Daddy's Little Girl

by William Malmborg

  “Ramsey?”

  She’s going to kill me anyway for what happened earlier with the storm.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  Tess clapped her hands.

  Across the hall, Officer Owen Collins was talking on the radio, having moved as far as he could from all the curious onlookers that were filtering in, the distance doing little to keep his words and those that came from the radio itself private.

  “We might not be the only ones that head to the cemetery,” Ramsey noted, the soft words of Old Grove Cemetery leaving the lips of several people that had gathered.

  “Most came in on the buses,” Tess said.

  “But not all.”

  Theirs had not been the only car in the parking lot when they had arrived at the school, and even those who didn’t have vehicles in the lot would likely have phones in their pockets and could call others who did have vehicles. Word was going to spread. They would not be the only ones trying to get a piece of the action.

  “Let’s go.”

  The house was empty, though not dark, the flicker of candlelight easily visible through the windows.

  “What’s her car look like?” Katie asked.

  “Um…blue, I guess. Four doors. It’s a Hyundai.”

  “Plate number?”

  Gloria shrugged.

  “Anything else? Dents, ribbons, stickers?”

  “Oh, she has a breast cancer ribbon thing and a pride sticker. Someone tried tearing that off, so it’s kind of messed up.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  Gloria shook her head.

  Katie took out her phone. “What’s her number?”

  “Um…” Gloria pulled out her own phone, thumbed it a bit, and then read off the digits.

  Katie dialed while she did this and then hit Send.

  The phone on the other end rang three times before being picked up.

  “Hello?” a voice asked.

  “Lindsey?” Katie asked.

  “No, this is Liz. Lindsey’s driving.”

  “Liz, this is Officer Katie Adams with the Smallwood Police Department. I want you and Lindsey to pull over right now, tell me where you are, and wait for me.”

  Liz conveyed the message and then came back on the phone. “Lindsey says no.”

  “Lindsey is committing a crime right now, and if you two don’t pull over and stop this foolishness, you will both be charged.”

  “Bullshit!” a voice, likely Lindsey’s, cried.

  Katie shook her head. “Liz, do you have any idea what she is dragging you into?”

  “Yes,” Liz said, though there was hesitation in her voice.

  “I don’t think you do,” Katie said. “The girl you heard on the radio is a kidnap victim, the most recent by a man who has been kidnapping, raping, and killing girls like you two for years. Do not—”

  “I called the station four times to let them know my dad was missing!” a voice on the other end shouted. “And they did nothing!”

  “Lindsey, I’m sorry. There is no excuse for what has happened, but that doesn’t mean you should—”

  “It’s still Liz,” Liz said, cutting her off.

  “Okay, then tell her that she knows better than to do what she is doing. Tell her that we have officers heading down that way to the cemetery, and that this will all be over soon.”

  The phone disconnected.

  Katie sighed with frustration.

  “She’s stubborn,” Gloria said.

  “Yeah,” Katie agreed. “You live near here?”

  “Just a few streets down.”

  “Okay, I want you to head home and stay inside.”

  “Maybe I should come with you, so I can point out their car when you come upon it.”

  Katie considered this and then nodded, her hand motioning for the girl to get into the passenger seat once again. “And you stay there unless I say otherwise, understand?”

  Gloria nodded.

  Lights still flashing, Katie shifted to drive and started toward Route 7, her hope being that Lindsey would have gone that way as well given that it was the most direct and quickest way to get to the area of the Old Grove Cemetery.

  And if not?

  Maybe they would get there first and be able to keep the situation from becoming even more fucked up.

  “That was Katie?” Bitsy asked after the phone call was finished, her ears having listened while her eyes stayed focused on everything beyond the window.

  “It was,” Lindsey said.

  “She’s nice.”

  “You know her?”

  “Yes,” Bitsy said. “She’s the one that gave me the sweatshirt and pants. And some pizza and soda. But she wasn’t really going to help me find Misty and the Daddy-man. She pretended she was, but I heard them talking about it when they thought I was sleeping.”

  Lindsey didn’t say anything.

  Bitsy shifted her gaze down to the dress she was wearing. She liked it but wondered if Misty would.

  Was she still mad about the other night?

  Had it all been an elaborate test?

  One that she failed?

  No.

  Misty had enjoyed what they had done, her mind having been curious and wanting to try the activities for quite some time—ever since stumbling upon the old video of her mother and hearing what the Daddy-man said while holding her down and putting his boy part into her butt, her wrists bound behind her, fingers fisted, knuckles as white as her blouse.

  “I’m going to raise her to be my very own schoolgirl slave,” he had said while thrusting, Misty’s mother squirming and screaming against the ring gag that held her mouth open. “Her only purpose in life will be to bring me pleasure and to endure whatever torments I decide to inflict upon her.”

  “Nooo!” echoed from the wide-open mouth, the gag unable to prevent the word or its meaning.

