Through the Glass (A Storybook Novel 1)

by Kira Moericke

  I huff out a sigh and groan.

  “Sarwa, look at me,” Lynne demands from the other side of the room.

  I turn and look at her. A smile yanks my mouth upwards and a laugh trickles out of my throat. “You look adorable!” And she does. She wears the same dress as before, but she has found a fuzzy black scarf that she has wrapped around her neck and has found a white, wire-rimmed hat with a big flower on the side. It reminds me of the hat the woman wears in the movie Monster-In-Law with Jennifer Lopez that my mom has in the movie cabinet in our basement at home. The thought of my mom and home tugs painfully at my heart. I really haven’t thought of my mom and dad and friends until now. A really shit-y feeling slams against me like a brick as question after question pops into my head, one right after another.

  Why haven’t I thought of my parents sooner?

  Why haven’t I cried from missing them?

  What are they doing right now? Are they looking for Lynne and I?

  What are my friends doing?

  Do they even know that I’m gone?

  Have they told the whole school about my disappearance?

  Are Bridgette Fasner and Jennette Piper making Find Sara Grace Hansen posters right now and trying to collect enough money in fundraisers to hire some detectives?

  Or do they not know that Lynne and I are gone?

  How hard are they trying to find us? Have they given up?

  Why am I being so selfish? I can’t expect them to just drop everything for us. I mean, we’re doing fine.

  Right?

  I look around the room to see that we aren’t okay. Lynne, Maxwell, and I are all dirty and smell like crap with greasy hair and sweat staining our clothes. We are starving; The only meal we had was the one from earlier today–whenever that was–while growing weaker without sunlight, fresh air, or exercise. The place smells like mold and must, and everything is covered with dust and spider webs. There is a dead mouse in the bathtub and crappy pluming. Maxwell is right: This is Hell.

  “Sarwa!”

  “What? Huh?” I blink, pulling my mind back to the present. I look over towards Lynne, who is covered in shadows from the corner of the room by the tower of boxes.

  “I look pretty,” Lynne states, lifting the ends of her dress and twirling. She has added a few more accessories to herself, like a long faux pearl necklace that falls three-fourths down her body, a pair of white silk gloves that go up to her shoulders, and a pair of old high heels.

  “You do look pretty,” I confirm.

  Maxwell forces a cough in disagreement.

  I shoot daggers at him while placing a hand on the cover of my finished book.

  Lynne wobbles over to me and crawls up on the cot. She sits next to me and snatches the book from my hands. “What this say?” she asks, pointing to the words on the cover.

  “The Lords of the Rings,” I reply, pointing to each individual word as I say it.

  She stares at the cover, as if taking it in, then drops it suddenly. “Can you read to me?”

  “Read you what?” I ask.

  “I dunno.”

  “Come here.” I pick her up and carry her across the Salmon Room to the big dusty bookshelf. With Lynne in my arms, I look down and read the bindings of the books, trying to find something that she would like. “Here, how about The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland?” It is a small blue book with the title printed on it with big, bold, gold lettering.

  “Yeah,” Lynne agrees grabbing the book when I pull it out of its place on the shelf. She stares at it as I walk back to the cot and place her down. She even hangs onto it once I get settled–laying on my stomach with my legs leaning against the wall. “Are you ready to read it?”

  Lynne nods and eagerly flips to the first page. She squeals excitedly and jabs at a quick-ink sketch at the top of the page. It is a quick sketch of Alice leaning against the word “one,” signaling the first chapter. “Picture!”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Who is that?”

  “Alice,” she replies in her high-pitched voice. She quickly flips the page to reveal the next two pages full of words. Disappointment falls flat on her face, but when she flips to the next page, she perks up again. Page four is covered with inky black words while page five with another quick-sketch of Alice leaning down to crawl into a little cave. There is a little rabbit with a top hat and a checkered coat carrying a long pocket watch. “White rabbit!” She jabs her finger at the rabbit in the picture.

