the room, my stomach’s knotted, as if it knows this can make or break how the rest of our vacation goes. I don’t think in terms of life, or that anything permanent has happened to Bristol that can’t be fixed.

  I’m fearful, but I haven’t gone into a full-blown breakdown.

  Sinking onto the bed, I pick up the receiver of the phone, weighted in my hand, just like the potential outcome. Dialing the surf shop, it rings over and over as I pick at a loose piece of skin on my fingernail.

  I hang up, then hit re-dial.

  Same thing.

  Clicking on the remote, I’m impatient, clicking through the channels, my mind wandering as the news and the daytime talk shows about paternity tests echo through the room.

  After another fifteen minutes, I try again.

  Nothing.

  I grab a piece of hotel stationary and a pen, determined to retrace my steps last night and fill in the blank spaces.

  A shrill ring fills the room, and I stumble, losing my balance as my foot catches in the duvet cover and I hit my elbow on the side table.

  “Shit,” I exclaim, yanking the phone off the cradle. “Bristol?”

  “No, it’s Mother,” a voice on the other end responds dryly. “Where’s your sister? Why isn’t she with you?”

  “She ran down to the lobby for some snacks,” I fib.

  “Why aren’t you with her? You can’t just let your baby sister wander around,” she chastises. “Something could happen to her.”

  I swallow. Something might’ve already happened to her.

  Not in the mood to argue, I change the subject. “How’s your trip?”

  “Florida is good, we’re looking forward to getting home though.”

  “Everything good with the adoption?”

  “Yes.” She pauses. “Can you have Bristol call me when she’s back in the room?”

  “Yep,” I mumble, “is Daddy around?”

  Sniffling, “Let me get him.”

  “Blair, how’s my girl? My two girls?” he adds.

  “Good,” I force the words out. I keep my voice light. “Enjoying the beach, walking around and acting like tourists, using the hot tub here.”

  “You worried your mom,” he says. “She tried both your cell phones and they both went to voicemail. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah…” I have to think of an excuse quickly.

  Who would be the irresponsible one and lose their phone?

  Me. Definitely me.

  I exhale. “We went out to the beach and I was taking some pics. I dropped my phone in the sand and a wave took it.”

  “What? How did that happen?” My father moans. “We trust you to be responsible with your phone, Blair. I’m disappointed.”

  I close my eyes. “Bristol’s is probably dead.” As soon as I say the word dead, I want to retract it from my vocab. “I mean, her phone.”

  “I know what you meant,” my father laughs. “Well, you girls need to do better. We haven’t heard from you since before you went out and you didn’t answer when I called last night. That’s unacceptable and not part of our agreement.” I hear Mother say something in the background. I don’t ask what. She’s most likely airing a grievance towards me.

  “Yes, Daddy.” I don’t have an argumentative bone in my body at the moment.

  We chat for a few more minutes but my mind is a million miles away. I want to get off the phone, what if Bristol’s calling?

  “Oh, Daddy, I gotta go.” I mumble some excuse about the cleaning ladies trying to get in.

  “Is Bristol back yet? Your mom wants to talk to her.”

  “I’m meeting her down in the lobby. She’s going to wonder where I am.”

  “Oh, then definitely get going. We will catch up with you later. Make sure you call us tonight.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. “What’s the number for the resort?” Without my phone, their hotel is no longer on speed dial. He reads the number off to me and the room number. “Call us later. Love you.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  Hanging up, a tear pricks my eyes.

  For the first time in a long time, I kneel beside the bed and pray. I pray for my baby sister and I pray that I don’t have to lie to my parents about her, that we call them tonight and she’s beside me, winking as we share a secret from our parents.

  In my mind, there’s no other possible outcome.

  At least that’s what I tell myself.

  14

  Bristol

  When I come to, the same man is perched next to me on the bed, his face hovering over mine. “You’re up,” he claps his hands. “I thought you might be by this time.” His voice is cheery, like he’s about to command a marching band instead of addressing a girl held against her will.

  My position on the bed hasn’t changed, my limbs achy and sore.

  Suffocating a scream, I’m terrified of his close proximity and the way he’s focused on me, one wrong move and I’m toast.

  I lower my eyelids and glance over my shoulder.

  I’m in a twin-size bed, a children’s one. It’s small, reminiscent of elementary school. The wooden blue headboard has a bouquet of multi-colored flowers stenciled across it.

  A five-drawer dresser in the opposite corner matches the headboard, also a robin’s egg blue color, with a single bouquet square in the middle of the three drawers.

  My jaw drops.

  In his hand, he’s holding a plain paper bag.

  He brings his face inches from mine. “Are you feeling okay?” I can smell the peppermint he’s sucking on as he speaks.

  I hold my breath, pushing my butt as far back as it will go, only an inch left between the mattress and the headboard before I slam into the smooth wood. The bed’s pressed against a wall covered in gray and purple panels that look like foam squares.

