With Love

by Liz Lovelock

  Lewis simply nods and keeps going. Poor guy.

  Opening the door, the first thing I notice is it’s so still. Elenore’s scent of berries mixed with a hint of lavender slams into me like a freight train. I remember the first time I ran into her at the café, worry of running into me etched on her beautiful face, each crease on her forehead pulling the strings of my heart. Then she smiled and it was like the sun peaked through those storm clouds that were in full force outside.

  Never has a girl like her, with her sassiness and not throwing herself at me, caused the type of stir I felt. When we met, I needed to know her straight away. What she liked. What she hated. What put that stellar smile on her face. She hadn’t called me, and I had a feeling I’d not get the chance to know all those things about her until lo and behold, I stumbled into her workplace.

  The taste of her sweetness, the softness of her lips have etched themselves into me. This woman is special. Elenore’s a take-home-to-meet-your-parents kind of girl, and I will if I am given a chance.

  My eyes take in her apartment. Everything’s simple, but it’s such a calming place. Turning, I shut the door with a faint click and immediately notice the quantity of locks on the door. They all lock from the inside, apart from the deadbolt that I unlocked.

  Whoa! Is she afraid of something?

  Perhaps it’s who she is. Her childhood was awful and maybe it’s how she feels safe. By locking herself in, she blocks out the outside world. Making sure she can’t be hurt again, like she was when she was younger.

  There’s a small bookshelf filled with a limited collection of paperbacks. Some miniature photo frames sit in the front of a few books. Upon closer inspection, they’re pictures of Suzie and her, some of just her, and two of Elenore with Lewis and Rebecca. She appears to have a small network of close friends.

  There’s nothing out of place in Elenore’s home—it’s neat and tidy. You could assume that it’s a model home, or that you’re about to rent it fully furnished. Nothing appears unsettled in the living room or kitchen either.

  Slowly, I move toward her bedroom. Usually, bedrooms hold people’s deepest secrets, the ones we don’t want anyone else to ever find. Stepping inside, I wish that these walls could talk. I’m sure they would give me something to go on. Something that would open up Elenore Burrows’s world and let me in.

  I check the bedside table with no luck. I know this is a part of the job, but why do I feel as if I’m prying? Opening the door to her walk-in closet, it’s stocked with her beautiful, stylish shoes and fashionable clothes. I guess all this makes sense when you see where her place of employment is. You’d need to be on your A-game to work there. Seems to me like a dog-eat-dog world amongst the walls of Forever You.

  I begin at one end of the closet and search behind the clothes. I check the floor beneath the hanging pieces of fabric. When I reach the middle, something doesn’t look right with the wall. My heart leaps with excitement at the possibly of finding something.

  After pulling out the items of clothing, I lay them on the bed carefully so I can gain a better view of the wall. It looks as if it’s been repaired, like a piece of the wall was possibly removed and then fixed. Why would Elenore have something like this in her home? What secrets could she have hidden behind that wall? I apply pressure against the panel, and it creaks and cracks.

  It’s not very well hidden. Well, maybe for pathetic burglars, but not to the trained eye. To me, it stands out like a sore thumb. I pull out my pocket knife that’s attached to my ankle and cut around the edges carefully. Plasterboard falls away. After a short time of careful cutting, I hook the blade behind the board, forcing it outward. Once I place it aside, I check what sits behind the wall with my torch, and I’m shocked. Behind the wall, covered in dust, is a stack of notebooks, journals maybe, and something else I never thought Elenore would own. A gun.

  Classes are very lonely once again, and the dirty looks I receive from my other classmates don’t go unnoticed. I may as well have leprosy because they treat me as if I have some sort of terrible illness that people don’t want to be around. At lunchtime I go back to the tree I usually sit and hide from the rest of my classmates, the place where I felt comfortable sitting all of last year. It is my sanctuary, away from the hustle and bustle, away from the glares that are becoming like shards of glass being stabbed into my heart. They dig deeper each time.

