“They miss you, too.”
“I know,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Of course you do.” I run the piece of paper towel back under the water, hoping to warm it up, then pump more soap onto it. “You want to know what else?”
“What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Lynne smiles and reaches her wet hands up towards me, wraps them around my neck, and pulls me down to her level. She kisses my cheek. “I love you, Sarwa.”
“I love you, too, Lynne.”
A little while later, Lynne and I lay on the cot again, looking over another before-Disney-fairytale book. When I finished washing up Lynne, Maxwell had turned his head away as I fished out another dress for Lynne from the crumpled boxes in the corner. After a moment of searching, I dressed her in a light blue, spring-y one with big gaudy sunflowers on it.
When Lynne is done dressing, she runs to the bookshelf and jabs her finger at the books.
“Can we read?” she asks.
While I pick out a book that will capture Lynne’s interest, she runs over to the cot to get settled.
“Who arwe you?” Lynne asks Maxwell as I read the bindings. It has never occurred to me that Maxwell and Lynne had never had a proper introduction.
“Maxwell?” he replies with confusion. He must have thought that she had already knew his name.
“What arwe you doing here?” Lynne prods.
“Um . . . Same reason as you are, Short Stuff.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
“What’s short stuff?” Lynne asks.
“Short Stuff is you, Short Stuff.”
“Huh?”
From where I stand by the bookshelf, I laugh.
“Where is your mamma?” Lynne asks Maxwell, getting off the topic of Short Stuff.
“Gone,” he replies flatly.
“Where?”
Maxwell sighs, clearly getting frustrated. “She talks nearly as much as you, Big Mouth. What did you do? Unhinge her jaw?”
“Hey,” I say with laughter as I turn to look at him. “She’s just curious.”
“Short Stuff is a little nosey I think.”
Shaking my head, I turn my gaze back to the bookshelf and spot a book I remember from when I was younger. I pull out the dark blue hardcover and walk over to the cot where Lynne sits expectantly. “Do you want to read Cinderella?”
“Yeah!” she cries happily.
“Okay, but we’re actually going to read the book instead of just look at pictures,” I say, sitting next to her. I lean against the wall and prop the book on my lap as I flip open to the first page. “Okay. ‘There once lived a gentlemen and his wife, who were the parents of a lovely little daughter–’ ”
“Cinderella!” Lynne shrieks, pointing to the quick ink-sketched picture of the top of the page of a little baby.
“Yes, but you have to be quiet so I can read this,” I hiss.
From the other cot, Maxwell chuckles.
“What?” I look over at him in slight disbelief.
“Nothing.” He forces himself to stop chuckling.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the book. “ ‘When this child was only nine years of age, her mother fell sick.
“ ‘Finding her death coming on, she called to her child and said to her, ‘My child, always be good; bear everything that happens to you with patience, and whatever evil and troubles you may suffer, you will be happy in the end if you are so.’ ”
I continue to read, but what Cinderella’s mom had said to her in the book, rings in my ears: ‘My child, always be good; bear everything that happens to you with patience, and whatever evil and troubles you may suffer, you will be happy in the end if you are so.’ I can’t stop wondering if it will be the same for us.
Will something good happen when or if we get past this nightmare?
Will having a positive attitude help us?
I don’t know whether to believe the quote or not, but then I think, It wouldn’t hurt. So as I continue to read to, I guess, both Lynne and Maxwell, I try to put as much love and happiness into my words, hoping to do just that.
At some point the three of us must have fallen asleep because we all wake up at the same time to another sudden bang. My heart races as I bolt up, knocking Cinderella off my lap and onto the floor.
“Food,” Maxwell says, staring at the bottom of the door.
I turn to look and see that he is right. More food has been placed where the food from yesterday was placed. It’s all set with same silver tray and Dixie cups, but the food is different. Today, there looked to be a handful of baby carrots, more bread slices, ripe red apples, and some kind of sandwich meat with another pitcher of water.
“Food,” Lynne squeaks beside me.
“Are you hungry?” It’s a question I don’t even need to ask. Maxwell and I are both hungry, so of course Lynne would be too. “Come on, let’s go check it out.” Helping her off the bed, we follow Maxwell to our spot on the floor, and start separating everything into three piles.
Lynne sits next to me. She picks up an apple and takes a big bite out of it.
“Is it good?” I pick up my own apple.
“Yep.” She nods and swallows her piece.
“Just don’t eat too fast,” I warn. “I don’t want you to choke.”
Lynne looks at me as she carefully takes another bite.
“Good girl.” I take a big bite out of my own apple and let the sweetness of it gush through my mouth.
“Do you think this is more food than we had yesterday?” Maxwell asks, suspicion hanging thickly in his words.
I look down at the tray as I chew my apple, debating. “Yeah, maybe a little more.”
“Why?” He stares down at the food with his scary eyes again as if he was mad about this. “Why would they suddenly give us more?”
“Maybe they’re being generous?”
“No,” Maxwell scoffs, picking up the bag of sandwich meat. “There has to be something in this that benefits them.”
“What is that?” I ask, trying to read the label of the bag.
