The Girl in the Woods

by Patricia MacDonald

  ‘He doesn’t care,’ said Ariel flatly.

  Blair squeezed her eyes shut; trying not to imagine what Ariel had endured. If she had even half of her usual strength, she just knew she could make a difference. She could surprise him, overcome him. But all she had right now was a fraction and that fraction was spent trying to control the shaking.

  ‘When he sees the shape you’re in, he won’t want you,’ said Ariel. ‘Not till you’re better.’

  Blair realized that she should be relieved, but all her effort was spent trying to imagine how she would be any better. This fever, this infection, was not going away. Not without antibiotics.

  ‘Does he give you medicine when you need it?’ she whispered through parched lips.

  Ariel shrugged. ‘When he decides you need it. What fun would it be if we died?’

  ‘We have to get out,’ Blair whispered.

  Ariel’s gaze became icy. ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she yelled. ‘Do you think I wanted to stay here?’

  Blair shuddered at Ariel’s loud yell. But even as she heard it, it started to recede, as if it came from somewhere far away.

  Blair shook her head. ‘No. Of course not,’ she whispered. ‘Never.’

  ‘Mommy,’ came a plaintive cry from the direction of the closet. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Look what you’ve done,’ Ariel fumed. ‘Coming,’ she called out to the child.

  ‘Sorry,’ Blair whispered, as Ariel scrambled to her feet and headed toward the closet.

  Just then, Blair heard it. It was a thud, like the sound of a door closing and then something nearer rattling.

  Blair felt her heart leap to her throat as she realized what was happening. He was outside the door, about to let himself in.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. She wanted to call out to Ariel, to warn her. With all her strength she pulled herself up and put her back to the wall, pressing the thin pillow to her chest and holding it there, like flimsy armor. Her head seemed to be spinning.

  ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘No.’

  The door opened.

  THIRTY-THREE

  He was wearing a pajama top and chinos under a bathrobe and fleece vest. His hair was disheveled, like he had been tossing and turning in bed. A bunch of keys on a chain were attached to a belt loop on his pants and Blair thought, as she watched him carefully re-locking the door, that he resembled a guard in a madhouse. He looked up and his gaze was unreadable behind his silvery glasses.

  ‘Getting acclimated?’ he said.

  Blair glared at him venomously. ‘Never,’ she said.

  ‘No need to be unpleasant,’ said Joe, and there was a note of warning in his voice. He came closer to Blair and peered at her. ‘You don’t look well.’

  ‘No sh-shit,’ she said, her teeth chattering. ‘I have a fever. My head is infected where you hit me with that filthy shovel. I need antibiotics.’

  Joe Reese smiled and wagged a finger at Blair. ‘Now don’t you start barking orders. That doesn’t work with me. I don’t respond well to commands. Just ask Ariel.’

  ‘Ask me what?’ Ariel demanded. She stepped out of the closet, holding Trista, who was still half asleep, in her arms.

  ‘There she is,’ Joe exclaimed rapturously. ‘My little girl.’ He reached out his arms and waggled his hands.

  Ariel pivoted away from him and pulled her child close, putting a protective hand around the toddler’s head as if to shield her.

  ‘Leave her alone. She’s still asleep. What time is it?’

  Joe ignored the question. ‘Oh, but she’ll be glad to see me. Won’t you?’ he crooned, wresting the baby away from her mother and slipping his pale, beefy hands around the drowsy child.

  Trista’s head rolled back and then she seemed to awaken. She opened her large, sparkling eyes and looked at the man who was holding her.

  ‘How’s Trista? How’s my baby girl?’ he crooned.

  Blair felt her stomach heave at the sound of these words. ‘You sick bastard,’ she whispered.

  Joe either did not hear her or pretended he did not. All his attention was concentrated on the child.

  Trista glanced back at her mother and then at the man who was holding her.

  ‘Dada,’ she said.

  ‘That’s right. I’m your Dada. And you are my little princess.’

  At that, the child reached for his glasses and smeared the glass with her sticky fingers trying to remove them from his face.

  ‘Now stop,’ he crooned. ‘Don’t touch Dada’s glasses.’

  Trista giggled and reached up again for the glinting glasses.

