by S. B. Caves
Lena muttered into her palms as though whispering to some unseen companion. ‘What’s next then?’ she asked eventually.
Francine tapped the end of the pen against the pad. ‘Why Autumn? Why specifically her? You said you and Les followed us.’
‘I don’t know why. I just know they wanted her. Same way they wanted all the others.’ She leaned back, scooped the hair out of her face. ‘You think I’ve got like some insider information or something? I’m like Mel. I’m a victim. I don’t help them plan these things. I just go as the bait. Mel’s done it too. Lots of times.’ Lena’s shoulders sagged. She shifted on the stool, turned sideways and leaned her head against the counter. ‘Mel helped take a lot of girls.’
‘The big house. Who goes there?’
‘Lots of people,’ she replied through a yawn. ‘Many, many people. They come so we can make the men feel happy.’
‘How often does that happen?’ Francine was aware of the gravel in her voice, but could do nothing to soften the words. It was beyond that now; she had heard too much.
‘Every month people come to the big house. And sometimes there are parties in other houses and we do things there. I don’t go to those ones a lot because I’m too ugly now. But that photo I gave you … that was on the morning of a feast day. That’s why Mel looks pretty.’
Francine’s skull felt full of sludge. She tried to wade through it to find something else to ask, a strategic question that would bear some fruit, but she was too tired. She set the pen down and massaged her temples with her fingertips. Even breathing had become a trial. ‘All right. I think that’s enough. For now.’
‘Can I go to sleep, then?’
‘Shower first.’
‘I’m too sleepy,’ the girl groaned petulantly.
‘I want you to get cleaned up. You’ll feel better. Trust me.’ She heard Lena begin to snore. It sounded faked so she slapped her palms on the counter. Lena jolted up. ‘I’ll show you how to run the shower. Come on.’
She led the girl into the bathroom and turned on the shower, testing the water to ensure it wasn’t too hot. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she began. ‘Don’t worry about your clothes.; I’ll find you something clean to wear.’ As she spoke, Lena began undressing. Francine turned away but added, ‘I want this door left open a crack. Don’t lock it, okay?’
‘Sure,’ Lena said, stepping into the tub. Francine caught the outline of her scrawny shape in her peripheral vision and then hurried out to fetch some clothes.
Over the crash of the water, she could hear the girl muttering to herself. Sometimes it sounded like she was on the phone again, as though she were holding a conversation. And sometimes there was just cackling, low and sinister.
While Lena showered, Francine thought about the bed situation. She considered having the girl sleep in the same room as her, but she didn’t much like that idea. She wanted her close, but not close enough that she could reach out and slit her throat while she slept. Now there was a funny thought: that Francine might possibly be able to sleep after the day she’d had. She didn’t doubt that her body would melt into the mattress as soon as she lay down, but her mind was still running at a hundred miles an hour, thoughts and ideas bursting on the surface like fitful camera flashes.
She removed a pair of thin, musty-smelling pillows and a sheet from her utility closet and laid them over the sofa. Then she switched the TV on, just for the background noise, hoping that it would take the edge off the silence in the apartment.
As she sat on the arm of the sofa, staring into the distance, while an actress prattled on a late-night talk show, there was a creak from the doorway. She looked over and saw Lena standing there in a towel, trailing water, steam from the bathroom curling around her.
‘I couldn’t figure out how to turn the shower off,’ she said. Having shed the crust of dirt, she looked a lot less threatening. Her pallor emphasised the raccoon circles around her eyes, but she appeared softer and altogether more feminine.
‘That’s all right. Do you feel better?’
She nodded, body glistening.
‘Good. This sofa is pretty comfy. You can watch TV if you want, or just have it on if you don’t want to sleep in silence.’
‘Thanks.’
Francine picked up the sweat pants and long Garfield T-shirt she’d fished out of her closet and placed them on the sofa. ‘You can wear these. They should keep you warm enough.’