“Turkey,” he replies almost angrily.
“Turkey?”
“Did I stutter?” He drops the bag down where it had been and picks up a few baby carrots from his pile. He pops one in his mouth.
Great, I think. He’s back in his dick-mood.
I place my half-eaten apple down on the tray and reach for the pile of Dixie cups and the plastic pitcher of water to pour Lynne and myself something to drink.
“Can I have some turkey?” I ask Maxwell nervously after I carefully hand my sister her cup of water.
“Go ahead,” he says, not attempting to hand the bag over.
I huff, reach over, and snatch the bag from its place. Anger buzzes through me as I take a couple slices of meet and stuff it in between two pieces of bread, then close the package, and put it back from where I grabbed it.
“I want some,” Lynne says, looking at my sandwich.
“Lynne, I just had the bag open,” I groan. Great, now his dick-mood has worn off on me, too.
“Pwease!” my sisters begs.
I inhale deeply and reach over to grab the bag of turkey again. “Do you even like turkey?”
“Yeah.” She sounds unsure.
“You better.” I grab a slice, stick it between two of her slices of bread, and give it to her. All with dagger eyes.
Lynne carefully takes the sandwich as if just taking it from me would set me off. Under my irritated gaze, she takes a bite. Her face crinkles as she pulls the sandwich away from her mouth and looks at it. I don’t like it is written all over her face, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she swallows what is in her mouth and takes another careful bite.
“So you think there is something going on?” I ask Maxwell as I pick up my apple and start to eat it again.
“I don’t think; I know something is going on.” He tilts his head back and looks at the mirrored-ceiling. “What are you bas
tards planning?” he whispers.
I take bigger bites of my apple before moving onto my turkey sandwich. The meat is a little dry. Guilt floods through me.
I should be at least happy that we have something, I scold myself. Now angry at not only Maxwell but at myself, I take a giant bite, my teeth ripping through the soft bread and meat.
“Sarwa?”
“You better eat it,” I say without knowing what Lynne really wants.
“Can I have some cawots?”
“Oh.” Relief that she wasn’t going to whine about the food rushes through me. Maybe she can tell that Maxwell and I are upset. “Yeah. Sure.” I push the pile of carrots Maxwell had grouped for her closer to her.
Placing her sandwich down on the tray, Lynne picks up a carrot from her pile and takes a bite with a snap.
The sound seems to echo loudly through the room as the three of us finish our food in silence.
Chapter 6
Day Five
Darkness consumes me. There is no light or sign of light as far as I can tell. There is a soft wind that tosses my hair in my face, making it hard to see even though there is nothing to see. There is a sound. It reminds me of someone breathing heavily, as if trying to catch their breath. Then I realize after a moment, that the heavy breathing sound is coming from me.
I’m taking raspy breaths as fear soars through my nerves and through my head. I feel as if I’m going to pass out from an adrenaline rush. Then the coldness comes, kissing my eyelashes and hair with frost. I shiver violently, pressing my arms tightly to my chest. Even though I can’t see, I can feel the misty, white vapor slip out between my lips and up into the darkness. My teeth chatter, adding more noise to the darkness.
Help, I think, my eyes stinging in the chilling breeze. I squeeze them shut and feel my skin start to burn under the frost that is now starting to settle on my skin that seems bare under the silky dress.
Suddenly from behind, a line of light slices through, shining at my back and casting my shadow on the dark ground in front of me. Blindly, I slowly turn around and squint in the light, trying to make out who is there.
“Who-oo’s th-there?” I chatter, taking a step forward.
The silence stays silent. Whoever is there doesn’t want to be known.
“Who-oo’s th-there?” I repeat, louder this time. From the corner of my vision, I see the skin of my arm, so white that I look like a ghost. The silky dress blows around my legs then flies up into my vision. It’s a creamy white color that reminds me of splashed milk.
Still there is no reply.
Footsteps echo in the darkness. Coming closer. Getting louder. In fear, I take a step back. The back of my foot catches my dress, tripping me. I fall, landing in a puff of darkness.
It’s like fog. Black gloominess swirls slowly around me. It’s slightly lighter than the darkness above my head, but dark enough that I have to look really close to see that it is a few shades lighter. The fog twirls and dances around me, enveloping me. It tangles itself with my windblown hair and slips between my fingers that are separated from one another as I prop myself up. It slips its way around my waist and crawls up to my neck. As it swirls around my thin neck, I can feel pressure push against my windpipes. As my lungs start to crush, a shiver-gurgle escapes my lips, and my head falls back. I can see the light still cutting through the dark mist above my head, dancing and bobbing as it comes closer. The wind blows harder, hissing and howling in my ears. My breath, forced and painful, seems to grow hot. Bright dots dance across my vision, and I realize then that I’m going to die. Mangled noises escape my throat as I close my eyes, ready to let go.
Then the howling, the hissing, the fog, and the killer grip stops. I stand up and inhale a fresh lungful of air, coughing as it makes its way down my windpipe. My cold hands flutter to my throat and feel for a bruise that should mark it but find nothing.
“You,” says a voice, rumbling through the darkness.