  ‘No, no, don’t touch,’ said Joe.

  Trista giggled at the game and managed to pull one of the earpieces away from his head. His glasses tilted crazily on his nose.

  ‘I said no,’ Joe shouted, thrusting the child out at arm’s length and shaking her.

  Trista began to wail miserably, tears filling her eyes.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Ariel pleaded, reaching for her child. ‘She’s just playing.’

  ‘She needs to learn that no means no.’ He adjusted his glasses on his face.

  Ariel turned away, cradling her crying toddler and shaking her head. She muttered something under her breath.

  ‘What was that?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Ariel said angrily.

  Blair couldn’t stand it. ‘No means no?’ she cried. ‘You fucking hypocrite.’

  Joe turned on her. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard me,’ said Blair.

  ‘Don’t,’ Ariel pleaded.

  Blair knew why Ariel was pleading. She didn’t want Blair to anger their captor, for fear of his wrath. And Blair knew that she should fear him also. He was a sadist and a killer. Blair thought about what she had learned this evening. Thirteen-year-old Molly had tried to rescue Ariel, and had paid for it with her own life. Blair could not forget that, or pretend it had not happened. She could not ignore it, for the sake of keeping the peace. She felt Molly’s spirit entering her somehow, giving her courage.

  ‘You know, I finally understand,’ said Blair, ‘what happened to my friend, Molly.’

  Joe looked at her blankly and then with disdain. ‘Oh you do, do you?’

  ‘Yes. Ariel told me about the time she almost escaped from you. How she ran away and you chased her and trapped her.’

  ‘Ariel’s daydreaming escapes me!’ Joe laughed as if the idea was preposterous. ‘She never tried to leave me. She wouldn’t. She loves being here with me. She had no one until I found her. She was all alone in the world. You might say we were searching for each other. I had this place ready and waiting for someone. The right someone. But I was very particular about who it was going to be and then I met Ariel. And I knew.’ He smiled a sentimental smile at the memory.

  ‘Ariel was in your house. You weakened and allowed her to be in your house. And she ran away,’ Blair insisted. ‘And you hunted her down like an animal in the forest. Molly tried to intervene …’

  Joe shook his head as if to say that he felt sorry for Blair. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I rescued Ariel from a miserable life. She’s happy here. I don’t have to hunt her. Ariel belongs to me. She and Trista.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything about any Molly,’ Ariel protested pitifully. ‘I didn’t know any Molly.’

  ‘But it was Molly,’ Blair insisted. ‘Wasn’t it, Joe?’ Blair shuddered, and she could not tell if it was the infection or her revulsion at this monstrous man that caused it. ‘You know, Molly was only thirteen when you killed her. Thirteen. But she defied you, didn’t she? She saw you right away for the coward and bully that you are. That was what she was like. She always stood up for the underdog.’

  ‘Blair, no …’ Ariel pleaded.

  Blair ignored her pleas. She knew that she was betraying Ariel’s confidences about Joe Reese and that Ariel was terrified of the repercussions. But Blair could not stop herself. She had to say it out loud to him. Insist on it.

&n
bsp; ‘When I think about it now, Molly was probably lucky that you didn’t decide to add her to your little dungeon. What was the matter? Wasn’t she your type? Not young enough? Not vulnerable enough?’

  Joe came up to Blair and reached for her neck, gripped it and lifted her up off the grimy pallet where she had been resting. She felt herself rise and suddenly her air supply was cut off.

  ‘Molly had a big mouth for such a little girl,’ Joe said in a quiet, menacing voice. ‘Why would I ever bring that home with me?’

  Blair could not answer because she was gagging and gasping for breath, trying in vain to unwrap his fingers from her neck. She could vaguely hear Ariel erupting in feeble protests and Trista had begun to wail.

  ‘Please Joe,’ Ariel cried, trying to break his grip on Blair. ‘You’re scaring the baby.’

  Joe stared at the struggling Blair for a minute and then he tossed her back down onto the heap of rags where she had been huddled. Blair collapsed with a hacking cough, then crawled up onto her hands and knees and gasped for air in huge, ragged breaths. Joe lifted his boot and kicked her as hard as he could in the side.

