Cold Death

by Mary Stone

  Bethany relaxed her arms and legs, fingers and toes. Even her eyelids. She sank into the bed and tried to float away.

  The only part of her body that moved was her chest as she breathed.

  In…out. In…out.

  Something tickled her cheek, and her heart jumped, but Bethany played possum. Even when she realized the tickle was the bad man dragging his fingers across her cheek.

  Even when those same fingers smoothed back her hair.

  She stayed very, very still, remembering her mama’s game. Remembering her classmate, who’d spent lunch telling them about her uncle the cop, who’d told her about the scary men in the world who liked to touch kids on parts of their bodies they shouldn’t touch, and how that was why adults always told kids not to talk to strangers or take candy from men in vans.

  Bethany’s heart pounded so loud in her ears that she worried the bad man could hear it.

  What if he was one of those types of scary men?

  Warm sun. Relax. Float away.

  The bad man stroked her cheek again, and Bethany’s hands itched to grab a washcloth and soap, to scrub his touch off her skin. He was so close now that she could smell minty toothpaste. She could feel him hovering inches from her face. Staring.

  Her breath caught, but she remembered in time, exhaled slowly, and prayed.

  Don’t let him be one of those kinds of bad men. I promise to be better. I’ll do my homework without whining and pick up my room. I’ll even eat broccoli, even though it tastes like dirty leaves.

  When she prayed, Bethany dreamed of warm beaches and breathed.

  In…out. In…out.

  Time passed, and Bethany’s fear spiked. Why was he still here? Did he know that she was awake? Maybe this was one of the bad man’s tricks. He liked to play tricks on her.

  She almost gave up and opened her eyes, but Mama’s voice wouldn’t let her.

  Warm sun. Relax. Float away.

  The floorboards creaked. First near Bethany’s bed, then farther away.

  Yes! Finally!

  The door squeaked, but as much as Bethany strained her ears, she didn’t hear it click shut. She wanted to peek but knew better. Her mama had taught her that too.

  “Make sure you never stop playing possum too soon. Sometimes, the zombies will try to trick you and only pretend to leave, which means you need to keep pretending too. Always wait at least five minutes after you think they leave to open your eyes, and only if you don’t hear any noises. When you can’t use your eyes, your ears can be one of your best tools to save you.”

  Mama knew more about this kind of stuff than anyone, so Bethany kept her eyes shut and her breathing deep. She played possum until the front door slammed, and an engine grumbled to life outside the window. Even after the car sputtered away, she held on to her act, too terrified to open her eyes in case the man was pretending too.

  In…out. In…out.

  The bad man always thought he was so smart and that Bethany was just a dumb kid. She let him think that because, sometimes, adults did the dumbest stuff when they thought they were the only smart ones.

  She hadn’t needed Mama to tell her that. Bethany had figured it out all on her own.

  Her empty tummy cramped again, as if it knew the man was gone and was ordering her to hurry up and hunt for food.

  Just a little longer. Just in case.

  Most of the time, the bad man was smart. That was the problem. Otherwise, she might have escaped already.

  Bethany hated everything about him. Those sharp smiles that didn’t reach his eyes as well as his quiet, sneaky steps. He could never be Wonder Woman, or Catwoman, even if he was sneaky enough to be a burglar. The bad man was definitely a supervillain. He needed a name, but the best she’d come up with so far was Doctor Bad.

  After counting down another twenty breaths, Bethany finally opened her eyes. The sun crept between the boards over her window and painted her bed in thin stripes, enough light to show that the room was empty. She sat up and listened.

  Another twenty breaths later, Bethany slid out of bed and slipped on her socks. Retracing her steps from yesterday, she took the quietest path across the room, edged open the door, and peeked out.

  No bad man there, so she crept down the hall to the bathroom and frowned at the toilet. Usually, she had to pee the second she woke up, but not today. That seemed wrong somehow, but she didn’t have time to waste worrying about it. Not when her body ached, and her tummy was empty, and her mouth was as dry as if she’d swallowed sand.

