by Nicole Thorn
Her father took a moment, looking down at the girl he thought he’d lost. “Addy,” he said, leaving it at that. He hugged her tight, with her hugging back. It took several minutes of just that before he spoke again. The man bent down to meet her eyes. “Honey,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
Adalyn shook in his arms, eyes full of tears. “Where’s Mommy?”
His head hung. “We can talk about it on the way home.” Then he looked to us. “Are you girls all alone?”
Officer Wigmore answered for us. “Their parents are on the way.”
With another long goodbye, Adalyn was off and away.
I held Kylie’s hand, waiting to see who was next. She was the winner. Both of her parents walked in. Her mother, tall with dark hair. Her father, taller with darker hair. I didn’t know where she got her blonde hair and blue eyes. I knew that her parents were broken up from before we were taken. But today, the three of them just looked like a family. Sobs and hugs and promises. Another goodbye, and I was all alone.
Wigmore sat with me, scratching at his bushy gray beard. “They’ll be here for you soon, honey. I spoke to your mother myself.”
My heart picked up. “How did she sound?”
He took a deep breath. “Like I just told her that her daughter wasn’t dead.”
I nodded. “Reasonable…”
His eyes scanned my bloody shorts, the only thing you could see past the sweater. “You wanna talk about what you did tonight?”
“Do I have to?”
He sighed. “Not at this moment, but you will. We have to know where you all were. That can wait a bit. You’ve… been through a lot. More than any teenager should have to live through. You’re a hero, young lady. You should be so proud.”
I looked down. “I killed someone tonight. As evil as he was, I still killed a person.”
He patted my back.
“Did you tell them I killed someone?”
“I did. I told them how brave you were.”
My eyes shut, and I focused on nothing but my own breathing. This was the only thing that I knew was real. In and out. In and out. One foot in front of the other.
The officer left to get me more food, leaving me to stare out of the glass. People looked in on me, seeing a little murderer all by herself. They must be wondering how I did it. How I found the strength. They thought I was a hero as opposed to the coward that wouldn’t stop stabbing a dead man.
My eyes were closed again when I heard the door open. A voice I’d only heard in dreams for the last seven years called to me.
“Riley,” it sobbed.
I saw her before I saw anything else. My mother. The same but so, so different. Her light blonde hair was to her shoulders now, green eyes a little less bright than I remembered. New wrinkles at her eyes. But it was her.
I took off like a bullet train, running into her and barely being caught. Her arms came around me, and tears soaked into the sweater I was wearing. I inhaled deeply, wanting to remember what this smelled like. “You smell the same.”‘
She gasped at me. Oh, I guess my voice was different. Everything about me was different. I was nineteen now, I guess. Taller, skinny as can be. He liked us this way. I think I was under a hundred pounds. Looking at myself in the mirror was disgusting.
My mom set me back on my feet, touching my face. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” She smiled.
“Yeah, I got a little of that over here too.”
She laughed and wiped her nose.
My father was the next voice I heard. “Riles?”
Daddy was just the same as I remembered. Same haircut. Brown hair just above his ears. Sky blue eyes like mine. The only thing different about him was the little boy in his arms.
I stared at him, gawking at what I was seeing. His face was so much like mine when I was little. His hair was white, and his eyes matched mine. They were half open as he slunk against my father in his little Ninja Turtles pajamas.
“This is Maxwell,” Dad said. “Your little brother.”
Brother. I had a brother…
“How old is he?”
“About to be six,” Mom said.
My father pulled me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
I pressed my cheek to his chest, smelling him too. Same soap as when I left. “Me too.”
The little boy in Dad’s arms blinked at me. “Hello.”
I smiled, waving. “Hi. I’m Riley.”
He nodded. “Mommy and Daddy told me I got to meet you today, but it’s dark outside.”
Dad laughed to cover up his crying. “You can sleep in the car, buddy.”
Mom was squeezing my hand, unknowingly hurting me. I let her, because I didn’t care.
“We need to get you home, honey. You should rest.”
My tongue felt stuck when I tried to talk. “Do you live in the same house?”
She nodded. “Your room is just like you left it. But I dust it once a week. Just in case…” she trailed off, looking embarrassed for some reason.
I followed them out the door, only pausing so that we could thank Wigmore. Then we got into a minivan I didn’t recognize, and we headed back home.
The drive was long, and it didn’t take my parents very long to figure out that I wasn’t up to talking. They took to catching me up on what I’d missed. Like the birth of my little brother. He was passed out in his car seat, snoring away.
Apparently they bought a cat. He was a tabby named Abraham, and he had huge paws. I didn’t really have much to add to the conversation. I knew what they wanted to know, but I wasn’t up to talking about it. I wasn’t sure I ever would be. The police would want to know. That wouldn’t make the words come.
My mother had quit her job when the baby was born. Dad’s hardware store took off, and they were doing well. Things were working out for my family. They were fine without me, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.