  Taking a seat in my familiar spot, I pull out the brown paper bag Suzie had left for me this morning. There is a note. Recently, she’s started writing inspirational letters to me. They help push me to be better and to want something more. Today’s reads:

  Elenore,

  You’re much more than a child. You’re a young woman with so much going for her. You’ll be looked up to one day. It might be by your own kids, or maybe you’ll change the lives of those around you. Be strong.

  Be you.

  Don’t change for anyone.

  Suzie x

  “What ya doing?” A familiar slimy voice comes from behind me. I refold the cream colored paper with flowers on it, placing it in my bag and start eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It is my favorite.

  “Hi Dean,” I respond politely, even though I don’t want to be near him. For some reason, he makes me feel gross. He has bleached blond hair and blue eyes—he is the epitome of the school jock.

  Dean takes a seat beside me. My inner alarm begins going off loudly, while the hair on the back of my neck prickles.

  “Why aren’t you inside?” He turns toward me, his hand reached out, and I flinch back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, come on, Elenore. I know you want me.” I laugh at his statement.

  His eyebrows draw together and his demeanor changes. Quickly, I clear my throat. “Look, Dean, I’m not sure what you think, but you have it all wrong. I’m not interested in you that way. I’m happy to be your friend, though.”

  In a flash, his hand has latched onto my hair, yanking it hard, pulling my face toward his.

  “Ow! Let go of me!” I cry out, pain leeching into my scalp.

  “You’re nothing but trash and, I usually get what I want.”

  I cower away as he tries to plant his lips on mine, his free hand finding its way under my loose blouse, squeezing my breast. I shove him hard, but he doesn’t budge, so I fall back with him on top of me. I came to school to escape my reality at home—now the bullying is happening in one place I thought was safe. A burning fire ignites. Something clicks into place, and I know I need to stand my ground or I’ll be the one in trouble. Reaching down, I grab his dick and balls, twisting them with all my might. Dean’s grip falters for a moment, so I take that brief relief and bring my knee up, connecting it where he is already hurting.

  I’ve not seen a boy keel over and cry out so quickly.

  My breath grows heavy. I get up and collect my bag. “Stay away from me, you filthy pig. I want nothing to do with you ever again!” I point my finger at him. “I may be trash to you, but I’m worth something. I’m not some skank who’ll let you willingly in my pants. Grow up.” I turn and walk away leaving him in pain.

  Looking toward the door, I spot Emma, her mouth hanging open. Has she witnessed the whole thing?

  “He’s all yours if you want him,” I call to her before I walk out of the school, never to go back. I can’t stand being in a place where everyone is so cruel to one another.

  I’m worth so much more.

  I open my eyes to the darkness that surrounds me. It’s night nine. Shifting slightly, I cry out in pain as a sharp ache shoots straight down my legs. Again, I’m reminded of the hell I’m in. Sitting up, my head spins, so I lean against the wall and wait for it to steady. My eyes fall on the bandage wrapped around my leg. It’s probably the cleanest part of my entire body.

  The scent of my dry vomit surrounds me, and then add in aromas of my bodily functions. Being in this cell is hell. What I wouldn’t do right now for a shower.

  It must be a full moo
n tonight. Tiny shards of light shine through the paper-covered window. The glow catches on a tray of food near the entrance of the cell, where I received my supper a few days ago. Pushing off the wall, I turn around and slide on my bottom toward the tray, since walking is out of the question for a while.

  On the tray is a bottle of water, clean bandages, antiseptic cleaner—I guess for my wound—and a bowl of biscuits along with a cold what looks to be stew. Is he taking care of me now? He could easily let me die. I know attempting to escape again wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I needed to try. I’ll never go down without a fight.

  I take a biscuit from the bowl and bite off some small pieces. Its saltiness tastes great.

