by Freya Barker
I hand him a glass of water and the bottle, before I look over to the girls who are piled into the large club chair, leaving the entire couch for Henry.
“How about you girls help me get some of those apples picked?” I ask them.
Loud cheers and a mad scramble for the door; I turn to rush after them before they disappear outside, when Henry grabs my hand.
“Listen, it’s cold out, so bundle up. Also, someone from Our Lady Of Victory is supposed to come pick some apples this afternoon for their annual bake sale, so keep your eye out. They do that every year.”
I look down in the old man’s face, seeing the warmth in his eyes, and recognize the veiled apology for his earlier grump. Already forgiven, I lean down and kiss his cheek to convey this, before rushing to intercept the kids.
Ignoring their protests, I herd them down the hallway to their bedroom and instruct them to dress in the sweaters I had the foresight to pack.
Apparently, I didn’t think to pack myself anything resembling a sweater, so I open the door to Nick’s walk-in closet to see what of his I can pilfer. I spot a hoodie and pull it off the hanger, accidentally knocking the hanger off the rail. I bend over to pick it up, and that’s when I see it: the edge of a large frame and the bottom half of a familiar image. Before I can have a closer look, Mak’s head pokes into the closet.
“Are you ready yet?”
I GLANCE OVER AT WHERE the kids are picking up the good apples that have fallen and putting them in one basket, and tossing the rotting ones in a big bucket for the horses. I’m on the ladder on the other side of the driveway, trying very hard not to do what Henry did and reach for that perfect apple that always seems just out of reach.
We’ve been out here for a while, and Henry wasn’t kidding, there’s a very distinct chill in the air. I’m used to the Albuquerque weather, which at this time of year is still in the very comfortable high sixties to mid-seventies. I’d be surprised if the thermometer reached forty here today.
I climb down and toss the apples, I gathered in the pouch of Nick’s hoodie, into the basket. We’ve already filled one bushel, and set that aside for when the church person comes. Saves them having to pick them and the girls are still having fun. I, on the other hand, am losing feeling in my fingers. I’m just considering calling the girls in for some hot chocolate, when I notice a white van turn into the driveway. I assume it’s whomever is coming from Our Lady Of Victory, and call to the girls to stay on their side of the road before I turn to grab the bushel I put aside for them.
Behind me a door slides open, as I bend over to lift the basket and promptly drop it when I hear Mak’s high-pitched voice call out in warning—but I don’t even have a chance to turn around before my world goes black.
NICK
That’s odd.
I pull into the driveway and immediately notice a bushel basket on its side, apples spilling out all over the road. A little further down is my dad’s stepladder, sitting under a tree. On the opposite side, I see another basket and a bucket.
That’s not like Pops, to leave his stuff out here.
I pull up beside the truck, grab my bag from the passenger seat and get out. All I can hear is the TV when I walk into the house, and I know right away something is off. I drop my bag just inside the door and walk into the living room. The TV is turned to the Discovery Channel and Pops is asleep on the couch.
“Pops? ” I gently shake his shoulder to wake him up. “Where are the girls?” I ask him when he blinks his eyes open, looking confused.
“What?” he mumbles, clearly disoriented, as I impatiently walk past him to check the bedrooms down the hall. Empty, the only thing out of place is the picture of Stacie I bought at the charity auction, laying on my bed. I’d tucked it away the first night I found her fast asleep in my room. She clearly missed seeing it or she would’ve said something. I was afraid that seeing it might be insensitive, since it depicts her scars before she had the surgery, so I tucked it away until I could broach it with her. She must’ve bumped into it.
Fuck.
What if the fact I hid it from her freaked her out? I’d like to think there’s enough trust built up that she wouldn’t walk away without confronting me, but what the fuck do I know? Wouldn’t be the first, and likely not the last time, I put my foot in.
When I get back to the living room, the TV is turned off, Dad’s sitting up and is looking much more coherent.
“Where’s Stacie?” he asks right away, and that feeling when you know something is off is suddenly so overwhelming, it’s making it hard to breathe.
“Not here,” I manage in a strangled voice. “Pops, where did they go?”
I watch as the blood drains from his face as he looks around the room.
“They’re not outside? They were picking apples,” he mumbles and I’m only half listening, already dialing Ben’s number. “I fell asleep,” is the last thing I hear him say before I walk into the kitchen and turn my attention to the call.
“Talk to me,” Ben answers in his usual manner.
“Are they with you?”
I don’t need an answer; I can feel the thick waves of dread in the silence. Without warning, the contents of my stomach surge up and I just make it to the sink, dropping the phone on the counter.
I’m retching so hard; tears are running down my face when I finally come up for air. I never noticed Pops following me into the kitchen, but he’s right there, handing me a towel with my phone to his ear.
“About one? Maybe two. I fell off a ladder picking apples and the girls offered to finish it. Those dang pills must’ve put me to sleep.” I watch my father turn his eyes on me. “I’m sorry, Son,” he says into the phone, but he does it while looking straight at me. Then he hands the phone to me.
“Nick?”
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice raw.