  My eyes scan the contents of the room. It’s a little larger than my bedroom back home – I’m guessing 12x12.

  A small desk is to my right, painted bright yellow, and I can see markers and coloring books pushed in one corner. A couple of puzzle boxes and board games rest on the opposite end of the desk. A plush teddy bear missing one eye rests on the matching yellow shelf above, along with a clear plastic tray that has what looks like hair bows and rubber bands.

  A matching yellow chair’s pushed in to the desk.

  The odd thing about the furniture – it’s not adult-sized. Like the children’s bed, it’s meant for a kid. The chair would’ve fit me comfortably when I was ten or eleven.

  I gulp, staring at the other wall.

  It has a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that doesn’t fit with the décor. It’s a custom built-in made of honey-colored oak and looks out of place with the rest of the furniture.

  “Don’t be scared.” He reaches
out to touch my hair, smoothing my head like I’m a puppy.

  I pull my head back, jerking away. My mind drifts to my sheepdog mix. Oggie. Try to focus on getting back to your dog.

  Bungee cords are the culprit of my inability to move off the bed, and I twist away from his touch as if he’s trying to sear me.

  “Now that’s not nice. I came to bring you breakfast in bed and the rest of your outfit.” Gasping, I look down. The outfit is not only a shift dress, it’s the color of bubble gum, candy pink with a flowered brocade. A matching satin bow’s attached to a white lacy Peter Pan collar, the short sleeves matching the frilly fabric. It’s like I stepped out of the nineties into another era.

  My eyes widen as I look around me. “Where am I?”

  “Somewhere safe where no one can harm you.” His cheeks flush. “You’re mine, all mine, dear girl.”

  I start to cry, big, fat angry tears.

  He looks taken aback, startled, like my sorrow is a surprise.

  “Don’t cry.”

  I cry harder.

  “I saved you from the bad man,” he confides.

  Whimpering, I close my eyes. This can't be happening to me. It’s all a nightmare. One big, ugly nightmare.

  “If you keep crying, I’ll have to punish you just like I used to.” He gives me a bright smile, his bottom teeth slightly crooked.

  Taking a deep breath, I stuff down my raw emotions, stifling the next sob.

  “Good girl. I want to get you fed and dressed so we can discuss the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yes, why you live here.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I have a home. My mom will miss me. You don’t want my family to miss me, do you?” I ask.

  He tilts his head, biting his lower lip.

  “Why don’t you let me go? Please, Please,” I beg. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else. I didn’t used to know you, I don’t recognize you. I’m not from around here.”

  He shrugs. “But you look just like her.”

  “Her?”

  “Marian.” He pauses. “And the others.”

  “Marian? I stutter. “What other ones?” I peer around the small room. “Where are they?”

  He shrugs, emotionless. “They’re all dead.”

  My mouth goes dry and my body slack.

  He’s done this before? Kidnapped and killed other girls? This isn’t the first time?

  “Where’s Blair?”

  “Who’s Blair?”

  I shoot him a frustrated glance.

  “Watch those daggers or I’ll put you in time out.” He sighs. “We have a lot of work to do with adjusting your attitude. You remind me of her already.”

  “Where am I?” I change the subject.

  He doesn’t answer, just starts humming a tune I’ve never heard.

  “I’m really not a fan of you eating in bed since it brings bugs in, and since we’re underground, it’s even worse, but today it will have to do until I get a table set up. Would you like that?”

  Would I like that? What the hell is wrong with this freak?

  “I would like to go home,” I murmur.

  “Enough talk,” he chastises. “Silence is golden.”

  He slowly opens the paper bag, and I’m almost more afraid of the contents. What if he wants me to eat dead rabbits or rats or some kind of exotic beetle?

  My jaw relaxes when he says, “I brought you Rice Krispies and orange juice.” The bowl he pulls out is already filled with cereal. Setting a plastic spoon aside, he dumps a small carton of milk over it.

  “Snap, crackle, pop.” He’s giddy, mixing the milk and breakfast food together. “This was her favorite. And her favorite bowl,” he adds. The ceramic bowl has the alphabet stretching across the faded purple surface in rainbow colors. I gulp, unsure I will be able to taste anything.

  “I’m going to feed you.” He dips the spoon in the cereal. “At least today I am. I can’t always.” Scooting closer to me, he reaches forward as I lean back, resting my head against the wood.

  He’s dressed casual, dark jeans with a brown belt and a red Hawaiian shirt, navy flip-flops on his feet.

  “Eat, little girl. You need your energy.” I don’t bother to ask what for.

  My lips are in a straight line but it doesn’t matter, he shoves the plastic into the slits and crams it down my throat.

  I choke, sputtering milk as it dribbles down my chin and onto the collar and satin bow.

  “Dammit, you’re ruining her favorite outfit.” He slaps me with an open hand across the face. “Don’t do that again.”