  I look down and notice I’m dressed in a simple white dress, it’s like what he first put on me, but cleaner. My other one would have been covered in blood. Did he change me? Perhaps he has a conscience.

  After a few moments, I observe an envelope on the tray, along with a pen.

  “What’s this?” I say. I take the small white envelope in my hand. Lifting the unsealed flap, I pull out the piece of paper from within. It’s from him, my captor.

  Elenore,

  You have a new death sentence.

  Only time will tell what’s in store for you.

  Sincerely,

  Your Captor

  What the ever-loving hell is this? Here I was thinking he’d turned soft. Fear claws its way up my throat and tightens, restricting and cutting off my air supply. The throbbing in my leg tells me that I may not survive whatever it is he has in store for me. I’ll not go down without a fight now.

  “Do your worst, you pathetic man,” I scream at the top of my lungs. I want him to hear me, to know that I’m not like his other captives. I’ll never give up, not until my last breath is taken. I’ll fight. The fighter I was when I was a teenager has come back with years more knowledge and so much more strength.

  I sit and wait for him to show up with all his anger and rage. Beat me or something. Yet, there is nothing. Stillness fills the room like thick fog. He’ll come when I least expect it, and no matter what, I’ll be ready. I take the pen and turn the note over and begin penciling my own.

  Dear Captor,

  As I’ve said before… do your worst.

  I’ve endured a lot in my life and put up with men like yourself. I do have to say, though, you’re much more of a monster than them.

  My parents were monsters, and they got what they deserved. So you see, I know a monster when I see one.

  You’ll get what’s coming to you.

  All in good time… all in good time.

  Sincerely,

  Elenore

  After I came upon the gun and the journals, I took them back to the station, booking the gun in for ballistics and placing all the notebooks on my desk to go through. I go to Suzie’s to question her about the findings. I give a sharp knock to the door once, and she opens it with tears in her eyes.

  “We haven’t found her,” I quickly assure her, and a kind of relief washes over her features. Although this isn’t the news she hoped for, it is news of hope, since we haven’t found her body, which means she could be alive.

  “Well, at least that’s something, or you just haven’t found her body. He could have hidden her so well that we don’t find her,” her words rush out.

  I rest my hand on her shoulder giving her some comfort. “I know this is hard, Suzie. It’s not usually this killer’s modus operandi to keep the body hidden because he wants people to see his handiwork. Just remember it could be someone else still. We don’t know.”

  She clutches a tissue in her hand and steps back, allowing me inside.

  “I’ve come to talk to you about something I’ve discovered at Elenore’s apartment.”

  “Take a seat. I’ll get you a drink, then we can talk.” She wanders off to the kitchen, and I can hear her pottering around, cupboards opening and shutting and the kettle boiling. I wonder how she’ll take what I’ve found. We’re still waiting for ballistics to come back on the gun, so we don’t have much more information on that for now.

  After a minute or two, Suzie comes back in with a tray of coffee and some home-baked cookies. They taste delicious—sugary goodness—simply melting in your mouth. She takes a seat across from me in one of her recliner chairs. It’s the most worn chair in the entire living room.

  “So tell me what’s going on?” she begins.

  I take a sip of the hot coffee. Suzie makes it just how I like it. “We found something at Elenore’s apartment. Did you know she owned a gun?”

  Suzie clutches her chest. Her eyes widen with shock. “What? No! She wouldn’t. She would’ve told me if she was in trouble. We never kept secrets from each other.”

  I suspect Elenore definitely kept secrets from Suzie. “This gun in question was hidden behind a sealed part of the wall; she’d plastered over it. There was also about ten journals in there.”

  She pinches the bridge of her nose, then looks up at me pleadingly. “Can I see the journals? I used to buy her notebooks when she was a child and lived next door. Since she couldn’t escape her reality, it gave her a chance to write down her emotions.”

  I nod. I haven’t read any of the journals yet, but I plan to. “You can’t see the journals right now, they’re part of the investigation.”

