by Nora Flite
His grin was the jagged edge of an aluminum tin that had been split apart by an ancient can opener. Bracing his filthy hands on either side of my legs, he lowered his mouth, licking at the chocolate that had landed on me. This was perverse; it threw me off, some of my courage fading.
Lonnie didn't behave like a kid. What had he witnessed that had warped him?
Each individual taste bud scratched on my skin. He kept going, leaning across my body as he slobbered over my knee. I was hyperventilating and ready to gag. No one had touched me like this in my life. How far will he go?
Lonnie smirked up at me from the base of the bed, his hair spilling over his forehead. Patiently, he ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth. He was wearing braces. “If you're nice to me,” he whispered, “I'll untie you for a bit.”
My heart punched against my ribs. “Nice how?”
I saw his brief hesitance. He didn't know what he wanted me to do, not exactly, anyway. This was all spontaneous exploration as he learned the path his father walked. I was just the toy to try out his skills on.
Standing up, he touched my ankle gingerly. Was I the first girl he'd ever put his hands on? “I want to see you naked. Take your clothes off for me.”
I can use his inexperience against him. Swallowing, I nodded slowly. “Untie me and I will.”
It took thirty-five seconds before he spoke again—I was counting. “If you try anything, I'll kill you.”
“I know.”
He stared at me again. Did he guess what I was planning? Moving to my shoulder, he bent over me. For an exciting moment he gripped the straps that held me tight as a drumskin. His breath washed over me, getting faster—heavier. “Never mind,” he said, letting go. “I'll do it myself.”
“What?” I sputtered.
Grabbing the hem of my shirt, Lonnie started to tug. “I don't need your help. You're as useful as you'll ever be, just like this.”
“No!” Gasping, I wriggled pointlessly. “Don't touch me! Stop, stop right now!”
“Bitch, I said hold still!”
“Get away from her!” Conway snapped. I hadn't heard the door open. Lonnie spun around, taking his brother's knuckles to his face. Crying out, he crumpled to the floor while Conway loomed over him. He was shaking; his hair messed up, his eyes wild. He looked across, meeting my stare. Wordlessly he asked if I was okay, and just as silently, I bowed my head in appreciation.
“Asshole,” Lonnie groaned.
Conway's attention bounced back to his brother. “Get out. Now. Dad doesn't want anyone in here, and that means you.”
“Oh, but you're special?”
“I said get the hell out!”
“Fine,” Lonnie said, wiping blood from his nose. He stared at it, and when he smiled, his teeth were stained brownish-red. There was havoc in his eyes when he looked at me. “I'll have my turn with her. It's not like she's going anywhere.”
I didn't breathe easier until he was gone.
Conway came to me, quickly freeing me from the straps. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
Before I responded, I viciously rubbed the chocolate fingerprints off of my body. Lonnie's touch was a virus that wanted to seep inside, and I needed all the evidence of it gone. My skin was raw and red when I was finished. “I'm... I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, he just...” Scared me. Terrified me. I shrugged helplessly. “That's your younger brother?”
Some tightness vanished from his shoulders. “Lonnie has always been creepy.”
“That's a polite way of phrasing it.” I hesitated. “He told me that I looked like your sister.” Conway's kind features hardened with despair. “You didn't tell me you had a sister.”
“Because I don't. Not anymore.” He shook himself, as if devilish creatures were hanging from his body, slicing at him as they weighed him down.
“What do you mean? What happened to her?”
“Ask my dad,” he spat. The venom inside of him was bubbling. It made me recoil—just a hair, but he saw and caught himself. “Sorry. I really hate talking about this, is all. I don't know where she is. Dad won't say, maybe he doesn't even know. I'd give anything to find out the truth.”
“That's awful,” I whispered. It would drive me crazy not to know where my family was. Mom must be so worried about me. “Were you two close?”
“Very much. She used to read to me, especially when mom and dad fought. She'd pull me into this little tree house we'd built in the woods behind our old house, wrap a blanket around us, and we'd pretend everything was fine.” He started to smile, but it melted before it really began. “Georgia...”