‘When can you take me away?’ Lena asked, casually removing the towel that was wrapped around her and using it to dry her hair. Her body was scored with a network of faint scars, each one viciously unique. A road map of abuse. An angry weal snaked across her xylophone ribcage; it looked like someone had tried to brand her and she’d jerked away too quickly.
Every instinct in Francine told her to go over and hug the girl, to reassure her that she didn’t need to be afraid any more. She wanted to soothe her, to—
*If you’re tired, little girl, close your eyes and go to sleep … *
‘That’s going to take some planning,’ she said shakily. She thought about Autumn, what her body must look like. She couldn’t afford to let her feelings get in the way of this. ‘Once I have all the information I need, we can work on getting you settled somewhere. Tomorrow we’re going to see my ex-husband. He has a lot of connections with charities and things like that. We can place you somewhere anonymously. They’ll be able to give you a job, a roof over your head, and nobody needs to know where you are.’
‘You said Hawaii.’ Lena threw the wet towel on the armchair and stood naked before Francine.
‘I want to keep you safe, Lena. We can work out a plan later. But I have no doubt that Will can get you to wherever you need to go.’
Lena nodded slowly and then reached for the clothes.
‘Get some rest. We’re setting out early tomorrow. If you need anything in the night, just give me a shout; I’ll be in the next room.’
As Francine went to leave, Lena said, ‘Thank you, Francine. I know I don’t always get my words out properly, but I’m just very scared. I want to help you and Mel … sorry, Autumn. She was my best friend.’
Just like that, she seemed to shrivel before Francine, until she was nothing more than a frightened little girl flinching at shadows. And Francine’s heart felt that much heavier for having lost patience with her. She shouldn’t have shouted, shouldn’t have been so disturbed by the mere sight of this girl … this child. She could not imagine the humiliation that Lena had suffered, the endless hours of terror and pain.
Above all else, she had to remember that Lena was no different from Autumn.
‘Everything will be all right, Lena. You don’t need to worry any more.’ She smiled, hoping it would be reassuring. ‘Goodnight.’
Francine left the living room and went to the kitchen. She got a glass of water and retrieved the knife from beside the breadbin. Just in case, she told herself, and headed to bed feeling both lighter and heavier than she had done in almost ten years.
5
Francine’s eyes snapped open. For a few dopey seconds, the urgency remained as the residue of the dream slowly faded. She was back in her bed, the sheets cold beneath her body, the grey-lavender twilight filtering in through the gaps in the curtains. She lay still, listening as the tinny TV sounds seeped through the wall from the living room.
The bedside clock told her it was 06:49. She’d managed about four hours of shallow sleep, which was four hours more than she’d thought she would get. Her mind had turned over all the details of Lena’s story, and as she’d finally drifted off, she’d had the feeling she’d made a huge mistake believing the girl. But now, in the honest, revealing light of day, she did believe Lena’s story. She was also sure that there were details Lena was deliberately omitting. She just wasn’t sure why.
She got out of bed, slipped into sweatpants and a hooded top and walked to the living room. She tapped on the door, half expecting to discover that Lena had crept out and disappeared in the ni
ght. But she was still there, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching a bizarre children’s show.
‘Morning,’ Lena said, keeping her attention on the TV. It cut to the break and a throat-lozenge commercial came on. Lena hummed along with it. They ate breakfast and Francine found an outfit for Lena to wear. When she was dressed, and had swigged some mouthwash at Francine’s insistence, they made their way down to the car.
‘Are we going to Will’s house now?’
‘That’s right,’ Francine said as they got in. It was Saturday, so she was banking on him being home. If not, she’d have to play verbal gymnastics with Sheila to find him. As she joined the highway, she removed her cell phone from her pocket and considered calling ahead, but then decided against it. A surprise visit would be the best option.
She had two missed calls from work and the voicemail icon appeared in the top right of the screen. She’d deal with all that on Monday; think of some excuse.
