by Leigh Lennon
“What? Where am I?” She pushed back until her back hit the bedframe.
“We are in Canada. Actually, Alberta. Outside Calgary, to be exact.”
While rubbing the indentations from the ropes, she calculated she was a good half-day from her home in Washington State. Still itching at her wrists, she locked eyes with his dark brown ones and asked, “Why would I agree to this deal?” She was scared, but because he was charming, it somehow calmed her nerves, which rattled her more.
He grabbed her hands in his, standing directly across from her. “You’re probably weak. I need you to lie down for a while, and I’ll help you up gradually. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He paused. His tone was low and controlled and sounded like her mom’s when she was sick. Her mom always tended to every one of her needs in a way she never quite did for her siblings. Right now, she longed for that maternal touch, not this fakeness that only reminded her of the grief her mother must be feeling right this moment, even if this man could be the next Calvin Klein model.
“You bring up a good question, though,” the strange man said. “Why would you agree to this deal, to stay here for six months? I guess you don’t really have a choice in the matter, but I’ll tell you, true to my word, I will take you back if you still want to go. But again, I’m only trying to protect you. You were crying last night and were scared, remember that?”
She did understand as fragments of her memory brought back the heated conversation between her and him; a man in her life at home she should be able to trust, not one who scared the shit out of her. The subject this time was Ethan and how she’d started dating again and didn’t tell him.
Her heart beat frantically at the little parts she did remember and at the thought of this stranger wanting to keep her from her family for six months. “Why would I believe a man who drugged me and brought me here? How is that protecting me?” She didn’t have the strength to cry or scream or claw his eyes out even though she wanted to.
“True,” he said. “You got me there. I was afraid, I guess. That’s all I can really say, Mikayla.”
“Who are you?”
“Well, as I told you last night, I’m Nolan. Or at least that’s what you can call me for now.”
With beads of sweat layering her skin, she realized Nolan was not his real name. How could she believe this man who wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted? A million questions raced through her mind. She wanted to scream and punch him, then run into the day or night. Though she had no idea what day it was, let alone the time of the day. In this room with the windows boarded up, she continued to fear the man who was holding her against her will. Longing to look around for a clue, anything that would aid in her escape, only one question mattered.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She couldn’t even call him Nolan. To acknowledge the fake name would be to admit this was real, and she couldn’t do that.
“Would you believe me if I said I’m a very normal guy? I’m not sure how to answer your question, Mikayla. You were in trouble, and I felt I could help.” He seemed sincere, but then again, sincere men didn’t take innocent girls out of the country.
“Why should I believe you? There is no way in hell I’ll trust you,” she spat with anger that took hold of every part of her body.
“Fair enough, Mikayla. Just know there are reasons I want to protect you, but I’ll divulge more on that later,” he casually said, standing to take his leave.
Attractiveness aside, this man in front of her was buttering her up for the slaughter—she’d lay down her defenses, and he’d strangle her or slit her throat. It had to be his sick obsession. He probably took some sort of memento from all his victims. Visually searching the area around her body, she wondered what he would take. Would it be her long dangly earrings that clatter when she moved her head? The ring with the beautiful emerald birthstone her mom gave her when she graduated? Or the sterling silver necklace with a soccer ball her sister gave her to mark the completion of ten successful years in the sport?
She finally said, “I don’t believe you, whatever your name is, so if you are going to hurt me, do it now and put me out of my misery.”
He grabbed her hand and tried to kiss it before she yanked it away. “I would take a knife to my body before I let any harm come to you, Mikayla. I know that is hard to believe, but I want to treasure you, and after six months, if you need to go home, just know I will take you.”
“I still don’t believe you. I want to be left alone,” she begged with raw emotion cracking through her voice.
“I’ll leave you be, but I’ll be checking on you soon.” Bending over, he brought his lips so close they almost touched hers, whispering, “I did this for your own good, so the sooner you get that through your thick skull and admit you’re in trouble, the easier this will go.”
Trembling, she tried to create space between them, but he only grabbed her head, making it impossible to move. “You and I shared a connection, but you are in trouble.” Releasing her and returning to the stupid as fuck smile that lined his face earlier, he continued, “The rules are simple while you are here. You’re free to roam the house and the grounds. You will find we are in the dead of winter. You won’t get far on the hundreds of acres I own, so you will have freedom. At night will be the only time you are confined to your room. I’ll do everything to make your stay as comfortable as possible,” he stated, again with a convincing genuineness.
“If I’m stuck here for six months, do me a favor and just leave me the fuck alone. I don’t need to get to know you because I fucking hate you already.” In her mind, she’d fight him every way she could, but her voice trembled like a scared little girl who wanted her mom.
Again, he invaded her space, resting his head even with hers. “Oh, sweetness, I can’t leave you alone. You deserve better than that. I’ll see you in an hour.” He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mikayla. But if you could, I need you to think of a new name, probably something more Canadian. Can you do that?”
He’d taken her from her mother, and now he wanted to take her identity. “Why?” Her tone betrayed her again, and when she meant to sound like a badass fighting for her freedom, she sounded like a little girl.