  “Do you know what this says?” I ask, pointing to the caption below.

  “Unh-unh.” She shakes her head and starts flipping pages in the hunt for another picture.

  I sigh. I should of known that when Lynne asked to “read” she really meant to look at pictures.

  Partway through the book, Lynne turns to me. “I gotta go potty.”

  “You do?” I’m surprised she had actually understood what I told her earlier. “Come on.” I grab my sister’s hand and hurry across the room, knowing that her head’s up was actually a heads up and that she needed to go now. Barging into the bathroom, I place Lynne on the toilet and wait.

  A moment later, Lynne proves herself right.

  “Can you shut the door?” Maxwell calls from the Salmon Room. “I don’t need to hear the soundtrack.”

  “Sorry,” I call out. With my foot, I kick the door shut, turn back to Lynne, and say, “I’m so proud of you.”

  Lynne beams happily.

  A few minutes later, Lynne is done going to the bathroom and has her hands washed. I hand her a piece of paper towel, which she bunches up in her hands gives back to me. I take it and throw it away.

  “Did she actually make it?” Maxwell asks from the other side of the door.

  “Yep.” I let Lynne walk under my arm when I reach over and open the door.

  “By myself,” she confirms.

  “Good.” Maxwell stands up from his cot and walks over to the bookshelf.

  “You actually read?” I ask, watching as he looks through the books. I can recall the guys in my grade and how much they despise reading books and always chose some car or hunting magazine instead. It’s weird seeing Maxwell flip through the thick hardcovers.

  “Well, there’s nothing else to do.” He grabs a book and starts to read the back.

  “Wow.” I’m shocked.

  “Sarwa!” Lynne calls from the other side of the room. She has already settled on the cot with the book propped open in front of her. “Come read with me!”

  “Okay.” I walk over to her and sit next to her. For the rest of the evening–or whatever time it is–we all are like that, reading, or in my case, looking at pictures, until the light above us flickers out.

  Chapter 5

  Day Four

  I have to change.

  That is the first thought that pops into my head the next morning when I stir awake from another nightmare where the three of us run out of supplies and die. It had been pretty gruesome. I’m glad consciousness finally falls upon me.

  I sit up and look around the room. Lynne and Maxwell are both still asleep. Careful not to wake them, I crawl from underneath the thin blanket and cross the room. I feel heavy as I stumble across the room towards the bathroom where I go to pee. Afterwards, I stand up and wash my hands in front of the chipped mirror that hangs on the wall in front of me. I notice that I look worse than I had the first night. My hair is so greasy that you could probably squeeze it all out and use it to cook with, and my face is covered with dirt. With my hands still wet, I rub them across my face, creating clean streaks in the dirt. Then it occurs to me.

  I bend down, rip a piece of paper towel from the roll, soak it, and wipe my face with it. I rub until I feel that my face is okay to be considered somewhat clean then grab another one to dry myself.

  There, I think, first step; face clean.

  Tossing the two pieces of paper towel in the trash, I walk over to the door and peek inside the Salmon Room to see that Maxwell and Lynne are still asleep. I smile and pray that the
door doesn’t squeak as I close it. I make it click in place before I turn around towards the sink. Turning the water on full blast, I stick my head under the faucet, soaking my hair. Water runs its course over my hair and runs down the side of my cheeks and forehead, and gathers in my eyes and lips. I feel almost like I’m drowning but I know I’m not. I wait a few moments, holding my breath, before pulling my head out from under the faucet and standing straight. My wet hair clings to my back as I pump some soap into my palm, hoping it will work as good as shampoo, and rub it into my hair, creating some sudsy bubbles. When I have used up all the soap in my hand, I stuff my head back under the sink and rinse it out.

  “Big Mouth?”

  Turning off the water, I hear Maxwell call me.

  “In here,” I call back, squeezing as much water I can out of my hair.

