by Dekker, Ted
“If Alice could be found right now, I would have already found her. I haven’t, which means neither will you. Not until she’s ready to be found.”
“And with that attitude, she may never be found alive.”
“Did I say alive?”
Olivia stared at him, caught off guard.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning I don’t know where or when we will find Alice, nor that she will be alive if or when we do. I do know that she’s not what she seems to any who’ve met her. Her eyes were opened once, they will be opened again if she’s willing.”
“It’s only been six days. She’s a thirteen-year-old child who was abducted, not an adult who’s fully responsible.” She said it, thinking she should be protesting his apparent nonchalance. But he was the kind who didn’t offer offense and she wasn’t taking any. “She knows nothing about fatalism and frankly, I reject the idea that we are powerless to help her.”
“I didn’t say we were powerless,” he said, tilting his head slightly down. “Locating her would be a great help to me. My reason for finding her is surely as motivated as yours. But Alice’s journey is her own, not yours or mine. Do your best to find her, but don’t let your search keep you in misery.”
His words cut into her soul like a hot knife. She wasn’t sure why.
“Is there anything you can tell me about her that will help? What about the other children?”
“I can tell you that you shouldn’t worry about them. And that you shouldn’t endanger them by speaking to anyone about them. I can also tell you that Alice was almost surely taken by her mother.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because I do. No one else would have a reason to take her. Unfortunately, her mother seems to have vanished under the auspices of death. So you see, until Alice makes a way to be found, she won’t be. If and when she does make a way to be found, we must be there to find her. Therefore, be diligent, but try not to worry.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond. The words coming out of Stephen’s mouth seemed like nonsense, little more than the philosophical platitudes of a man who’d spent too much time alone. And yet there was something about his voice, the way he carried himself and spoke, that resonated deeply with her. Spoke to her. Made her want to believe what he was saying, however naïve it seemed.
“You came here to tell me not to worry?”
“Yes. And to assure you that if I do find her, you will be the first to know.” He paused, eyes fixed on hers. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “But mostly, I came with a message for you. And for the memories you have of Michelle.”
His words stopped her cold.
Stephen placed a large hand on the desk, palm flat on the wood surface, ringed fingers spread wide.
“I see your pain, Olivia. That feeling that you’re cut off from life, and that you’ll never find your way back to the happiness you knew before you lost your way.”
Tears began pooling in her eyes as he continued speaking in a low voice. She wanted to stand up, back away, but she couldn’t move. A hurricane of emotion, terrible and wild, began to swirl deep within her.
“I’ve come to tell you that it’s not your fault,” he said. “Michelle’s beyond suffering, and yet you suffer, trapped in this hell of your own making. Set yourself free, Olivia. Free to love your daughter as she is, not as you wish she could be. In this you will find more peace than you can possibly imagine.”
She wanted to scream. Wanted to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about. That he had no right to say what he was saying. He had no right. He had no idea what she’d suffered, what pain she lived with, how alone she was.
But his words moved through her like a warm breath, assuring her of their truth. How did he know? How could he know?
She closed her eyes and swallowed, aware that her pulse was pounding and that her breathing had quickened.
“You are loved, Olivia.” His voice came like honey, softer now. “More than you can possibly comprehend. Forgive yourself for anything you thought you might have done or not done. Forgive the world. Let it all go. Be free now and always.”
Olivia felt her emotion rise, unchecked. Felt her control begin to slip as the world blurred behind the hot tears that flowed freely from her eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
The room was still, and the air thick, but with those words, a strange, comforting peace settled over her. Time seemed to stretch in the silence.
Then she heard the soft click of the door closing.
When she opened her eyes . . . he was gone. Only a black card inscribed with the word Outlaw remained where he’d been seated. But he’d left far more, hadn’t he?
Michelle was forever gone.
Alice was now lost.
And yet Olivia couldn’t help but to think that she had just found a missing part of herself.
She lowered her head to the desk, let out a long, trembling breath, and began to sob.
I’m so sorry, Alice.
EPISODE TWO
9
Day Seven
THE SOUNDS that came from the swamp outside chilled my bones as I lay in bed past midnight that first night in my new home, thinking I should leave then, while they were all asleep.
The problem was, I was as terrified at the prospect of escaping as I was of staying. I didn’t know where I was, only that there were swamps all around. The road we’d come in led past the others’ homes, I’d learned, and was guarded by Zeke’s dogs to keep people away from these parts. But the idea of trying to find another way in the dark felt like an impossibility to me.
I had to try to get down that road and I had to do it while everyone else was asleep.
Kathryn had taken me into the house and proudly showed me my new home. A mud room just past the porch opened up to the main room—couch and chairs on the right and the kitchen on the left, all spic-and-span even though most of the furniture looked like it had been used for many years.