When she saw the Clucky’s logo, she pulled over and referred to the map in her glove box. She traced the route with her finger, recalling that Will’s house was on a long stretch of road that crested into a hill, at the top of which was a barbershop and convenience store – or at least there had been five years ago. Judging by the map, it was only a couple of miles away.
‘Don’t suppose you’re any good with maps, are you?’ she asked. Lena shook her head, drawing smiley faces in the condensation of the window. When she pulled away from the kerb, Francine said, ‘You must have a good sense of direction at least, especially if you made it out of the woods. You said it took you about two weeks to reach me.’
‘Something like that.’
‘How’d you get from the woods to my apartment?’
‘Hitchhiked.’
‘How’d you know where I lived?’
‘I looked you up …’
‘The truth, Lena. Come on, we’re past this now. How did you find my apartment?’
Lena picked at her bottom lip. ‘There’s a book with your name in it. Everything I need to know about you is right there. That’s how I found out my mom died. That’s how I know that in 2011 you had your licence suspended for eighteen months for being over the limit. They keep it updated … just in case they need to pay you a visit.’
Francine felt her blood congeal. She became light-headed, and for a second she thought that she might need to pull over to straighten herself out. The dizziness passed, but she asked no more questions. She probably couldn’t have even if she had wanted to; her mouth was so dry that she could feel friction between her gums and lips.
She pulled over a couple more times to refer to the map, made a U-turn and did a lot of scouting for signposts. Eventually she rounded a bend that was vaguely familiar and spotted the striped barber’s pole. The houses were spread out, with acres of land between them. Lena said, ‘Deer,’ and pointed out of the window. That was one thing Francine did remember: all the damn deer that sprang out in front of the car; she’d had to swerve to avoid killing one the first time she’d been here.
They pulled up a few yards down from Will’s house. It was a rustic two-storey build with wall-to-wall windows. Aside from its size, it was unremarkable; easy to miss or ignore as it was set back from the road and partially concealed by a copse of tall trees. The only things that gave any indication of Will’s wealth, to an outsider looking in, were the cars crowding the driveway.
The scent of the trees filled the air. It added to the tranquillity of the quiet street. The quiet house. Francine imagined waking up here every morning, watching the stupid deer hopping along, listening to birdsong in the distance while she sipped her coffee on the porch swing. Would that kind of life bring her some semblance of peace? Could she be happy in a simple place like this, away from the traffic jams, the malls, the cigarette billboards? Was Will happy here? If he was, she hated him for it.
As they neared the porch, she could hear the absent-minded chatter of two breakfast-show hosts coming from inside the house. She heard Sheila call out a question to Will and her jaw clenched. She knocked. Sheila’s face appeared in the large window, and when she saw who it was, she leapt back, disappearing from sight.
The door opened cautiously. Will wore a crisp white shirt and chinos, like he was about to power into a presentation and give some inspirational pitch. He probably wasn’t even going to leave the house today, let alone do any work. The pretentious prick.
‘Francine,’ he said, a smirk on his lips. He shook his head as though baffled by her presence on his doorstep. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We need to talk. Right now.’
He looked at Lena, who was scanning the surrounding trees. ‘What is this?’
‘We need to come inside.’
‘Well, Sheila and I were about to go out.’ He adjusted his position in the doorway so that his body blocked as much of the view behind him as possible.
‘Whatever plans you had, they’re cancelled. Now can you let us in?’
‘Sorry,’ he began, addressing Lena, ‘I didn’t catch your name, miss.’
‘Lena,’ she said without looking at him.
‘She’s the one who wrote the letter,’ Francine told him, watching his face, waiting for his reaction. There was no suspicion, no curiosity. Instead, his eyes became flinty behind his spectacles. He looked angry. ‘There’s a lot we need to discuss,’ she continued. ‘May we come in?’