“Fucking pull yourself together,” he barks roughly. “Sit your father down with a pen and paper and tell him to write down everything he remembers. Then go out there and check if you see anything out of place. Any damn thing you find, you do not touch—you call me right away. Got it?”
“Got it,” I answer weakly.
“Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll find them. I swear to fucking God we’ll get our girls back.”
CHAPTER 24
Nick
Dad manages to shove a flashlight in my hands as I aim for the door.
I’m barely outside and already regret I didn’t grab a jacket; it’s fucking cold out. A quick glance at my watch shows twenty past five. Last time Pops saw them was two at best; that’s three and a half hours missing, for fuck’s sake. Enough time to...
I clench my teeth and shake my head sharply as I make my way over to where the overturned basket is lying on the road. I can’t think like that—I’ll go nuts.
There’s nothing obviously amiss, other than the basket and the apples spread over the ground. I’m not a goddamn investigator, how am I supposed to know what the fuck constitutes out of place in this situation? We’re outside for chrissakes.
Taking in a deep breath, I look again: in the grass, on the side of the road, I check the ditch along the fencing. I even look up in the damn trees before glancing back at the ground underneath. There I see it—two parallel marks in the dirt that stop abruptly at the side of the road, like someone’s been dragged. A cluster of footprints I can’t quite all make out, but it looks like there are some prints that are much smaller than the rest. Now that I’m focusing on the ground, I can make out tire tracks as well. Very faintly. Not that it tells me much—it’s a fucking driveway.
I make my way over to the other side of the road, where the second basket and a bucket still stand upright in the middle of a pile of apples.
“Goddammit girls, where are you?” I mutter at no one.
My head shoots up at a faint sound that seems to come from the other side of the fence on this side of the lane. I stand perfectly still and let my eyes scan the fence li
ne. I don’t see a thing at first, but then I hear it again...like a whimper. Then I see it: a pink shoelace sticking out of a pile of branches and debris in the ditch, slightly to my left. When I focus closely, I notice some of the dead leaves vibrating.
“Makenna?” I call out softly, inching closer. “Sweetheart?”
The only answer I get is a louder whimper and a now violent shaking of the brush pile.
“It’s okay. It’s Nick, baby,” I coo, lifting the branches away to find bright red hair instead of Mak’s dark head. “Becca, honey, it’s me.”
The little girl is curled up in a tight ball, her knees high and her face pressed down in the ditch, her arms covering her head. I carefully pick some sticks and leaves off her back before leaving my hand there. I can feel her little body shaking.
“It’s okay, Becca. I’ve got you now,” I murmur, lifting her gently with my hands under her arms.
The moment I start turning her toward me, she flings herself around my neck, her little arms so tight it’s hard to breathe. The only sound is the soft whimpers that slowly turn into keening.
Jesus.
I’ve got to get her inside, her little body is freezing.
“I’ve got you, baby. Let’s go see if we can get Pops to make us some of that hot chocolate, okay?”
I tuck the flashlight in my back pocket and with one hand keeping her head pressed in my neck, and the other under her butt to hold her up. I walk as fast as I can back to the house.
Ben arrives not long after I walked in the door to a waiting Pops, holding up a blanket, which I wrap her in. I sit down on the couch with her, since she’s clearly not ready to let go of me.
“She say anything?” Ben asks me and I shake my head.
“Found her hiding under a brush pile, on the other side of the road, in the ditch. She’s freezing. We’ll get something warm inside her first.”
“Drew’s on the way. Flemming and Neil are on their way, too. We need to know what she saw.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap, hanging onto my sanity by a thin thread. “What do you want me to do, man?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Pops warns, hobbling in with a mug in his hand. “I’ll get Becca here warmed up,” he says, putting the mug on the table and sitting down next to me. “You two go duke it out on the damn porch. I’ll take the girl.” He reaches over and pries her clinging body from me, setting her firmly on his lap, her back against his front, both his arms wrapped tightly around her. “Go on,” he orders. “We’ll be just fine. Won’t we, little one?”
Ben immediately moves toward the door, but I follow slower, keeping half an eye on the girl’s stark white face. My father’s head is bent close to hers, and I can hear him talk to her.
“You’re a tough one, aren’t you, Becca? You did real good, hiding out so you can help us find them. Real good. Now I need you to drink some of this hot cocoa, it’ll help you warm up. I even put some of those little marshmallows in you liked last time. Remember that?”
The last thing I see before I step out the door is Becca’s red hair bouncing as she nods at Pops.
WHAT ARE THE FUCKING odds?
This week has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Didn’t get in to see my PO until Tuesday when the damn truck broke down. Luckily, I had that chick’s number, Vyanne or something, and she was apparently ready for a repeat performance and picked me up. I kinda lost track when the bitch pulled out some high-grade coke that went nicely with the bottle of Jack.
Before I knew it, it was fucking Friday morning. I considered taking the bitch’s car, but that would mean I’d have to off her, since she’d be able to make me to the cops, no problem. Instead, I waited till she headed out to pick up some milk, grabbed my bag and beelined it out of there, only to find my truck gone. Some fucktard either towed it or managed to get it fucking going, but she was no longer there.