At a loss, I looked around, but Kathryn was focused on one thing: she had to get me clean. So, despite Bobby’s excitement to show me his room, she led me first to the bathroom and told me to get undressed while she filled the bathtub.
Naturally I was a little embarrassed to take off my clothes in front of a stranger, even if she was my mother, but I did what she asked because there was nothing in me that suggested resisting her would be helpful. And she was only trying to help me clean up, right?
I even let her scrub my feet and clip my fingernails. To my knowledge only much younger children were cared for in such a doting fashion, but I didn’t want to find out what might happen if I told her to stop. So I just went along. And in doing so I even wondered if maybe it would be best to stay. Maybe I was just overreacting because everything was so new to me.
She’d then laid out pink and yellow pajamas and told me to dress while she finished getting my celebration dinner ready. I was the prodigal daughter, as she called me, finally come home and there was great cause for rejoicing.
We ate at an old square table, a meal over which Kathryn, not Wyatt, presided. She was the master of the house—Wyatt was much quieter in her presence than he’d been on the road. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t afraid of her, but he was careful to do exactly what she wanted. I guessed that he spoke less around her because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing, much like me.
Bobby, on the other hand, wasn’t as discreet. Only when Kathryn warned him in a quiet but commanding voice that if he kept asking me silly questions he would have to do some silent time, did he keep quiet. He satisfied himself then by watching me intently between bites and breaking into a big, crooked-toothed smile every time I looked at him.
I liked Bobby very much. Also Wyatt. And I liked Kathryn, but there was a frantic desperation in her eyes that made me anxious. She was my mother, yes, but I think she wanted me to be the perfect something that had already formed in her mind. The spotless lamb, as she called it.
What would happen if I couldn’t be what she wanted me to be?
“You’re very quiet, sweetheart,” Kathryn had said earlier, as I picked at the food she’d prepared. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Call me Mother, angel.”
I hesitated. “Yes, I’m fine, Mother.”
“Thank you,” she purred. “Do you like the goulash?”
“It’s very good, thank you.”
“Mother.”
“It’s very good, Mother.”
“Is there anything you’d like to ask me? You must have questions. This has all happened so fast.”
I had many questions. Could I really leave if I wanted to? Could I at least call John and Louise and tell them I was okay? Why was she so sure the authorities would never let me stay with her if they learned that she was my mother? What was the best way for me to get back home?
But I didn’t want to cause any concern or raise her suspicions because I already knew that I had to leave.
So I said no. I was fine. It was all new and I just had to get used to things. And I called her Mother, which I understood—she’d gone so long without me and hearing me call her Mother made it feel more real to her. I didn’t mind that.
“Once you learn all the rules, this home will be your heaven, Eden. I promise you.”
All the rules? I doubled my thoughts of getting away that very night.
So I lay in bed and stared at the dark ceiling late that night, mind spinning with thoughts of climbing out the window, and alligators, and rules, and sneaking past guard dogs—all of which chased sleep far away.
I’d thought about trying to call 911 on the house phone, but Kathryn had made it a point to tell me that the phone wouldn’t work at night. Why, I had no idea, unless they disconnected it to keep me from using it. But that was probably just my fear getting the best of me.
I was home with my real mother. Laying in my bed. In my room, which had freshly painted pink walls, white lacy curtains, a white bedspread, and a pink lampshade on a little wooden lamp beside the bed. It was all carefully ordered, from the wall picture of Jesus inviting the little children to come sit on his knees, to the neatly hung dresses in the closet—all white, only white. The room had been immaculately prepared for my arrival, cleaner than the rest of the house, which was saying a lot, because, as I quickly learned, my birth mother was obsessive about things being neat.
What was wrong with any of that? Maybe I should have felt more grateful. But all I could think was that something was very wrong.
You have to go, Alice. Now, while you still can.
I sat up in bed and stared into the darkness. Moonlight spilled through the white curtains, just enough so that I could make out the shapes in the room. The house was quiet, but for all I knew, Kathryn was sleeping on the couch so she could stop me if I tried to leave.
Quietly as I could, I peeled back the bedspread, put my feet to the wooden floor, and tiptoed to the closet. I’d already decided that all I needed were shoes—the long pajama pants and top were otherwise clothing enough. But I had to get the black leather shoes she’d said were mine out of the closet without making noise.
I got to my knees, carefully cracked the closet door, then pulled it wide enough to reach in and feel for the shoes. My hand closed over one, then the other, and I pulled them out.
I sat back on my heels and listened for any sound beyond the heavy thump of my heart in my ears. Only the night outside, and its insect sounds.
I’d already concluded that, if I could get it open, the window was my best bet because then I wouldn’t have to walk through the house.
I quickly made my way to the window, set the shoes on the floor, and reached for the two latches that held it down along the bottom sill. They came open easily and I felt a breath of hope whisper through me.
