Wanting Winter

by J. L. Ostle

  Candice glares at him. “It happens all the time. It has been four weeks—four fucking weeks—since any of us actually saw her or even heard her voice. The school are only getting emails from her, but no phone calls, nothing. I’m sorry but I know something isn’t right.”

  “I think she’s right,” I say.

  “Of course you do.” Drake rolls his eyes and this time I glare at him.

  “She replied back,” Candice says, looking to the phone. She frowns. “She said she is having some Mom time and to not message back until she gets her head sorted.” We all look to her. “I really think something is wrong. Wait. I’ve got an idea,” she shouts, heading to Winter’s room.

  We all follow her.

  “What are you doing now?” Joshua asks her.

  “I remember Winter mentioning a neighbor; if the neighbor says they have seen Winter, then I’m wrong, but if they say no one has been in her parents’ house, we need to go to the police.”

  “Don’t you think you are blowing this way out of proportion?” Drake asks her.

  “How would you feel with yourself if you find out that I’m right and someone took Winter and is hurting her, or worse?” She gives Drake a look.

  “Call them,” I say. I don’t care what Drake or Joshua thinks. I need to know she is okay.

  Candice goes through the phone book until she recognizes a name and calls them, and from what I hear on this end, no one has been in the house apart from them to water the plants.

  “I knew something was wrong, I felt it,” I say out loud.

  “We don’t know for sure if anything is wrong,” Drake says coming to my side.

  I look at him angrily. “This is meant to be the girl who you have crushed on, and now it seems like you don’t fucking care,” I shout at him.

  “Of course I care; I just think we are all thinking of the worst-case scenario.”

  I ignore him. “Candice call the police.”

  Winter

  I have lost count now how long I have been here now. The days and nights have muddled altogether. It could be months, but I wouldn’t know.

  I hate it when I’m on my own as I start to over-think.

  I’ve started to blame people.

  Thinking about the what-ifs.

  Anger starts to take over me. I’m angry with Patrick for doing this to me, I’m angry with my so-called friends for not looking for me. I am angry with the three men in my life. I am mainly angry at myself, if I just stuck to being with no one, Patrick wouldn’t have done this to me.

  Something made him snap.

  I have got myself into a routine: Patrick walks in and I stand in the middle of the room waiting for instructions. I know that the sooner he has done what he needs to do, the sooner it all stops and I can self-dwell again.

  The door opens, and I get up from the floor, away from my spot. He storms over, his hands palming my face, his eyes looking into mine, searching for something I don’t know what. He steps back, his hands fisting his hair swearing over and over.

  I don’t say anything. I just watch him have some sort of break down.

  “I need to move you,” he tells me.

  He brings over some bags he left near the door and empties everything on the floor. I look at some products on the floor confused.

  “We are going to dye your hair.”

  My hair?

  I know my hair is a mess—it feels greasy and tangled—but it's my rocker look. I love my black and blue hair.

  He makes me take a seat and starts putting the product in my hair, leaving in for a while before he washes it out, I see the color going down the drain. I feel now he has taken another piece of me—a piece I didn’t think was there.

  He puts on another hair product in my hair before washing it out and then leaves, coming the following day to put another hair product in my hair. He does this for the next few days until he is happy with the final look. From the color going down the drain I know he has turned me into a blonde.

  I am happy there is no mirror down here as I don’t want to see myself.

  He says he’s going to take me somewhere else; I am just looking forward to going outside and getting some fresh air.

  Away from this hellish dark place.

  Trent

  It has been over a week since we called the police, a fucking week, and there are no leads to where Winter is. The police went around town, to her neighbors, to her classmates but no one has seen her in almost six weeks.

  Six weeks.

  Six fucking weeks.

  She could be someone’s slave, or worse dead.

  Fuck.

  Her parents came back home once the police inform them that they found a chloroform substance in her apartment.

  Someone came in and drugged her and took her away.

  Drake is in some sort of depression, blaming himself for not believing Candice or worrying as much as I did. He goes on about how he should have stayed with Winter that night. We have all talked about what-ifs, but now I just keep praying that she is okay.

  She’s a strong person.

  Walking around campus, skipping another class, I wonder where she could be. Is she even still in the country?

  I am in my own thoughts when I spot Patrick down the hall. I see dark circles under his eyes; I guess he is missing and worrying about Winter just as much as the rest of us. “Patrick,” I call out. He looks up a little jumpy.

  “Hey, Trent,” he says, looking back in his backpack.

  “How are you holding up?” I clap his shoulder and he almost jumps out of his skin.

  “Sorry, haven’t slept much lately. I’m doing okay, all things considering. I just miss seeing her around the halls—seeing her smile.” He looks to the ground.

  “I know what you mean. She is full of spirit that one. I am sure they will find her soon,” I tell myself as well as him.

  “I hope so,” he says half-heartedly before walking away. I lean against his locker when I spot a book on the floor that he must have dropped. Bending down and picking it up, I realize it’s a photo book. I look back up, but he’s gone. I start flipping through the photos, seeing him and Winter back in freshman year and pictures of her and Candice smiling and posing for the camera. I wish I’d known her back then also.