When we pulled up to the house, it was still raining. I stared at the tree in the front yard that I used to climb when I was little. The house was the exact same. Light blue and two stories. We walked inside, and we were in the living room. To the right was a staircase, and straight ahead was the kitchen and backyard. I knew it so well. Laundry room off of the kitchen. Then the garage.
“Honey?” Mom asked. “Are you okay?”
I blinked. “Just… strange. Being here again. Above ground.”
I caught the look exchanged, but I didn’t say anything. Neither did they.
Dad went to put Maxwell to bed while Mom led me up the stairs. The walls and surfaces were covered in pictures of me. All ages. My mother wouldn’t look at them as we went. She stopped holding my hand. She stopped touching me all together. When we reached my bedroom, she had to push the door open for me.
I stepped inside slowly, looking at everything I used to know. Posters of bands and TV shows that I doubted were still on. They covered the white walls.
My bed was in the middle of the back wall. The blankets were all blue, matching the pillows. A window showed me the backyard from on high. I stared down at another tree and a jungle gym that didn’t used to be there.
“We’ll have to go clothes shopping tomorrow,” Mom said. “Get you shoes. I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you to sleep in other than an old shirt of your dad’s.”
I forced a smiled. “That’s fine. I just don’t want to be in this anymore.” I looked down. I could still smell the blood.
Mom left for thirty seconds, returning with the clothes. “It’s like three in the morning. I would understand if you wanted to sleep now, but I can stay up with you if you want. We can talk.”
That didn’t sound like something I wanted to do at the moment, so I declined. “Thanks, but can we wait till morning?”
She nodded. “If you need me, I’ll be in the bedroom. Sleep well, honey.”
She didn’t kiss me goodnight.
The door was closed, and I knew I could
open it if I wanted. I could go into the bathroom, or the kitchen. Out the front door. Nothing kept me inside this place. Freedom was mine.
So why did I feel so sick?
I didn’t know how long I stood in place before I started looking around. Everything was familiar and alien at the same time. I didn’t have a clue what to make of it. This was a little girl’s room, and I was no longer a little girl. Stuffed animals adorned my dresser, bookshelf, and bed. The clothes in the dresser wouldn’t fit me if I tried to put them on again. Or the shoes in the closet. This was almost home, but something wasn’t quite right. Like looking at a photo. It looked like it should, but in the end, it was only two dimensions.
I ran my hands over every surface in my bedroom, trying to believe that this was as real as it looked. Hours I must have spent doing it, and nothing ever felt right.
The sun was beginning to peek out through the curtains. I should go to bed now. The only problem was, I was terrified to close my eyes. Once I did, then I would fall asleep. I didn’t want to wake up in another house. Underground and locked in a room.
But my parents were three doors down from me. If I screamed, they would come. Real, and here for me. So when I sat in my dusty bed and thought about that, all I could do was cry. Eventually, I laid down, ignoring the musty smell of the blankets. It was getting too difficult to keep fighting. Tears stained the pillowcases as I finally fell asleep, nightmares following me into the darkness.
hen I woke up, I was groggy. With a quick look around, I remembered where I was. Home. That place that was nothing but a dream for… seven years.
I sat up in bed, realizing I’d slept in my bloody clothes. I stood up, ripping the clothes off of me. The blood had turned brown on the pajamas, and the sight almost made me sick. It was over now; I needed to keep remembering that. This house meant I was safe.
I threw on the shirt my mother brought me, and I put the sweater over that. It would seem I was without a bra, and going out should be uncomfortable. Such a small thing in comparison to everything else. Did I have the right to be bothered by it?
The shirt was big, dropping almost to my knees. I guessed it was okay to go see my family in it. It was this or the shorts again. I couldn’t do that. So with small steps, I left my room.
I was in a hallway, looking at the pictures on the wall. So many more than when I was a kid. My face stared back at me in a dozen different versions of myself. I wasn’t alone on the wall. My parents and little brother were with me. Not with me, but there. Several with Mom and Dad and Maxwell together. Because I was dead when those were taken.
“…just in the house,” I heard my mother say from down below.
I stopped looking at the pictures so I could focus on her voice. Just as I remembered it.
“She’s upstairs, with us, and I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” Dad said. “It’s…” He couldn’t find the word.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act with her. She’s almost twenty. She’s an adult,” Mom stammered. “I’m lost on this.”
Pots and pans clanged in between each sentence. They were cooking while discussing how to handle me. Like I was a feral child. Maybe I was. Living outside of reality for so many years. They might think I could snap, break down, and become nothing at all. I wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t.
“We just need to be careful,” Dad said. “Until we know what happened to her and those girls, we need to tread lightly. Anything can trigger some kind of memory.”
“God,” my mom said in a gasp. “What did that man do to our daughter? What if she doesn’t tell us?”
There was a silent beat. “I don’t know. She’ll want to talk about it with someone. Maybe those girls. We should be happy if she talks about it at all.”
My feet brought me to the top of the stairs, and I could hear my parents better. I couldn’t see them, but that meant they couldn’t see me either. Footsteps and the smell of food were almost distracting enough to make me stop listening. I knew that smell. Bacon. My stomach rumbled at the thought.