  He swipes a hand across my chin, angrily wiping the mess away with his palm.

  Tears prick my eyes and my cheek burns.

  The cereal tastes like stale cardboard. I can hardly swallow, my throat’s closed up and I start to cough. He digs in the bag and peels a wrapper off a straw, slipping it in the orange juice container. “Here you go, have some Vitamin C.” I suck greedily until it’s half-empty.

  I acquiesce as he feeds me spoonful after spoonful until the bowl’s empty save for leftover milk.

  “Do you want a cookie?”

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Good, good start.” He strokes his chin, a single hair sticking out of a mole that’s precisely to the right of his chin.

  It reminds me of the wolf and the three pigs, the one who threatens to blow him down by the hair of his chinny chin chin.

  He tilts his head, considering me. “I’m going to untie you from the bed…” I start to grow excited, my face giving too much emotion away.

  “But if you make a peep, or raise your voice, you’ll go in solitary confinement.” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And you don’t want that. Oh no, you don’t want that. I’ve been there before and it’s not good. She taught me well.”

  Who is he referring to?

  Certainly not another girl he took.

  Or maybe she tried to escape and he killed her? My eyes widen.

  I run my tongue over the suddenly parched roof of my mouth.

  “In fact, you don’t want any of her punishments. It won’t make either of us happy campers.” His face twists back into that fake smile. I notice a top tooth discolored from the rest. It reminds me of a buttered kernel of popcorn, standing out against the rest of his pearl-colored teeth.

  “And I don’t want to get out of control. I don't want to hurt you...permanently.”

  Don’t go there, I say to myself, don’t even go there right now. Don’t think about home, or Mom and Dad, or your life back home.

  “Do you understand?”

  I can’t speak, so I merely nod.

  “Okay.” He puts a finger to his plump lips. “Now shh…”

  He starts with my ankles, untying the blue cords, testing if I try and kick him. I don’t. There’s no use since my arms are still restrained. When he reaches for my wrists, I turn my face away from his sickly sweet breath. Between that and the antique smell of the clothing I’m dressed in, I’m queasy.

  “Is there a bathroom I can use?” I ask meekly.

  “Good question.” He undoes the cords on my left wrist, then starts on my right. “We will go over all of that.” He giggles like a school girl. “You’re so impatient, just like she was.”

  “Marian?”

  “No, Leslie.”

  I sputter. The ID I had last night belonged to a girl named Leslie Billings. Could it be one and the same? Did I have a missing girl’s ID?

  Instantly, I freeze.

  “Are you cold?” he asks, an air of concern apparent on his face. He reaches out to rub my shoulders, the lace fabric itchy on my skin.

  “I’m okay,” I say, crossing my arms, rubbing the raw skin where the cords dug in. I sweep my legs underneath me, scooting up against the rickety headboard.

  “Okay, well, you have to tell me if you need something, little girl.” He shrugs. “I’m not a mind reader.�
��

  If I need something?

  I need my sister, a plane, and my parents. I want to rock in my mom’s arms and have my daddy yell at me about underage drinking, and I’ll gladly be grounded and live at home until I’m twenty-five.

  I’ll even become a nun.

  Just please let me go.

  He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black leather notebook. Folded-up paper is crammed in the middle and he carefully removes it, unfolding the squares.

  I can’t see what’s written on it, but it’s a list of some sort.

  “Are you ready?” He glances up from the sheet, my eyes trained on the singular hair dancing on his chin. He doesn’t wait for a response. “I’m going to hang this on a dry erase board so you can remember. At some point, it needs to go in here.” He points to his forehead. “Memorize it, because one day the list will disappear.”

  I stare at him like he has three heads.

  “Rule number one, there’s no screaming of any kind. Not that it would matter, the room is sound-proofed.

  “Two, every morning I will have an outfit laid out for you after I give you a bath. Bath time is always in the morning.”

  Does he work? I wonder.

  “Three, you will read a book every day. I’ll restock your book shelf every week with new titles.”

  How many pages are these books?

  “Then you will read to me every night when I get home. I will sleep here sometimes with you to cuddle, just like she and I used to.”

  I shudder, my shoulders trembling.

  “Four, you will need to keep your mind sharp. Puzzles, games, it’s all at your disposal. You’re the luckiest little girl, you get to be a kid forever.”

  Forever means eternity.

  I’m puzzled. “How old am I supposed to be?”

  He pinches my knee hard.

  I recoil.

  “I’m not finished talking,” he snaps, then his voice goes back to neutral.

  “You’ll have two meals a day and a snack. Breakfast, a piece of fruit, and then a simple dinner. I’ll leave some water if you get thirsty. Today is special so you got cereal, but that’s only on special occasions.

  “I don’t plan to keep you tied up, but that brings us to the punishment portion. I work on a strike system. First strike is a warning, then you’ll have time out, then loss of privileges. This could be food, water, play time, it could even mean no bathroom breaks and diapers instead.”