  A few moments later, the bathroom door opens, and Maxwell, groggy with sleep, looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t stand being dirty anymore.” I turn to face him. I drop wet hands to my side and let my wet hair soak my back and shoulders. “I wanted to at least try to clean up a little.”

  Maxwell is still staring at me with that you’re an idiot look in his eyes.

  “Is there any food today?” I ask, hungry.

  “No.” He glances away. “Are you going to spend the whole day in here?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Then can you get out?”

  “Oh.” I understand. I hurry around him and out of the room. “Sorry.”

  Without saying anything, Maxwell steps further into the room and shuts the door behind him.

  I huff a sigh and walk back to the cot where Lynne is still asleep. She is a filthy little ball surrounded by pink and blue and white. Under her eyelids, I can see her eyes move as she dreams. Her little fists clench and unclench as she stirs slightly.

  “Mamma is going to be here soon,” I whisper. I crawl next to her and pull her close to me. I rest my chin on top of her head and stare at the wall as more questions jumble up inside my head.

  Where are we?

  What day is it?

  How far away from home are we? Are we a few blocks away or cities away?

  Who would want to kidnap us? Is there something about us that intrigued them?

  Why are they watching us? Do they enjoy watching?

  What are they doing up there?

  What is the purpose of this?

  Are they keeping us for ransom, or is it something more?

  Why is this happening to us?

  Are we ever going to get out of here, or are we going to die down here?

  Who would want to kidnap us just to let us die?

  Are we going to be okay?

  “Big Mouth?” The bathroom door opens, and Maxwell steps out.

  “Hm?” I continue to look at the wall.

  “Nothing.”

  I hear him come closer and sit down on his cot.

  Silence falls heavily between us. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore.

  “Are we going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Maxwell replies honestly.

  “Why would they want us?” I ask out loud. “I mean, why would they kidnap you, Lynne, and I just to have us sit down here and die in this room? What’s the purpose of all this?”

  “I don’t know,” Maxwell repeats, his voice sounding more irritated.

  “Do you think anyone is looking for us?” I feel Lynne stir in my arms.

  “Of course they are.”

  “Then why aren’t they here yet?” I ask, worried.

  “Just shut up and don’t worry about it,” he demands. “The more you worry, the more success you’re giving the bastards upstairs.”

  “You’re right.” And he is. I just have to stop thinking about it. But it isn’t as easy as Maxwell said. “But what if they have given up? I mean, it’s been more than forty-eight hours since we’ve been abducted.”

  Maxwell groans. “They haven’t. Now just shut up.”

  But I can’t. Not when I’m so filled with worry. “How do you know?”

  “I just do, okay?”

  I groan, frustrated. “I don’t get the point of all this. I mean, why would someone kidnap us just to let us starve down here?” It doesn’t make sense.

  “They probably have a reason.”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader.”

  “There has to be an explanation,” I mumble mostly to myself. “But what?”

  “Just shut up already.” Maxwell groans as if he can’t stand my voice any longer. “You’re never going to figure anything out. The bastards up there have way to twisted minds for anyone to solve. So just . . . stop.” He sighs, sounding defeated.

  I don’t want to end the conversation, not when I have so many questions unanswered. The questions that bubbled up in my head just moment before repeat themselves until I feel hopelessly lost. It’s like a puzzle with missing pieces. I need all the pieces to understand what this situation is, though right now, I’m missing over half of the puzzle pieces, and I’m getting frustrated.

  I groan again, the sound coming deep from my chest. Lynne must have heard it because she stirs slightly and blinks awake.

  “Mamma?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Good morning, Lynne,” I greet sweetly, trying to hide my frustration.

  She turns her body over and looks at me. “I’m hungwy.”

  “I know.” I smile and slowly sit up, careful not to jostle her too much. “Want to read?”

  She shakes her head. “I want some gwapes,” she insists. She sits up and looks towards the door where she remembers the food being when she had woken up the day before.