I started walking, when I spotted that panel van parked beside the dumpster behind a strip mall. Jimmying the door was a piece of cake. I tossed my bag on the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. Jail is good for something. I came away knowing how to do more illegal shit than when I went in. Hot-wiring a car being one of them.
I thought the luck was short-lived when I got back to Dolores and drove by that cunt’s house, hoping to pick up where I left off, and found it dark and empty. But that changed when I drove around the block a second time, to make sure, and spotted her little brat getting in the back seat of a big SUV in the parking lot of that coffee place. I was surprised to see it go in the opposite direction from her house and decided to trail a few cars behind.
I pulled off to the side when it pulled into a long driveway to a farmhouse, set back quite a ways from the road. From that distance I wasn’t able to see who got out, but I did recognize the big bald dude’s pickup truck parked out front. Pretty fucking sure that was not a coincidence. Looks like the bitch and her spawn are slumming with her fuck buddy.
I was parked on the shoulder and took off when the SUV pulled out again, to avoid being seen, and parked a little further on at the end of a dirt road by the river. The back of that van is a fuckload more comfortable than the bed of my truck for sleeping.
This morning I was back, but this time I parked at the same side of the road as the farm, hoping to have a better view. All fucking morning I sat there, planning and plotting. An old geezer came out of a shed on the side of the house, carrying a ladder and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to get closer to the house without being seen.
I must’ve dozed off at some point, because next thing I know, it’s not the old man, but that bitch, clear as day, on that same damn ladder.
My patience thin—I didn’t stop to think, but acted.
STACIE
“Mom? Mommy...”
God my head hurts. Is that Mak?
I gingerly crack my eyelids, and get a quick glimpse of familiar surroundings, before a stabbing pain has me squeeze my eyes shut again.
My mind is foggy and not quite processing.
“Mommy?” My daughter’s voice for sure, and she sounds upset.
I force my eyes open again and this time ride out the surge of pain when the sparse light hits my retinas.
“Makenna?” I try to call back, but my voice is raspy with lack of use, as I take in my surroundings.
Why am I sitting on the kitchen floor?
I try to pull a leg underneath me so I can get up, but my legs won’t move independently. They’re tied, as are my arms, behind my back.
“Mak?” I call again, a little firmer and this time I hear a responding sob as I tug restlessly on my restraints. I can’t see her, but she’s somewhere on the other side of the island.
Without thinking, I try to move in that direction but only manage to fall over, landing hard on my shoulder. Right. I’m bound. My senses are so scrambled; it’s hard to think.
Shaking my head to clear the fog, I try my hands behind my back. Whatever is tied around my wrists is damp and only seems to get tighter as I try to wiggle my hands. I’m like a turtle on its back: immobile, exposed, and vulnerable.
“You have to wake up, Mommy. He’s coming back.”
I freeze.
“Who, baby?” I manage through the paralyzing fear that finally registers. Sharp and clear, cutting a straight path through the confusing fog.
“That man I saw in the parking lot at school, the one from the picture,” she sniffles.
“Can you come to me? I’m tied up, baby,” I call out, already on the move myself; wiggling like a worm along the tile floor. “Where are you?”
“He tied me to the table.”
The dining room table is just on the other side of the kitchen island. A solid oak table on a single heavy column. She wouldn’t be able to move it if she tried.
“I’m coming.”
I hear the determination in my own voice, but that doesn’t help me move any faster. It’s hard to find purchase on the slick floor with my feet tied to
gether, and every move results in a sharp pain in my head. Still I persist, my girl is on the other side.
“Where did he go?” I ask, biting down the bile that surges up in my throat, as I slowly crawl into the small passage between the counter and the fridge.
“I don’t know!” Mak sobs.
“Hang on, baby. I’m on my way.”
“He just said he’d be back. You were moaning, Mommy. I’m scared.”
“I’m fine, sweetie, we’ll both be fine.”
Finally, I see her in the faint light coming in from the street. She’s sitting under the table with her back against the base, her face a lighter orb. I only now register it’s already dark outside. Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost a chunk of time.
“I can see you, baby, can you see me?”
She looks up and immediately her face crumbles, as another bout of tears floods her eyes.
“Keep talking to me, Makenna,” I urge her. “Keep your eyes on me and keep talking. I’m coming.”
“I didn’t know it was him at first, I thought it was the church people. I came around the van and saw him behind you with his arm up. I tried to warn you, but he hit you over the head with something. I thought...” She dissolves in tears again.
“Baby? I’m okay, look at me. I’m all right. Almost there.”
And I am. I’m so close that if I could stretch my arms, I’d almost be able to touch her feet.
“Hurry,” Mak suddenly hisses, her head tilted and her eyes on the back door of the kitchen. A light crunch and then another. Someone is coming up the gravel path from the back shed. “He’s coming.”
With renewed urgency, and a singular focus at getting to my daughter, I scramble along the floor. With one last surge of energy, I launch myself forward, landing with my face inches from her hip, just as the back door opens.
CHAPTER 25
Nick
Drew is just driving up when I step out on the porch, leaving Pops to tend to Becca.