  I touch the picture of her smiling and sigh, banging my head against the locker.

  I miss her so much.

  Deciding to head home, I take the album with me and once I am in my room, I lay down looking up at the ceiling, feeling defeated.

  Winter is a missing person.

  They say after a certain amount of time, there’s a slimmer chance of ever finding them. For the first time, tears fall down my cheeks.

  Angrily I throw the album against the wall.

  Winter

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Patrick says as he squeezes a sponge in a basin of warm water. He washes my body clean and I just sit there letting him get on with it.

  It’s when he shows me clothes that I almost gasp.

  Clothes.

  I haven’t worn clothes for so long.

  You don’t realize how much you miss something so insignificant until it’s gone. You don’t ever think you won’t be allowed to wearing clothing. It’s something you expect.

  He passes me a pair of black lace underwear and bra, but my boobs don’t fill the cups. The skinny jeans would have fallen down if it weren’t for the belt holding them up. The blouse hangs off me.

  He looks at me, really looks at me.

  No desire.

  Just a little anger and a little disgust.

  “Put these on.” He hands me a pair of sunglasses. Even though its early in the morning, he is making sure no one will recognize me.

  I have had thoughts about trying to run away once I’m outside, but with my body so weak and undernourished, I wouldn’t get very far and I don’t want to be punished: I know if I run, he will find a way to break me.

  He pulls me to his side and opens the door
and we start walking out. We walk up the stairs to the ground floor. When I see the main door to head outside, I almost smile. I’m going to get some fresh air.

  I am going to be out.

  When we step out into the breezy air, I breathe everything in.

  I look around, seeing the trees, the street lamps. I glance all around me, savoring every last bit. Looking back at the building behind me that has been my home, my prison. I gaze up, looking up at the windows, seeing at Drake and Trent’s place.

  Wanting for them to look out.

  Just to have a glimpse of them.

  I continue walking, but I start to tire and my body feels heavy. I fall to the ground, my legs too weak to stand. I haven’t walked in so long. My head starts to feel dizzy.

  “Winter, get up,” Patrick orders me.

  I try but my legs won’t comply.

  “Fuck Winter, get up.” He looks around us. I hold onto his arms to help me stand but it's like my body just gave in.

  Darkness starts to take over, my head falls back, and my eyes try to focus on the street lights.

  What is happening to me?

  “Winter, come on, don’t fall asleep.” Patrick smacks my face, but I can't really feel it.

  I hear my name.

  “Winter?”

  It’s not Patrick’s voice.

  Someone has found me.

  They found me.

  I smile before darkness takes over.

  Trent

  “There are some sick fucks in this world,” I yell. Joshua put up a reward for finding Winter and someone has pretended to be her. She is missing, and someone is trying to get a quick buck.

  “Someone will find her,” Joshua says, but I can even hear the doubt in his voice. He looks at his phone, typing out a message, smiling. I have seen him talking to a girl at school and I am sure it's her he is texting.

  “You should have let me punch her,” Candice says angrily.

  “That would have helped.” Drake rolls his eyes.

  “It would have,” she spits back at him.

  “Will you two pack it in. Jesus,” I yell at them. They are like bickering two-year-olds.

  “Sorry,” Candice says. “She deserved a punch though. She didn’t even look anything like Winter, she wasn’t pretty enough.”

  “She wasn’t,” Drake says. They give each other a small smile.

  “I miss her. Thinking about how I treated her, and now she could be…” Candice starts to cry and Drake pulls her in, hugging her.

  “She’s okay. I just know it.” He tries to reassure her. He looks at me and gives me that look that we all have been given one another recently.

  Is Winter okay?

  Is she even still alive?

  All this has brought us four together: we all sleep at the same place in case one of us ever hears anything. We don’t want to give up hope.

  Getting close to our building, I see a couple snuggled together walking down the path. The girl is wearing sunglasses, and I look at her like she is crazy. She is looking at everything like she can’t get enough. Like it’s all new to her.

  I watch her, fascinated by her for some reason. She looks familiar, but I can't figure where I know her from.

  I see her walking unsteadily, and decide she must have been drinking.

  Drake has his arm around Candice. They are talking about what movie to watch. I look back to the girl and she collapses on the floor. The guy tries to lift her back up, but it's like the girl is having trouble.

  “That girl must be very drunk,” Joshua says. “Isn’t that Patrick?” he says after a moment, squinting his eyes.

  “Oh, shit. It is. Who’s the girl?” Candice asks.

  “He may need some help.”

  We start walking over to his direction.

  “Winter, come on, don’t fall asleep,” I hear Patrick say as he smacks her face. It’s what he called her that has me frozen.

  Winter?

  It's Winter.

  “Winter?” I say her name, and I see her smile before her body goes limp. I run to her side. “What is wrong with her?” I ask him. “Winter, wake up.” I look at her and she doesn’t even look like the girl I know.

  “I don’t know. I just found her like this,” Patrick says in a worried, panicked voice.