“I can’t quite call you Mikayla when we start our new life together, you know. I think you look like a Colette. I’ve never had a connection with anyone like you. You’ll remember; some of it will come back to you little by little.”
“Fat fucking chance!” she screamed, turning from him.
As he touched her side, the weight of his hands should have repulsed her, but they didn’t, and that scared her more. Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he said, “But I remember how my words made your face redden and your nipples harden through your thin t-shirt. I did something to you with my words. Just think how much more my touch could do.”
As Mikayla turned toward him to kick him in the balls again, he’d already moved from her, and the same kind smile returned to his face, as if the last words he said were from an evil twin.
“Back to the name. Colette is my choice, but it’s up to you, sweetness.” He sauntered toward the door, showering her with attentive concern. “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink or eat?”
Still weak and unable to protest too much, she considered his eyes and pleaded. “Please let me go home.” It was all she wanted. Even at the ripe old age of eighteen, she still wanted her mother.
Taylor
Taylor remembered when Mikayla was taken. She was just a year her junior, finishing up her last year in high school. It was scary that this local apple pie of a girl disappeared right out from under her family’s noses.
It resonated deeply with her from the moment she found out, and though she was an everyday teen, her biggest concern was when and where her next night on the town would take her, but with the kidnapping of Mikayla Miller, her life would never be the same.
She had a boyfriend who she planned to
follow to college and parents who she infuriated at times as she pushed the envelope of what she could do, just as any normal teen did.
Taylor came home that night, ate a helping of chicken potpie, and then crawled into bed, calling her boyfriend, Phillip, one last time before sleep claimed her. The topic of sex had come up in their many phone conversations, and he hinted that he’d reserved a room the night of prom. It would take her all those months to work up the courage to lose her virginity to him; even though in her seventeen-year-old mind, she loved him. Her willingness to follow him to Seattle for school almost meant an engagement in teen terms. But the next morning, her whole outlook on life would change. She just didn’t know it yet.
2
Present
September
Libby
Libby Miller gazed out the same window she had watched Mikayla, Jenna, and Blake ride their bikes growing up. She imagined Mikayla with her pigtails as Adam worked with her to pedal faster and faster until he’d let go, the momentum holding her upright.
She had the same memories of Jenna and Blake out on the front porch playing with chalk or running through the sprinklers as Libby looked on from the privacy of her house, smiling at them.
She’d never be able to escape the memories of Mikayla, though; they were more precious now. The front window where she sat drinking coffee, reading a book, or sipping tea was a portal to the past. Now, with everyone but Adam gone, she used this window to visit the yesteryears as if it was indeed a time machine.
Now that it was almost autumn and summer clothes were traded in for jackets, everyone went outside to enjoy the warmth until winter descended on them. She still used that window to watch her grandkids. Blake and Jenna’s children were precious to her. Watching Emily, Anna, Trent, and Dexter through that window brought her back to a time of pure elation. She’d never see Mikayla’s children through her large bay window, and every time she watched her other grandchildren, a little piece of her died at the thought.
“Mom!” Jenna shouted as she walked into the back of the house holding Anna with one hand and watching as Emily toddled in before her.
Heading toward the kitchen, she said quickly, “Oh, let me help you with that, dear.” She scooped up the pudgy Emmy and swung Anna into her spare arm. “Good morning, my lovelies. I get to spend all day with my two favorite girls. How does that sound?”
“Grammy, I wuv you,” Emily said as she squeezed Libby’s cheeks.
“I love you too, Emmy.” Her heart was full, and she could never get enough of these kids.
“Mom, I have Anna’s organic carrots. Remember, she can’t have any other food besides what I’ve packed. She can’t eat the same food as Emmy, or she’ll break out, and we’ll end up in the hospital.” It was a wonder she ever raised three kids of her own. According to Jenna, every time she left her kids with her, they would always end up in the hospital if she was not careful.
“Oh, sweetie, this is not my first rodeo, remember? I did raise three healthy children, and to the best of my knowledge, I never landed any of you in the hospital. Your brother only ended up in the ER because he thought he could walk out on the rickety branch, and it wasn’t even on my watch,” she said, teasing her anxiety-ridden firstborn.
“Yes, Mother, I know.” Her reply was delivered in a high-pitch sigh. Jenna continued as she entered the living room, surveying the space. Libby was sure she’d have a comment concerning the state of her house, though it was immaculate. “You just never had one who was allergic to everything like Anna Banana here.”
“Listen, dear, you leave for the day with Trent. Enjoy the field trip and you will come home to the same number of babies you left me with, I promise.” Libby winked at her daughter in an attempt to appease Jenna’s anxiety. By the look on her face, she was failing.
Jenna finally laughed at herself, appreciating her silliness, and said, “Okay, Mom. Call me if you need anything. I’d better run; Trent is in the car ready to go.”
After Jenna left the house, Emmy said, “Never fought dat woman would leave, Grammy!”
Jenna could linger if given the opportunity. She was so high strung. For only three years old, Emmy was very articulate. Finally, she said, “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Ems.”