Will looked behind him into the house, then back at Francine. ‘I’ve got to tell you, Francine, I don’t appreciate you turning up like this out of the blue, bringing strangers to my house.’
‘Oh really? She knows where Autumn is. Now can we come in or do you want to do this on the doorstep. Either way, it’s happening, Will.’
He laughed mirthlessly. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but this is a very dangerous thing you’re doing right now. You do know that, don’t you?’
Sheila appeared behind him, snuggled into a padded pink dressing gown. ‘Let them in, Will.’ She peeked out at Francine and gave her a shy smile. ‘Have you eaten breakfast already?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘Good,’ she replied as Will reluctantly stepped back to allow them passage. ‘The quicker you say your piece, the quicker you can be on your way.’
It was only as she entered the house that Francine noticed Sheila’s stomach.
‘I was going to tell you …’ Will began, as though it needed explanation. He closed his mouth. There was nothing more to say.
6
The kitchen was long and spacious, with stone walls, black marble floors and oak counters. It didn’t smell much like a kitchen, though: no coffee, no bacon grease, not even a whiff of burnt toast. Of course not: one of the first things Francine spotted was a shiny silver cylinder, which after a couple of seconds of assessment she realised was some kind of juicer.
They took seats at a heavy table that looked as though it would take a team of men to move. Sheila hovered by the sink, running the water gently so she could still hear what was being said, giving the pretence that she was actually hand-washing the glasses they drank their green slush from.
‘I guess congratulations are in order,’ Francine said, staring at Sheila’s back, watching her stiffen.
‘Thank you,’ Will replied.
‘How far along?’
‘Seven months,’ Sheila said.
‘Seven months,’ Francine murmured. ‘I wish you’d let me know the other night, Will. I could have sent a card or brought some flowers.’
Will was looking at Lena, who in turn seemed fixated with Sheila’s stomach. ‘It slipped my mind. I’ve got a lot going on at work. Busy time of year.’
‘Yeah, you mentioned that the other day.’
‘How about we get down to it, then?’ Will said, his gaze staying firmly on Lena.
Francine cleared her throat. Just before she began speaking, an absurd thought occurred to her, You haven’t even offered us a glass of water. All this money and still no m
anners? Shame on you. ‘This is Lena. She’s been living these last nine years with Autumn in a house in the middle of the woods. Don’t ask me what woods in particular because we haven’t quite figured that part out. Lena, like Autumn, was abducted by a man named Les. Two weeks ago, Les had a heart attack and Lena managed to escape. Autumn was moved to another house outside the woods, for … a party of some sort. Now, Lena is very scared and especially wary when it comes to trying to retrace her steps. I think you might be able to appreciate why.’
Will made a steeple with his fingers, still curiously analysing the bewildered young girl sitting opposite him. After a few beats, he said, ‘Lena? Over here.’ He snapped his fingers to get her attention, and her boggled eyes rolled towards him. ‘Where are your parents, Lena?’
‘Dead,’ she croaked. ‘Mom died of a stroke. I don’t got anyone else.’
‘I see.’ He looked at Francine, concern etched in his expression. ‘Lena, where do you live?’
‘Live?’
‘Yes, your address.’
‘I don’t live anywhere.’
‘Were you in some sort of hospital?’
‘Hospital?’ Her face screwed into a ball of confusion.
‘Yes. Do you remember the names of any carers you had? Maybe a nurse?’
‘Stop that,’ Francine snapped. Will looked up at her blankly. ‘Stop trying to confuse her.’
‘I don’t think I could confuse her any more than she already is. Francine, this girl is quite obviously unwell.’ He touched his temple subtly. ‘You should’ve taken her straight to a police station.’
‘No!’ Lena screeched and jumped off the chair as though it had an electric current flowing through it. ‘No police! They know! They’ll take me back!’ Behind her, Sheila yelped with fright and dropped a glass into the sink. Lena’s head whipped towards Francine. ‘You promised me!’