  “Yes,” the Daddy-man hissed and then pulled himself free from her butt and twisted her around so that her mouth was before him, ring holding it wide, his hips thrusting his boy part through the ring and into her mouth until he finished, several silly-sounding grunts echoing from his lips.

  He then left her on the ground for several minutes, the camera only showing part of her body as it lay bound, mouth still held open, boy juice flowing out, breasts exposed from where her blouse had been opened, the noise of her breathing heavily through her sobs the only sounds.

  And then…

  “I’m going to teach her to like it,” he said while sitting on the edge of the bed, his sticky boy part shrinking. “She’s going to crave it, her tiny lips begging for my cock, her pussy and ass trained to take it whenever I please, all because you’re a lying sack of shit.”

  The gagged mouth tried to speak, the word inaudible.

  “What?” he asked.

  She repeated herself, the words slower.

  “You didn’t know?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  His fingers grabbed a chunk of her hair and lifted her by it, bringing her back to her knees, gag barely masking the scream from her throat. “They had a special about your disappearance last night on Dateline. They said you and your boyfriend fought the night before I took you.” He punctuated the statement with a slap across her face. “Because you wouldn’t have an abortion.” Another slap. “You knew it wasn’t mine from the beginning!” He threw her onto the bed, his boy part having firmed up again. “You lied to me!” He pressed himself against her butt, his firmness not yet to the point where it would go in. “I thought she was mine.” Tears exploded, his eyes leaking as if a dam had been broken. “All this time, I thought she was mine.” He crumpled until his back was against the bed, sobs echoing. Misty’s mother joined him, body slowly working its way down until his head was able to rest upon her chest while her back was supported by the bed, a word that might have been “sorry” leaving her gagged lips.

  Misty had watched it over and over again, Bitsy sitting on the ground beside her, unsure of what to say.
/>   “I’m supposed to be his schoolgirl slave?” Misty finally asked.

  “That’s what it sounds like,” Bitsy confirmed.

  “But he hasn’t taught me anything.”

  Bitsy didn’t reply.

  “Does he not like me?”

  “He likes you. You’re his—” She had been about to say “daughter” but then caught herself since that obviously wasn’t the case, according to the video. Instead, she said, “Maybe he’s worried you won’t like it?”

  “Bitsy?”

  Bitsy blinked, her focus returning to the car.

  Lindsey was turned around, looking at her, the car having stopped at some point.

  “Yeah?” Bitsy asked.

  “Do you recognize any of this?” Lindsey asked, hand motioning to the window next to her.

  Bitsy looked toward the glass, eyes taking a moment to focus.

  “Yes!” she said, seeing one of the brick columns of the gate she had passed after walking through the cemetery and finding the road, which she had crossed, her hopes being that the house beyond it in the field would have someone that could help Misty and the Daddy-man. It hadn’t, her journey continuing across the field until she found another road, which was when she saw the red car making a turn and ran out to try to stop it. “This is it!”

  “And Misty and the Daddy-man are in there somewhere?”

  “No, behind it.” Bitsy pointed. “There is a field that leads to a house, and the van is in front of the house.”

  “Wait, you crossed through a field first before coming to the cemetery?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit!” Lindsey snapped and hit the wheel.

  “How long did it take you to cross?” Liz asked.

  “I don’t know. My head hurt and I was dizzy.” Bitsy hadn’t meant to upset Lindsey. “I’m sorry—”

  “Did you cross any roads between the van and here?” Lindsey asked, cutting her off.

  “Roads? No.”

  “So the barn that the van is at is on the opposite side of this field,” Liz said. It had not been a question and had been directed at Lindsey rather than Bitsy, so Bitsy simply waited.

  Lindsey considered this for a moment and then said, “There should be a road up here, right, one that will connect us?”

  “I think so,” Liz said. “The bus uses it to pick up George and Martin.”

  “Okay.”

  Bitsy sensed a newfound optimism within Lindsey, one that made her think that the girl was no longer mad at her, which was nice.

  Would it be the same with Misty?

  Or was that situation different?

  Were her actions unforgivable?

  If so, Bitsy would allow the necessary cuts to be made so that it would never happen again, though not without a sense of loss given how much she had enjoyed the sensations that her boy parts had experienced that night. She liked acting like the Daddy-man with Misty. So much so that she wanted to do it again.

  And not just with her.

  She wanted to do it with Lindsey.

  And now that she realized that Lindsey was able to be a schoolgirl, her desire was even stronger.

  Would she be able to act like the Daddy-man with Lindsey?

  Would Misty allow it?

  Would the Daddy-man?

  Misty might, but the Daddy-man wouldn’t, but that was okay, because he often was gone during the days, during which Misty and she would play with the schoolgirls.

  But what if he finds out?

  The Daddy-man didn’t like her.

  It made her sad.

  And scared.

  The only reason the Daddy-man put up with her was because Misty liked her, and if the other night had ruined that, then she might decide it was okay for the Daddy-man to get rid of her.

  Would it be better to just stay with Lindsey?