  “Thank you. This entire situation is a mess. I want my girl home, safe and sound. Detective Blackwood… please bring her home.”

  Another rip to my heart. I may act all big macho man on the outside, but inside, this job really tears me apart. Especially now, watching Suzie.

  “I’ll do my best,” I reply, because it’s all I can do.

  Back at the station, I sit at my desk with the pile of notebooks.

  “What did her mother say?” Pierce says as he walks across and stands by my desk.

  “She doesn’t know anything about it,” I respond.

  He folds his arms as he thinks for a moment. “Ballistics reports the gun’s been used, but nothing shows up in the database as to who owned the gun previously or the bullets. There were a few fingerprints that, they’ve taken and are running them through the system now.”

  I nod. “I’m going to start reading some of these to get a feel for Elenore. Who she is. Maybe this isn’t our serial killer? Perhaps it’s a regular kidnapping.” I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. “Remember her parents? They weren’t the nicest of people. They dropped off the face of the earth. Maybe there’s something in here…” I lay my hand on the dusty books, “that could possibly help us with their investigation as well.”

  Pierce scoffs. “Who cares about them? We have a missing girl here who might still be alive.”

  I sense his patience is wearing thin, as is my own. “I don’t know, Pierce. I’m doing all I can, and if I have to sit here and read these over the next few days, I will. What the hell are you doing?” I never know what he’s up to. Yes, we’re partners, but there are times when I can’t locate him. I’m always having to leave to find him. Terrible, I know, but I don’t have the time to look for him when I’m trying to get things moving forward on the case.

  “Out, getting some lunch… Be back soon.” Without another word, he gets up and walks toward the door.

  I stretch back in my chair and collect one of the journals, flipping it open. The handwriting is cursive and slightly messy, as you would imagine from any teenager. Reading the first sentence is like a knife to the gut.

  Dear Diary,

  Today I ended up in the hospital. My father used a blade on me. I have an open gash across my collarbone and arm. He completely went ballistic when he found out about Suzie and what she’s been doing for me. When the doctor asked me about what happened, I lied. My father was standing there with his hard glare on me. I did what he wanted me to.

  The day I came home early, I still had my nice shirt on display because I’d been so caught up in what Dean had tried to do to me that I’d forgotten to put my rags back on o
ver my nice clothes.

  He went crazy. I’ve never seen him like this before. I’m sure he would have let me bleed out if it wasn’t for my mother screaming at him. That’s the first time she’s stood up for me, EVER. Maybe I’d be better off dead. It’s not the first time I’ve thought about taking my own life, but the thought of actually doing it scares the hell out of me.

  Now I have no friends again, I’m back to square one… a nobody. I don’t plan on going back to school. That place is my second living hell. I’ll figure something out.

  It’s now midnight as I write this. Tomorrow is my birthday, according to Suzie. I’ve never celebrated with my mom and dad, and I’ve always been too afraid to ask. I’ll be seventeen.

  I need to get my life on some sort of stable track. Perhaps I could leave this place and not come back.

  But what about Suzie? I can’t leave her; she’s the only one who cares about me.

  One day, my life will hopefully be better, and the two monsters who are my family will keel over and die, or something much, much worse. I kind of hope for the latter.

  Love,

  Elle

  If she was seventeen when all this was happening to her, I hope she’s strong enough for whatever this captor has in store for her now.

  I haven’t seen my captor since he took the tray away while he thought I was sleeping last night. I wonder if he read my note.

  I’m patiently waiting for what’s going to come my way. I hate this man. What possesses a man to do this kind of stuff? The cuts he put on my feet four days ago seem to be healing all right, but they’re warm to touch, so there’s a possible infection now from running the other night. My bullet wound looks better than the cuts, amazingly enough. Thankfully, it was a through and through.

  A loud bang sounds outside my little window, startling me upright.

  My chest seizes… He’s here.