I tracked how fast his frown took hold. “What is it?”
“I need to get you out of here.”
“Yeah, I've been saying that.”
“I mean now. Right now.”
I sat up straighter. I didn't have to ask what had changed; the chocolate smear on the floor reminded me of Lonnie's bloody teeth.
He looked at the same spot. “I can't predict Dad, but Lonnie is straight forward.” Conway made a fist, and then let it fall loose at his hip. “He won't leave you alone, not after seeing me protect you.”
“I don't understand... why does he care if you stood up for me?”
“That's just how he is. He's always been jealous of me, and if he thinks he can use you to fuck with me—if he hurt you, or worse, I'd never forgive myself.”
My urge to know more about this family's toxic dynamic was overwhelmed by the temptation of finally escaping. Gripping the edge of the bed, I almost fell off as I strained in his direction. “How do we do this?”
Conway tested the door; it was locked, his brother must have done that as he exited. “Dad isn't home. He left to go into town, get supplies. Lonnie will be busy tending to his wound. It has to be now.”
He pulled out a key and unclicked the double bolt. Facile trusted him with a key? How much had that fucker involved his kids in his evil games?
I nearly sprinted past him when he cracked the door. Conway peered out at the things I couldn't see... things I had never seen after months in this one room.
His spine curved like a feral cat's. Reading his body language, my breath bunched in my chest. Then he glanced over his shoulder, and I was sure his fear was centered here—at me. “Georgia, listen. I need you to understand this. I'll keep you safe as I can, but I can't promise trying to free you won't make this worse. If we get caught—”
“Shh.” I grabbed his wrists. His dark eyes kept shying away, so I went a step further and cupped his jaw; it was solid rock. “I believe in you, Conway. But on the off chance this goes badly, you need to know it's not your fault. You didn't bring me here. You didn't kidnap me. Anything you do to help isn't clearing your sins, because you didn't have any to start with.”
He frowned so hard I thought he'd shed tears. In a burst of speed, he yanked me out the door. We were in a dark hallway. Then a sudden, steep staircase appeared. It went up and up and up until my tired legs burned. Had I been in a basement?
Gray walls became beige; I glimpsed a second hallway with a long, yellow rug that was worn down so much that the fibers were thin as cellophane. On one wall, just before a dark wooden staircase that went up to another floor, I noticed a large portrait. Facile's face—even in 2D—stopped me in my tracks.
He pulled me onward, but I looked back. In the same photo was a young boy who had Conway's soulful eyes—they were downcast, his smile shy. Next to him was an older woman with reddish, curly hair. Her smile was just like his... like she knew a secret not meant for this world.
Conway's mother, I realized with shock. In her lap was Lonnie, because who else could that lanky kid be? I didn't care about him. I was interested in the other child—a young girl.
His sister.
Lonnie had said I looked like her. I could see the resemblance in her rounded nose and crinkled, happy eyes. We even had the same hair color.
Then we were outside, and I didn't care about anything but the fresh air. I almost co
llapsed on the front porch. Conway held me up, scanning the sunny horizon for anything that would stop us.
Swaying in place, I breathed in huge gulps of sweet air. It was delicious. Had air always tasted this good, had I just never noticed?
All around us was an open field. Sparse brush littered the west; a dirt road stretched in the opposite direction. I had no idea where I was. “Am I still in Virginia?” I whispered, wishing I'd asked for more information sooner.
“You have to run,” he said, ignoring my question. Pointing off towards the trees, Conway ripped me painfully down the splintering steps. “Just go that way. The nearest town will take you three hours, but you'll get there... you'll make it. Run and don't look back. ”
He released me. The air was electric around us—my freedom so close, but running meant leaving behind the boy I'd grown close to. “Conway. Come with me.”
His expression was contorted with regrets. They aged him, and I had a glimpse into the future—at the young man Conway would become. “What you said earlier, about me not having any sins? I wish it was true.”