Getting the window to slide up wasn’t as easy, but with considerable effort, the wood creaked and then moved. The sound of the insects doubled and the hope I’d felt was dashed by a sudden wave of fear.
I stood there for a minute working up the courage to climb out. The door to my bedroom remained closed. That was good, right? I had to at least try. I could always come back, couldn’t I?
So I took the shoes, stuck my head out into the night, saw the ground only a few feet down by the light of the moon, and I climbed out, one leg after the other.
I sat down quickly and pulled on the shoes, which were made of soft black leather that laced up the front—a kind of shoe I’d never seen before.
The shoes fit a little large, but at least they protected my feet.
I stood by the window and looked around, getting my bearings. It was brighter outside than inside. I could see the driveway that led to the road clearly, just past the porch to my left.
Immediately, images of snarling guard dogs snapped at my mind.
One step at a time, Alice. Just get to the road. Just that far.
Maybe I should steal the car. But I didn’t know how to drive and I didn’t have the keys.
Careful not to step on a twig that might snap and give me away, I stole across the rough ground and made it to the driveway. Walking faster, headed for the road just ahead, my hope began to swell.
It was then that I heard the soft creak behind me. The sound of a door opening.
Catching my breath, I spun back and stared at the house. There, on the porch, stood a figure, and at first I thought it had to be Kathryn. But it was too small, and I realized it was Bobby. Staring at me dumbly, with his hands by his sides.
He walked down the steps and ambled toward me in his own stumbling kind of way, looking directly ahead rather than at the ground at his feet.
I could’ve made a run for it, but before I could make up my mind, he was there, beside me, looking up with wide eyes.
“Where are you going?” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure what I should tell him, so I just said the truth.
“I’m going back.”
No one else had come out of the house. But what if Kathryn woke and heard us?
“Where is back?” he asked, confused.
“Back to where I came from,” I whispered.
“Can I come with you?”
“No, Bobby. You live here. You have to go back to the house.”
I was suddenly certain that someone else would come out of the house and catch us standing there in plain sight, so I turned and hurried forward.
Bobby came wobbling after me, like a puppy on an invisible leash.
“Do you like eggs?” he asked, too loudly for my comfort.
Eggs?
“We’re going to have eggs for breakfast. I like bacon too.”
“Shhh! They’re going to hear you.”
He asked again, only this time in a whisper. “Do you like eggs?”
I hurried on, still fearful that we would be overheard. We reached the road and I turned back to see if anyone was following.
The porch was still empty. And by now there were a few shrubs and small trees that might hide us from plain sight if anyone looked out.
“Mommy said that I can show you the lake tomorrow. Do you like to fish?”
It was as if Bobby had no concept of what was happening. His head was caught in a simple place where problems didn’t really exist.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Bobby. I have to leave, okay? I have to go find out if my other parents are okay.”
“Can I go with you?”
“No. You have to stay here with Kathryn.”
“Where are you going?”
“I told you, I have to go back to where I came from.”
He stared down the road, uncertain. “Where’d you come from?”
“Back there, down the road a long way.”
“You can’t go that way. The dogs’ll eat you.”
“They will?” I followed his stare down the road. “Are you sure?”
“There’s lots of dogs. They scare me.”
“What kind of dogs?”
“Black dogs. Mommy says they keep the bad people out and the good people in. If you go that way, they’ll bite you.”
I studied the landscape shrouded in darkness ahead, torn by indecision.
“Is there a way through the swamps?”
He looked at the foliage to our right. I could just see the moonlight glinting off the water at the base of a large tree beyond the dry ground.
“The alligators will eat you,” he said. Then he looked up at me. “Will you go fishing with me tomorrow, when you get back? I can teach you how to fish.”
Panic swept through me. Having tasted the little freedom I’d found by getting out of the house, I was even more desperate to get away.
“Is there any other way to get away from here?” I asked, turning around.
“I think so.”
“There is?”
He grinned wide. “I can show you.”
“You can?”
“Yes . . . I . . . I can show you.”
With that he was already moving in his unnatural, slightly awkward gait, hurrying the opposite way, back past the house.
I wanted to ask him where we were going, but he was rushing and the house was looming against the night sky to our right and I didn’t want to make any sound.
Still no sign of Kathryn. She and Wyatt were still asleep.
Bobby led me wordlessly to a wide path on the other side of the property, rushing like a trooper on a mission, barreling straight ahead. Around a small grove of trees that grew on dry ground.
“Where are we going?” I whispered. But he was too intent on his mission to respond.
He hurried around the last tree and thrust his arm forward, pointing ahead. “There.”
I pulled up sharply and looked out over a large body of black water: a lake with a perfectly smooth surface that looked like oil at night.
The one phobia I had was water. A boy named Carver had pushed me into the pool at the orphanage and, not knowing how to swim, I’d nearly drowned before being pulled out, coughing and hacking up water. I’d never been in a pool since.