“I’m not sure about that,” Mom said as something hard hit the wooden table.
“About what?”
“About letting her see those girls. They’re just memories of the worst time in her life. It would be unhealthy to let her spend more time with them. It could keep her from developing.”
No. She wanted to keep my sisters from me. They were all I had in the darkness. I told them everything, and we held each other’s hands when we cried. Every single day for seven years. The fact that I wasn’t about to eat breakfast with them was almost Earth-shattering. I wanted so see them, and I knew it wasn’t possible at the moment. They were the only things still locked away from me.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I started walking down the stairs. My foot landed on a step that groaned, and the voices in the kitchen stilled. Everything stilled.
I walked into the kitchen, and the first thing I saw made me smile. Really smile. My little brother sat at the table while he ate his breakfast. His feet swung off of the too-tall seat, and he was completely in his own world despite the morbid conversation. He looked at peace, content, and too much like me.
“Riley,” my mother said with something beyond joy.
I only glanced at her, but she was beaming.
“We didn’t know what you’d want for breakfast, so we made a little of everything. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast.” She waved her hands nervously. “All of it. What do you want?”
“All of it,” I responded.
My dad grinned. “Hungry?”
I nodded. He didn’t let us eat much. Everything was regulated, and we had to cook it ourselves. Difficult without electricity. We weren’t allowed to use it without permission, so we cooked most everything on gas and fire.
“Yes,” I said, leaving it at that.
I went to serve myself, and Dad stopped me, holding his hands out without touching me. “It’s okay, honey. You can sit down. I’ll do this for you.”
I smiled again. “Thank you.”
I joined my little brother, still marveling at him. He looked over at me, examining my body.
“Your hair is very long,” he said.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“All the pictures of you were different. Your hair was short.”
“Maxwell,” Mom rebuked.
“It’s okay,” I waved it off. “I understand what this is,” I said very plainly. “It’s awkward and strange. I feel like an invader in your home. That feeling won’t go away if everyone is avoiding the elephant in the room.”
My parents were clearly taken aback. Dad set a full plate in front of me. “Um,” he faltered. “We just want you to feel comfortable, Riles.”
That name again. So vividly, I could see him holding me when I was little, calling me that as we played at the park. My life in two dimensions again.
“I know,” I said calmly. “I don’t really know what comfortable is anymore. So maybe little steps could help.”
He forced a tight smile. “We can do that. Where do you want to start?”
I picked up the fork on the table, stabbing a little sausage with it. Red meat. Oh God, I’ve missed red meat. I stared at the food while I spoke.
“My room. I would like to change it. Make it something new. I thought maybe we could donate all the clothes I had, since they don’t fit anymore. Paint the walls. Stuff like that.”
Mom came up behind Dad, smiling in victory. “Absolutely. I would have given away the clothes sooner but… you know.”
“Harder to give things away when it was all that was left of me,” I agreed.
She flinched at my words. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Maybe I just didn’t remember how to be human.
The room went silent as I started eating. Everything tasted wonderful, not bland like the food I was used to. Boiled chicken more often than not. Soggy veggies. This was nothing like that. I shoveled it into my mouth without shame.
“We need to ge
t you clothes,” Mom said after she and Dad sat down. “I have some things you can wear so we can go out. Then you can pick what you like. Do you have anything in mind?”
I downed half a glass of orange juice before I answered. “Nothing pink.”
Then they were staring at me. It was horror and despair all wrapped up together. Mom’s eyes glistened with tears, and Dad just barely kept himself together.
Maxwell reached out, taking my hand and turning it palm up. “What’s that?”
Oh. I pulled my arm to my chest, covering the ragged scars on my wrists: perfect copies of the ones on my sisters. Thick and ugly and disappointing. So much misery in two vertical lines. It was like a beautiful miracle when Kylie found that nail just sticking up from the floorboard. He was gone, and she brought it to us.
I shook my head, trying to get rid of the memory. “It wasn’t on purpose,” I lied.
His blue eyes squinted. “How did it happen to both?”
I swallowed. “I fell down.”
When I looked back to my parents, they didn’t believe me. They were kind enough to not say anything. Not in front of Maxwell.
I put my hands on my lap. “Are you coming shopping with us?” I asked, realizing I hoped the answer was yes.
“Can I go, Mommy?”
My mother was still recovering, but she nodded. “Of course.”
When it got quiet again, I looked at the table. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” came out of my father, tentatively.
My eyes flickered up. “What day is it?”
It took him a minute. “Monday.”
“I meant the number. It’s cold. Is it winter?”
“Um, it’s October tenth,” he said, finally.
I nodded to the comment. October. I was taken in the early summer. Right before school got out.
Then it was time for Dad to go to work. He smiled and said goodbye, but he didn’t hug me.
Mom stood up, putting the dishes in the sink while I finished off some buttered toast. She glanced at me as she washed her hands.
“Good thing you’re only a little taller than me.” She laughed. “You can fit into some of my clothes.” Then she grimaced a bit. “Sorry I don’t have any underwear for you.”