I’m too cold to speak. With the wind gone, I’m left in a sudden coldness that drifts lazily about me. I can feel my lips swell blue and my fingers tingle until they grow numb. Weak and frozen, I can only stare into the light until black dots make their appearance in my vision.
“You,” the voice says again. It is too raspy to tell whether it belongs to a male or female. “Miss Sara Hansen.”
Then, with a sickening crack, my upper body flies back while my feet stay rooted to the ground. My back snaps, and there is this horrific pain that flashes through my body. After a moment, though, it ceases to exist. There is no pain, no fear, no coldness . . . There is only darkness.
It is still dark in the Salmon Room when I shoot up, gasping. Moisture covers my skin in a thick, sticky layer of sweat. There is no sound, only darkness. For a moment, the fear of still being stuck in my nightmare forces itself into my mind. A moment passes, and I realize I can see the faint outline of Maxwell shift under the blanket in the other cot.
“Maxwell?” I whisper. My voice is choked as the need to cry overcomes me. I sniff as tears spring into my eyes. “Maxwell?”
“Hm? What?” His voice is groggy as he turns to face me in the dark.
“I–” I can’t finish. Tears slip down my cheeks as a sob bursts between my lips. I kick my legs out from under the blanket and place them firmly on the floor. I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, and burry my face in my hands, trying to hide my tears.
“Hey.” I hear Maxwell shift and then feel his hand on my back, tracing slow circles. “Are you crying?”
Even though I’m crying, the gesture startles me. I never once thought of Maxwell capable of any sweet gestures. It just makes me cry harder. I feel pathetic.
“Are you okay?” Maxwell leans close so that I can feel his warm breath on the top of my head.
“It’s nothing.” I quickly sit up and swipe my face. I inhale a shaky breath, trying to calm myself.
“It must be something if you’re crying,” he says, his voice soft. It almost sounds caring.
I stare at him even though I can’t see him in the dark.
“So what is it?”
“You’re going to laugh at me,” I say, feeling as if I told him that I was crying because of a nightmare, his old self would return.
“Try me.” He sounds genuine.
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Promise.”
His words surprise me, but I don’t falter to tell him. “I had a nightmare.”
“A nightmare?” he repeats, sounding a little shocked.
“You probably think I’m pathetic.” Another set of tears spring into my eyes.
“It’s okay,” Maxwell says in the dark. “Ever since I’ve been here, I’ve been having nightmares too.”
“It’s just . . .” I choke out a sob. “I don’t know how things turned out this way. I mean, before all this happened, Lynne and I were just walking out of the Cruise Inn to get some ice cream and then . . . we woke up here.” I motion around me even though I know he can’t see. “And then I meet you, and I don’t know why you hate me . . .”
“I’m sorry,” he says softly.
“What?” Did I mishear or did I just hear him say that he was sorry? Him? The one who’s been a dick ever since Lynne and I came down here? I must have misheard.
“I acted like a fucking retard when you and Short Stuff–”
“Lynne,” I cut in.
“–When you and Lynne got here. And a little bit this morning.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.” Even in the darkness, I can feel his eyes on me. “I . . . I just thought you might have been one of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you and Lynne were, like, spies. You know, to see how I would react, or what I would do when girls were in here.”
“You thought I was a spy?” I feel a little sad that he hadn’t trusted me.
“Yeah, well, you know . . .” His voice trails off. “I thought you were here to test me.”
“But didn’t you see the p
anic Lynne and I were in?”
“Yeah but you two could have been acting,” he says simply.
“What about how we looked? We both had dirt covering our faces and greasy hair,” I point out.
“Makeup.”
“I don’t think makeup would make us that convincing.”
“Have you ever seen the movie Zombieland?” he asks.
“No.”
“Well, those zombies are pretty freaky looking.”
“Fine,” I say, understanding. “Do you trust me now?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“When did you get here?” I ask, suddenly curious about Maxwell.
“I don’t know, a few weeks ago?” He sighs heavily. “I think I had been at a gas station before I woke up here.”
“How old are you?” I’m going to take this time–when he isn’t snapping at me–to understand him more, now that he is giving me a chance.
“Why do you want to know that?” he asks. I can imagine him frowning at me like I’m crazy.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just a little curious,” I reply simply.
“Eighteen, but I’ll be turning nineteen this May,” Maxwell says. “You?”
“Seventeen going on eighteen in November.” Then I add, “Lynne will be three in September.”
“Ah.” I can picture him slowly nodding his head.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah. I have two older brothers; Tyson and Calvary.”
“Calvary?” I ask. I like the name, but I’ve never heard of anyone being named that before.
“It’s the place, I guess, where Jesus was crucified.” He pauses. “My mom is a big Lutheran.”
“It’s a neat name,” I say.
“I guess,” he says flatly, like it’s a common name.
We are quiet for a moment, taking in the silence.
“So is Lynne your only sister?”
“Yep. It’s only her and me.”
“Ah.”
“So what kind of things do you do in school?” I ask.
“Swimming and basketball,” Maxwell replies. “You?”
“Volleyball.”
“No cheerleading?”
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