“It is.” On tiptoe I kissed him; something sweet, something desperate. Beneath hooded eyelashes I smiled up at him. “Only good guys get kisses like that.”
He inhaled sharply, as if I'd caused him pain. When he looked me up and down, I imagined he was imprinting my existence into his mind. Like this was the last time he'd ever see me.
If his plan worked, it would be.
“Go,” he demanded.
I ran for the tree line. I kept on until I was one big, aching muscle. My lungs thrummed, my throat ravaged, my heart threatening to take its last pump of life. For hours I pushed my weak body. But this pain was nothing—I was free.
And I didn't look back.
Just like he'd told me.
- Chapter Four -
Georgia Mary King
Nine Years Later
Trash. Trash. Water bill. Trash. Sighing, I fanned out my stack of mail. It wasn't like I expected anything really interesting. I just wept for all the trees being repurposed to try and sell me Mike-George's Auto Care and other junk. Hmm, flier for a local book swap meet. That could be interesting-worth hanging on to for now, at least.
Stepping back inside my apartment, I double locked my door without a thought. My third floor barred windows brought in the hazy glow of the streetlights. I could see every corner at once, no matter where I stood. I could have afforded more but it was perfect for me.
Quaint.
Efficient.
Easy to spot danger.
Humming to myself, I opened the drawer under my computer desk. It was where I tossed things I wanted to look at when I had more time to dedicate to them. Usually it was filled with coupons I'd forget to use, or poetry I'd clipped and saved because my mother had asked me to.
I paused when I dropped the white envelope inside. There was a matching set wrapped in an elastic rubber band in there. They looked no different than my water bill, but they were night and day. A stiff reminder of who I'd been and who I still was.
My story on the news was brief and open ended. No gory details—just a teenage girl escaping a dangerous man. Countless TV personalities asking, “Have you seen Facile Adams? Do you have any information to help solve this case?”
I'd expected phone calls. Hot lines with tips. Even harassment.
I received none of it.
Then, a month after people stopped talking about me, the first letter arrived.
I touched it now, feeling the crinkles from being read and re-read. My mysterious pen pal had never given me their name or home address; just a simple P.O. box. But for a little while, there was someone to talk to about my experience... and about Conway.
I even wondered if it was him writing to me. Except the questions were too focused on things he'd already know. Personal details no one else cared about.
After my mother moved us closer to Memorial Ketter Hospital here in New York, the letters stopped. I hadn't tried to restart communication. I'd had other things to worry about.
A loud knock came at my door. Placing everything carefully back in my desk, I shut it and hurried over to peer through the peephole cautiously. The girl waiting outside was tall, raven haired, and pushing the limits of everyday street-wear with her chocolate colored dress covered in zippers.
Chelsea Casey: fan of a thousand Pinterest boards, organic anything, and petting all the dogs. My one and only very close friend. I knew why she was here, and I groaned as I opened the door. “Hey,” I said, “You're early.”
“Oh no. No, no, no, my dear.” She dropped a plastic bag on my kitchen table. “You said you'd let me take you out. That means we do it my way.”
“But the party is in two hours!”
“And I'll need every minute to help you get ready,” she said, winking. Strutting to my closet, she threw it open. Putting her hand up, she recoiled in horror. “Maybe I should have gotten here yesterday. Do you really have no other clothes?”
“Of course,” I said, waving at myself. “I have these, too.”
“Hardy harr,” she said, digging through my outfits. “I should have brought some of mine.”
Picturing myself in the avant-garde contraptions she adored, I sank into my couch. “The world isn't ready for that. Or I'm not, anyway.”
“Mm hmm, mm hmm, very—ah! Here, this is perfect!”
“I forgot I had that,” I said, eyeballing the dress she'd yanked free.
She spun it in a circle. “It's sexy. Why have I never seen it?” Pausing, she fiddled with the zipper, revealing a piece of paper. “It still has the tag on! Have you never worn this?”