  “There are no grapes.” I brush back her dirty hair off her forehead.

  “I’m hungwy,” Lynne repeats.

  “I am, too, but there isn’t any food right now, okay? Maybe later.”

  Lynne pouts, leaning against me.

  While holding her up, I rub her back in slow, gentle circles.

  Maxwell sits up on his cot and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. He looks around until his eyes land on me, hard and expressionless.

  “What?” I ask, a little nervous. His dark eyes look like glass.

  “Did you just wash your hair with hand soap in the sink?” he asks.

  “Yeah, when I woke up, I did.”

  He nods his head slowly, as if considering something, then stands up and crosses the room to the bathroom.

  “Do you want to get cleaned up?” I ask Lynne, who’s eyelids are starting to droop.

  She slowly shakes her head.

  “But you’re dirty. Don’t you want to be nice and clean?”

  She looks up at me, her large brown eyes filling up with tiredness, hunger, lost, and weakness. Her eyes make my heart wrench so hard that I feel the need to cry. I can feel my eyes start to sting and that awful heavy feeling in my chest build up a sob.

  “I don’t want to,” Lynne says in her sleep-heavy voice.

  “Look, my hair is clean.” I grab a wet clump of hair that rests on my shoulder and show it to her. “I’m clean.” Or at least a little.

  “Mm-mm.” Lynne shakes her head again.

  “Lynne, we’ve got to clean you up.” The door to the bathroom opens, and Maxwell steps out with wet hair. He must of done what I had done.

  “What are you two arguing about?”

  “I’m trying to get Lynne to clean up,” I reply. I glance back at my sister. “Lynne, we’re going to clean you up. Right. Now.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” I get up from the cot and grab her. “Plus we’ve got to find you a new dress to wear.”

  “No!” she wails stubbornly.

  “Come on, Lynne.” I carry her into the bathroom and shut the door.

  “I don’t want a bath,” she says, wiggling out of my grasp. When I place her on the floor, she runs to the wall opposite of the bathtub.
<
br />   “You don’t have to take a bath. I just have to wipe you down.”

  Lynne makes a face and slumps to the floor, defeated.

  “I don’t want to be clean,” she mumbles.

  “I know.” I spin the sink’s knobs and get warm water to come out of the faucet, then reach for Lynne who sags against the wall. I pull the dress off her then the purple shirt with a sparkly heart in the center. Placing her in the sink, I cup a handful of warm water, and dump it over her head. She pinches her eyes shut as water slips down her forehead and down her cheeks. I laugh.

  “It’s in my eyes!” she screeches even though the water isn’t even close to her eyes.

  “It is not,” I say with a smile. Using a finger, I swipe away a drop of water that snakes its way down her forehead. “Is the water okay?”

  She nods and brushes away hair that plasters itself against her cheek.

  I hang onto her with one hand as I use the other to grab the soap and struggle to pump some into my sister’s hair. Under the touch of cool soap, my sister shivers and looks up at me helplessly.

  “You’re almost done.” I scrub the soap into her hair, creating little bubbles.

  “It’s cold,” Lynne says, scrunching up her body.

  “What is?” I rub some on her back.

  “The soap,” she replies.

  “Sorry.” Hanging onto her wrist, I reach down for some paper towel.

  “When is Mamma going to be here?” Lynne asks as I soak the piece of paper towel and pump some soap onto it.

  “Soon.” I hope.

  “I miss her,” she continues, then adds, “and Daddy.”

  “They’re coming,” I say, lifting her arms and scrubbing underneath.

  “Do you miss them?” Lynne asks, her voice soft.

  “Of course I do.”

  “You never say you miss them.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Not a lot,” Lynne states.

  “I miss them, I miss them, I miss them,” I say smiling. “There, I said it a lot.”

  My sister smiles, showing off her little baby teeth.

  “And you know what?” I lean down close to Lynne’s face.

  “What?” she whispers back, leaning in towards me so that our foreheads almost touch.