  Blair let out an agonized wail and doubled over.

  His punishment dispatched, Joe’s composure quickly returned. He rummaged in the pockets of his vest and bathrobe, looking for something.

  ‘I brought baby a treat,’ he said. From where she lay, clutching her painful side, Blair watched as he lovingly removed a chocolate candy bar and waved it at Ariel, who was still soothing Trista in her arms.

  ‘This is for somebody if she’s good,’ he said.

  Blair watched him in horrified fascination. He seemed to expect cheers and kudos for that measly gift. With a voice weary from years of practice, Ariel made a pro forma exclamation of appreciation.

  ‘I need antibiotics,’ Blair demanded, in as loud a voice as she could muster.

  Joe’s head swiveled toward her as if he had forgotten she was there. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any of those,’ he said.

  ‘Ask Darlene,’ Blair said. ‘She has drugs with her for hospice. Maybe she has some antibiotics.’

  Joe glowered at her as if offended by her mention of his twin. ‘You’re going to have to do without them.’

  ‘I can’t do without them,’ Blair cried. ‘I need them. Tell Darlene. Where does she think you are anyway? Where does she think you’re going, when you wander out of the house in the middle of the night in that get-up? You look like you escaped from a mental hospital; which is where you should be anyway.’

  In a flash, Joe had scuttled over to where she lay and smacked her in the face.

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that. My child is over there. I won’t allow her to hear that.’

  Blair felt a mixture of fear and repugnance to be so close to Joe Reese. What would possess a man to do something so twisted? To keep a woman prisoner for years? To let a child grow up without air, or light, or other human company? To let a woman die from neglect? For clearly, that was his plan for her.

  Suddenly, he pushed her back down onto her shredded pallet. He made a moue of distaste.

  ‘You smell terrible,’ he said. Then Joe stood up and rubbed his hands together. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Time for Mommy and me.’

  He pulled Blair to her feet, up from her pallet.

  ‘You. Into the closet with my princess.’ He gestured for Ariel to give the child to Blair. Ariel bowed her head over the baby’s floss-like hair and stifled a groan.

  ‘Go on, now,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  Ariel pushed the child in Blair’s direction. ‘Go in the closet,’ she said. ‘Don’t come out. Just don’t.’

  Blair and Ariel locked gazes for a moment. Blair tried to let her know how sorry she was, how sick at heart. Ariel gazed back as if from a great distance, as if she was already pulling away from the scene, distancing herself from what was about to happen.

  Blair took the protesting little girl toward the closet.

  Joe followed behind them almost jovially.

  ‘You two just stay out of the way,’ he said. ‘Let Mommy and me take our time.’ Blair turned to curse him and he kicked her again, this time in the shin. He shoved them both into the closet and locked the door.

  It took Blair a moment to catch her breath. Then she managed to get to her feet and fumble around for the light switch. There was none. But a cord was hanging there and Blair pulled on it. The single, low wattage bulb in the closet ceiling lit up. Blair looked around. The floor of the closet was littered with clothes which formed the pallet that was Trista’s bed. Trista had clambered to the pillow against the wall and huddled there, holding a dingy stuffed dog.

  ‘Don’t stand there,’ the child commanded, her lip trembling, and Blair thought that it must somehow alarm her to have Blair looming over her like that.

  ‘I’ll sit right down,’ Blair whispered. ‘Just a minute.’

  Blair took another look around. She rattled the clothes bar in the closet, but it was securely fastened to the wall. The clothes were all on the floor because there were no hangers on the bar. No hangers which might be formed into a primitive weapon. He made sure of that. What else, she wondered? She could hear murmuring and grunting from the next room. She tried to drown the noise out with her thoughts.

  She moved aside a small jumble of clothing and sat down on the floor. She pushed aside a pink sock and then recognized it. It looked like the mate of the sock which had adhered to Joe Reese’s fleece vest. Now, it made sense. The sock was Trista’s. It must have come off while she was sitting on her mother’s mattress. And one of the many times, when Joe was assaulting Ariel, he had picked up the sock on his clothes.