Flopping backwards, I pushed a pillow to my face. “I bought it in a fever dream of an online sale. It's not something I ever expected to really wear.”
Chelsea parked herself on the arm of the couch. “Well, tonight my dear Georgia-Bear, everyone...” She knocked the pillow off so I could see her giant grin. “Is going to see you in it and fall to pieces.”
****
The white dress clung to my curves. Even with all the running I did, it was a struggle to keep off the extra padding my eating habits created. Chelsea had once promised me—after she'd walked in on me elbow deep in bags of chips—that she knew the perfect diet.
I never bothered to explain to my friend that I didn't care if I was thin or not. Vanity couldn't have fit inside my issue-packed brain if it tried. Eating wasn't a compulsion. I did it by choice. I did it with glee.
After living multiple months with someone controlling what I ate, I appreciated being able to walk over to my cupboard and pull out whatever the hell I wanted. If living my life to the fullest meant getting soft around my edges, so what? Squishy puppies are incredibly popular on Instagram for a reason.
Chelsea parked her car next to a meter. “Sorry, we have to walk a little. There'll be no street parking left around the party at this hour.”
“It's okay, I don't mind.” She'd tried to make we wear heels, but I'd drawn the line and slipped on my favorite pearl colored flats. Traveling wouldn't be painful. For me, anyway. She'd picked out some ankle-breaking gold stilettos for herself.
At the top of the sidewalk was a small electronics store, the front window full of televisions playing different channels. We were waiting for the light to turn green when I heard a snippet from the news station. “...Police believe they've found their prime suspect responsible for the abduction of multiple women.”
Unsettled by how close to home that hit, I turned to watch. It was only a bit of grainy footage. It showed a broad shouldered man ducking into a white van outside of a gas station. His dark eyes were uncomfortably familiar. It can't be him. Impossible. The video was too brief to be certain.
Then they flashed another shot, zooming in.
Nine years had done a number on Conway. The boy was now a man, his cheeks hollowed like a male model's, but his neck was thick, his arms too muscular to work a runway. He wasn't moving on the screen, but as he
stared back at me, I imagined his serious face lighting up in a smile. I imagined our secret kiss in the dark.
The news anchor—a blonde woman in a red jacket—said, “This video is all we have of the suspicious man. Police Chief Markus is asking anyone with info to please come forward to identify him. If you see—”
“Is something wrong?”
I snapped my attention back to Chelsea. “It's just... this stuff on the TV.”
She squinted at the screen, making a face. “Everything on the news these days is gross. Come on, we're supposed to be helping you loosen up, and this,” she jerked her thumb at the host chatting away, “this is just going to make you miserable.”
It's not like she's wrong, I thought. Besides, what do I even say? “Hey, this suspicious man the police are looking for? He's the boy who saved my life! How weird, huh? Think he's single?”
Chelsea knew nothing about my kidnapping. My therapist had done a good job convincing me to talk to people about what I'd been through. She meant well, but when the first guy I'd tried seriously dating had listened to my tale, gone sickly green, then never called me again... I'd stopped bothering to let anyone into that part of my life.
I wished I could block myself away from it.
With a nervous look back at the store, I followed my friend down the street. My thoughts were still back in front of the televisions. Conway is actually alive. That thrilled me—I'd spent years wondering about him.
The police had never arrested his father, and no one could find head or tail of his boys. They hadn't even been able to find the body of the girl I'd stated again and again Facile had murdered. I knew it was true! Conway wouldn't lie about that!
But they'd dug up nothing.
No body.
No kidnapper.
Nothing but an empty house and a bed covered in straps in the basement. They believed me, but that didn't help me feel safe. I was part of an open case that everyone had forgotten about. Everyone but me.
“Come on,” Chelsea laughed. “This guy throws the best parties.” The house at the end of the street was two floors of lights and blaring music. People hooted on the grass out front, red solo cups abundant in every hand. I felt like an alien.