As she sat down on the floor to play with nine-month-old Anna in her arms, the phone rang, but nothing could be more important than spending time playing Barbie with Emmy or loving on her Anna. Letting the answering machine pick up, she stayed put with her grandkids.
She heard the same normal greeting play: “This is the Miller’s. Leave a message and we just might get back to you.”
An unfamiliar voice began to speak. “Hi, my name is Oscar Mitchell. This is going to sound weird, but a woman approached me yesterday and handed me a hundred dollars and an envelope. She asked me to call this number in twenty-four hours and read the contents of it to you.” She sat with her granddaughters, thinking this was some sort of scam. “Anyway, here is what it has to say.
‘Mom and Dad- It’s Mikayla. I know you probably won’t believe it’s me, but it is. Remember when I fell off my bed and got a scar on my left ear? Only I could achieve that. I’m okay, and I’m happy. I just wanted you to know.” Before he could finish the letter, she was on her feet with Anna on her hip and Emmy running with her grammy toward the phone. In the coolness of the house, Libby’s entire body broke out in a cold sweat. Between her trembling hands and damp palms, she’d barely been able to bring the headset to her ear.
With Anna screaming, sensing her grammy and Emmy asking a million questions, she finally could speak. “Hello, who is this?”
Once she could understand the whole story from Oscar Mitchell, he read the rest of the letter from the beginning to end. It continued, “I know you don’t understand, and I’m not sure I do either, but I love you. Again, I’m happy. Please know this. Love, Mikayla.”
After she explained to Oscar Mitchell, with crying kids in the background, that her daughter Mikayla disappeared twelve years ago, he was happy to help in any way he could.
As soon as she could reach Adam and her daughter-in-law, Taylor, they rushed to the house in minutes along with the local police.
Taylor, seven months pregnant, was a godsend and a wonderful fit for the Miller family. Though she’d never met Mikayla, Libby felt as if Taylor knew her long-lost sister-in-law better than she knew any of the other Millers, even her own husband. Taylor scooped up Emmy and Anna, along with Dexter, who was in her shadows, and took them all upstairs and out of the hoopla. Blake arrived thirty minutes after everyone else, and they all sat there, struck with wonder, disbelief, and sadness that after all these years, they’d finally heard from Mikayla.
Taylor
She remembered when Mikayla Miller vanished but wasn’t aware of her future husband’s genealogy until Blake became a staunch fixture in her life. At first, she didn’t understand Blake. Early on in their relationship, she saw him as an enigma, someone who had been on his way to the NFL, just to have it stripped away. But even in the small bits and pieces of information he divulged, he was all she wanted, the man of her dreams. Even though he was five years her elder, he was the only man she’d slept with, and she loved him instantly. Everything about Blake Miller shouted and screamed “family man.”
For some reason no one could ever explain, Mikayla’s disappearance was the only news story Taylor kept up with that year. All the hearsay of this missing girl was her new obsession. Taylor’s very own sister, Alyssa, called Mikayla her long-lost sister from a parallel universe because of her fixation on the Miller case. Through the eleven years she’d been a part of the Miller clan, she knew Mikayla better than she knew Jenna, and she had never met her missing sister-in-law. Everyone still talked about her as if she’d walk back through the door at any second. “Mikayla would love being an aunt,” people would say. “She’d love you, Taylor, and you two would be the best of friends.” Libby was adamant about this fact. She wondered if Libby had always treated
her more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law because she missed Mikayla immensely.
When Blake suggested they name their baby girl after his missing sister, she wasn’t sure she wanted her child to carry that burden. She felt naming their baby girl Kayla might be a better way to honor their daughter and Blake’s sister than giving her the full name of a missing person. However, the damage was already done when she suggested this to her husband. It was a long fight, and Blake accused her of a lack of sympathy. Taylor came back and said maybe she’d know more about his sister if he opened up, and at the comment, Blake lit in to her, calling her callous and cunning. In the end, Blake felt like an ass and begged his beloved wife for forgiveness. That didn’t change his mind, but they compromised a little and said they would give her a nickname. Of course, it was one he’d pick—she knew that already. Blake’s word was steadier than the Ten Commandments.
Arriving at her in-laws’ house seven months pregnant with a toddler in tow, she tried to shelter her nieces and son from her distraught mother-in-law but wondered when the local news stations would pick up the new development of this letter that appeared out of thin air.
She recalled all the parents in Bellingham, including her own, tightening the reins of their children in the area. No one knew if this was a random tragedy or planned, and some feared Washington might have another serial killer on its hands. There was never a trace of Mikayla, and it baffled investigators, especially Fallon, the detective assigned to the Miller case.
When she met Blake Miller, she had no idea he was that Miller. In order to graduate early, she had to take summer classes, and her first summer session was in Professor Miller’s Economics class. Noticing the cute guy, she’d assumed he was a graduate student, but she found out later the professor had wrangled his son to work for him that one summer. She felt him watching her constantly, and it wasn’t hard to reciprocate those feelings because he was handsome. With light brown hair and deep green eyes, his sex appeal could marvel any rising Hollywood star. However, in the end, when she’d tried to spark conversation with the cute assistant, nothing seemed to work. She’d been baffled. Maybe she misread the signals.