  “Candice call an ambulance,” I order, and she does. “Winter, can you hear me?” I place her head on my knees. “Winter, I need you to open your eyes.” She just lies there. I look at her, really at her. Her hair is white blonde, her cheekbones and jawline are more defined, and her clothes look two sizes too big. “What happened to you?” I whisper, tears prickling my eyes.

  I keep holding her, Candice holding one of her hands, and its then that we see cuts and bruises along her arms. I inspect her body a little and I sob when I see how black and blue she is. Her whole body is covered in marks.

  Oh, Winter.

  Soon the ambulance arrives. We fill them in, telling them she has been missing, that Patrick found her and then we found them. We mention the bruises and marks on her body that we noticed. They take hold of her and I step back and when they lift her shirt, inspecting her.

  I feel almost sick.

  It's healing but there’s a word cut just above her stomach.

  Mine.

  “What kind of sick fucker would do this to her?” Joshua asks when the ambulance leaves with her, Candice wanting to be the one to go with her. “I hardly recognized her. What she must have dealt with.”

  “That’s the whole point, though. Whoever did this didn’t want her to be found. They wanted to change her appearance. With the beating up part, the fucker probably enjoyed it. Hearing her scream, cry and beg.” I sniff trying not to cry.

  “She looked like she hardly ate. She is all skin and bones.” Drake adds.

  “It’s to keep her weak. Whoever did this, really did think everything through. They must have been trying to move her, knowing the police are looking for her.” I shake my head, and we all head to my car.

  “Why bring her back to the apartment?” Joshua asks once we are on the road.

  “He could have had her close by? Or was going to bring her back. I don’t know. Let's just thank our luck that we found her when we did.” I look in the rear-view mirror to see Patrick fidgeting with his fingers. I bet he is happy he found her. “Patrick, you did good in finding her; she is going to wake up and thank you,” I tell him.

  “Yeah,” is all he says. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t want to overwhelm her,” he adds after a few minutes.

  “Don’t be silly, you are not going anywhere,” Joshua tells him. “Hopefully we will find out what happened to her, and why she passed out. But I have an idea. She’ll be dehydrated. Her lips were almost blue and dry.”

  “I just want her to wake up,” Drake says looking out the window.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Twenty

  Winter

  I open my eyes slowly, them feeling a little heavy. The bright light isn’t helping, but it’s the bright light I’m confused about.

  Why isn’t it dark?

  Where am I?

  Then it all comes back. I was outside; we were going somewhere else. Did he drug me again?

  I open my eyes more when I feel my hand being held, and with an impulsive reaction, I pull it away, sitting up. Shit, I’m going to get punished, I just pulled away from his touch. But when I look in front of me, tears fall down my cheeks when I see my mom.

  “Winter,” she whispers, her hands raised up, not wanting to scare me. “Winter you’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”

  I look around the room. I see my dad and a doctor watching me.

  “Sweetie, no one is going to hurt you.” I see tears fall down his cheeks.

  I look at my arms seeing the cuts and bruises.

  “Oh, honey who did this to you?”

  I don’t say anything. I just look at them.

  I’m dreaming. This is my sick subconscious trying to make me feel b
etter, but it's all fake. I am going to wake up, completely naked, waiting for him to start his games.

  “Winter, I am Doctor Simpson. Your body shut down: it was dehydrated. You haven’t been getting enough vitamin D, which is why your legs couldn’t hold you up for long as your bones had softened. The dehydration made you feel faint and weak. If this had continued, you would have been in a worse shape.”

  “She could have died?” My mom asks.

  “That would have been the worst-case scenario, yes, but we are giving her plenty of fluids now and giving her something for the vitamin D. It’s the bruises and cuts I am also concerned with. We did some tests, and nothing is broken, but she has been beaten up quite badly.” He looks to my parents then back to me. “Winter, can you tell us what happened to you?” he asks me, but I just look at him.

  “Why isn’t she speaking?” my dad asks him, concerned.

  “Winter, can you talk?”

  I don’t, I just keep looking at him.

  “Baby, please say something,” Mom cries.

  I look to her, tears in my eyes but I don’t say a word.

  “It seems whatever happened to her has affected her mentally as well as emotionally and physically.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” Dad asks him.

  “Just on guesswork, it looks like she was beaten daily, she has cuts, slashes, which look like they’re from a belt. I’m afraid she was also raped, we have taken some blood work, and we are just waiting on the results.”

  “My baby.” My mom pulls me into her chest, sobbing.

  “I did some psychology back at college, I may be wrong but whoever did this is the reason why she won’t speak. I see no reason why she can’t, which means she won’t. It could be the only strength and power she had: the control of her own speech. In her mind if she talks, everything will probably crumble around her so you will have to be patient with her. Let her heal.”

  “Can you figure out who did this to her? DNA?” Mom asks as she holds me tighter.

  “We will be checking. Once we get the results, we will let you know. Just don’t overwhelm her or ask too many questions. She probably didn’t think she would be found. Almost two months of this kind of thing can change a person. So be patient.”