  The idea was repulsive and Blair tried to put it out of her mind. She pushed some other clothes aside. A pair of women’s socks were tied together and rested in the heap of clothes on the floor. So Ariel’s clothes were in here too, mixed in with her daughter’s. There was nothing clean or fresh or new in the pile. It was a sickening jumble of worn, stained, shapeless clothing.

  ‘You’re too big for here,’ Trista said, and tears stood in her shiny eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Blair. ‘I don’t mean to crowd you.’

  ‘When are you going away?’ the child demanded.

  Blair thought about the question. Would she ever be going away? Would she ever be leaving here alive? She tried to focus on Trista, but her eyes were having trouble focusing and, in addition to the pain where he had kicked her, she felt weak and flushed from her fever.

  Stop it, she chided herself. Don’t give in. You have to get out of here. There has to be a way. Trista, having lost interest in Blair, rummaged expertly through the mess on the closet floor and pulled out, from among her few toys, a vinyl baby doll which looked like it had been new when Reagan was president. The color was almost worn off its face and eyes, and it was wearing a stained, filthy dress. Joe must have bought it at a rummage sale somewhere. A fine present for his newborn child, Blair thought, someone’s old, discarded doll. Trista held the doll close to her and rocked it, cooing.

  ‘What’s your baby’s name?’ Blair asked.

  Trista looked at her blankly. ‘Baby,’ she said.

  ‘I see,’ said Blair.

  She watched as Trista alternately cradled and then scolded the baby. ‘You have dirty diapers,’ the child complained. ‘I have to change them.’

  The groans from the other room were louder now and there was a rhythmic, bumping sound. Rutting pig, Blair thought.

  Trista was busily pretending to change the baby’s diapers, although, in fact, the doll had no undergarments on. Blair looked at the doll’s bare stomach under the pushed up dress. There was a large square cut in the flesh-colored vinyl of the doll’s stomach which was closed with a plastic, corrugated latch. A battery compartment. From the size of it, the compartment must hold a pair of D cell batteries. Talk about outdated, she thought. These days, dolls had a tiny microchip in them that made them capable of doing every
thing from singing harmony with themselves to mapping out directions.

  ‘Does Baby talk?’ Blair asked.

  Trista shook her head sadly. ‘No. Not anymore.’

  ‘She used to talk?’ Blair asked.

  ‘She talked before,’ Trista said, nodding. ‘Dada said so.’

  Yeah, years ago, Blair thought, when the doll had batteries in it. And then Blair had a sudden thought which made her break out in a sweat. Easy does it. Steady. Don’t scare her, she told herself.

  ‘Baby is so pretty,’ Blair said. ‘May I hold her?’

  Trista clutched the doll to her chest in alarm. ‘No,’ she insisted.

  Blair smiled at her genially. ‘Is she your only baby?’

  Trista looked at Blair suspiciously for a moment, but then seemed to decide that Blair was safe. ‘I have another baby,’ she said.

  ‘Can I see?’

  Trista hesitated, and then began rummaging through the clothes again. This time she pulled out a black-and-white stuffed kitten. She held it up triumphantly.

  ‘This is my other baby.’

  ‘What’s this baby called?’ asked Blair.

  Blair could tell by the child’s frown that she had not given the kitten a name. But she immediately set to work on it.

  ‘This … baby … is … called …’ The child frowned, thinking. She doesn’t know any names, Blair thought. She doesn’t know any other people.

  ‘Called … Little One!’ Trista cried triumphantly.

  ‘Could I hold Little One?’ Blair asked, reaching for the kitten and giving it a gentle tug as if to free it from Trista’s hands.

  Blair’s gesture had the desired effect. The child grasped the kitten with both hands, letting the baby doll fall into the pile of clothes.

  ‘No,’ she exclaimed. ‘Mine.’

  She turned away from Blair so that Blair could not reach for the kitten again.

  Blair nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said.

  Casually, she reached into the heap of clothes and picked up the discarded baby doll, pretending to gaze at its face. As she did, she reached under the doll’s grimy dress and unfastened the battery compartment. She felt a flush of victory when she saw that the dead batteries, two heavy, round D cells, were still inside. Blair immediately slipped them out and stashed them under her leg. Then she snapped the compartment shut again.