  Would she want to keep her?

  No, she had to try with Misty.

  After all these years, and all the fun they’d had, one night couldn’t ruin it completely.

  If it had, she wouldn’t have wasted time punishing her. Instead, she would have just gotten rid of her.

  The car began moving again.

  They were heading to the road beyond the cemetery, the one that Liz said would take them to the road the farm was on, the one that the van had been driving down when the tornado caught them.

  They were getting close.

  So close that she started to examine her dress while seated, fingers making sure everything was done up correctly and that her boy parts were tucked away like they should be, Liz having given her a pair of Lindsey’s panties to make sure everything was kept secure and wouldn’t poke out the way it had while in the pants.

  She was acting like a boy!

  She felt it when reaching down to make sure those parts weren’t going to be a problem.

  It was the stupid thoughts on the night with Misty and acting like the Daddy-man.

  She had liked putting her boy parts inside of Misty and now couldn’t help but feel an excitement building even though she didn’t want it to be there. And the panties weren’t doing a good job keeping it hidden.

  No! No! No!

  Closing her eyes, she tried to think of things that would make it go away, things that Misty had done in response to moments like this.

  The firecrackers came to mind, yet for some reason didn’t work.

  Nor did the memory of the cigarette tip.

  Being kicked had always hurt too, but didn’t make it disappear.

  Or the rope tied around the dangling sacks and being lifted to the tips of her toes while her hands were tied behind her back, Misty threatening to lift her off the ground by them if she didn’t shrink it back down.

  It hadn’t worked then, and the thought of it didn’t work now.

  Nothing ever did.

  Eleven

  Like the uniform, the police car that the policewoman had arrived in was different from the one that the policeman had been in, the colors and the words County Sheriff being the biggest differences on the outside, the computer the big one on the inside.

  A picture of the schoolgirl appeared on the computer screen.

  Misty nearly gasped at the sight.

  Words were present as well, ones that she had to lean in to see.

  They described the circumstances of Abigail Abbott’s abduction, and then mentioned their home and that an attempt had been made to burn it down.

  Attempt?

  Misty leaned in closer to touch the mouse pad, finger carefully scrolling down so she could keep reading, her eyes quickly drawn to a picture of her daddy. It had been taken in front of the college where he worked, the sweater vest he wore one she had gotten him as a gift from Amazon. All the gifts she bought for him, and the things she bought for herself, came from Amazon, her daddy having been initially surprised and then angry when he found out she had used a Visa gift card that she had found in the purse belonging to one of the schoolgirls he had brought home.

  After that, he had gotten her her own gift cards to use, the money he put on them a type of allowance for the chores she was assigned around the house while he was working, ones that she often had Bitsy do while wearing a frilly maid outfit. One that Misty had, naturally, gotten from Amazon.

  Bitsy.

  A picture of her and Misty was present beneath the one of her daddy, both of them smiling for the camera that Misty held.

  How had they gotten it?

  From the house?

  The box beneath her bed?

  She had frantically searched it in hopes of finding all the pictures of her mother, ones that she didn’t want to leave behind to be consumed by the fire. But now it seemed that nothing had been consumed by the fire. Daddy had been wrong. Just like with the storm. He had said everything would be fine when she had been worried about how dark everything was getting. And he had made the mistake with the schoolgirl that had forced them to leave the house.

  It was unthinkable.

  Never b
efore would she have thought he could make so many bad choices.

  It was—

  Smallwood!

  The name was on the computer screen, written beneath the picture of her and Bitsy.

  It was also on the policeman’s car.

  They obviously were in or near Smallwood.

  She had known this after seeing a sign while in the van, but now the police seemed to know.

  How?

  Had it been the cry for help that the schoolgirl had made?

  If so, how had everything come together so quickly?

  Misty didn’t know much about the police—beyond what she saw on Netflix and Amazon and read in her books—but even so, she didn’t think the one radio call would have been enough for them to figure all this out and send out bulletins like this full of pictures.

  Bitsy?

  Had she told them everything?

  Is that where she had ended up?

  With the police?

  The thought twisted her insides, nearly forcing her to the ground beside the open car door where the schoolgirl sat.

  Why would Bitsy do that?

  Why would she talk to them?

  After all the fun they’d had together, and all the things she had bought for them to play with?

  Why would she betray her?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Unless—

  She thought about all the times they had pretended that Bitsy was a prisoner being tortured for information. Though Bitsy was tough and could endure quite a bit, there were certain things that would always get her to talk, things that would probably make anyone with boy parts talk.

  Had the police done that to her?

  Had they burned her?

  Had they threatened her with clippers?

  No.

  Even if the police here in Smallwood had resorted to such measures, they would have had to have a reason to do so, and coming across a frightened girl that was weary from the storm wouldn’t have been one.

  Bitsy had talked.

  She had betrayed them.

  Betrayed her.

  It was the only logical explanation.

  Movement!

  On the ground, just beyond where her feet were while leaning in the car.