  Her gaze fell on the faucet. After pausing to listen for the rumble of a car, Bethany hurried over to the sink. The water splashed icy-cold on her hands, and she muffled a yelp but didn’t wait for the temperature to warm. She cupped her hands beneath the spray and raised them to her mouth to take big, greedy gulps.

  Her empty tummy cramped even harder when the water hit, and she doubled over, gasping. When the pain subsided, she forced herself to drink again.

  When she finished, Bethany shut off the faucet and used her sleeve to wipe up the counter. The bad man never kept any towels in here, and he was creepy enough to measure the toilet paper too. She left the bathroom and padded past his room and all those weird pictures on the wall until the hallway spilled into the living room.

  Her legs wobbled as she rushed to the front door and yanked on the knob. No use. The bad man always kept it locked, with a key, even from the inside. Bethany remembered now, but the disappointment still made her head spin. Or maybe the spinning was because she hadn’t eaten in so long. Either way, thinking too much hurt her brain.

  She ran to the windows next but lifting her arms to try to pry the boards off made the dizziness worse, and the wood scraping against her torn fingers shot pain up her arms.

  Bethany let go of the board and rubbed her palms on her forehead. Why was she doing this when she knew it was stupid? A total waste of time. The bad man locked the little house as tight as a jail. Without a key or a tool, she was trapped, so why even leave her room?

  Her bleary gaze traveled across the living room and landed on the kitchen.

  Right. She needed food.

  Bethany pushed away from the window and headed in that direction, but after only two steps, the room started spinning again. She stumbled into the beat-up green couch and grabbed the back for support while she panted and waited for the dizziness to wear off.

  Food. If she could just get to the food, she’d feel so much better.

  Once her vision cleared, Bethany started forward again. Slower this time. If she fell, she was afraid she might be too weak to get back up.

  She inched across the living room toward the kitchen. When she reached the threshold, excitement cleared her head until she peeked inside.

  A thick metal chain was strapped tight across the refrigerator door. Bethany stared at the ugly black metal links and wanted to scream. Hatred curled her fists. She wished someone would wrap that chain around the bad man, as tight as one of those snakes that squeezed you to death.

  Guilt followed the ugly wish. Her teacher told the class that hate was a bad word, and hurting people was wrong and mean.

  Bethany didn’t want to be mean, not like the bad man. If only her tummy didn’t hurt so much.

  She hurried to the fridge and yanked on the chain, but the thick metal refused to budge, so she gave up and stumbled to the cupboard. Climbing onto the counter was so much harder than yesterday. Her legs shook, and her arms wobbled like noodles. After three attempts, she finally stood up and reached for the cabinet doors.

  She opened them, and the hope inside her died. Empty. All the cereal, bread, and yummy snacks were gone. He’d even taken the dried noodles and jars of sauce.

  The bare shelves made Bethany’s tummy hurt even more. She pressed a hand to her stomach and staggered back to the floor to search the rest of the cupboards, but there was nothing to eat. Not a single can of soup or a forgotten chip. No crumbs on the counter.

  She even opened the trash can, hopi
ng to find a sandwich crust or a brown piece of banana, but that was empty too.

  Bethany stood by the trash can for a long time, staring at nothing. When she closed the lid and left the kitchen, her body felt funny. Kind of floaty and fuzzy, like maybe this was all just a bad dream.

  With no idea where she was headed or why, Bethany drifted through the tiny living room and stopped on a worn, green rug sprinkled with flowers.

  “Pretty.” She squatted down to sniff the flowers, but they smelled like dust, and when she stood again, the room tilted.

  She clung to the couch and waited for the furniture to quit moving. When had Mama bought this ugly green couch? And that rocking chair?

  A few seconds more, and her mind cleared. This wasn’t her and her mama’s cozy little home.

  This was the bad man’s house.

  Bethany’s legs wobbled, like that cute little boy in one-piece pajamas who’d been at the grocery store last time they’d gone shopping. He’d screeched at his mother to let him out of the cart, but the moment his feet touched the floor, the boy tried to run away. His wiggly-wobbly legs carried him halfway to the strawberries before he plopped onto his butt and cried.

  The grocery store…

  Bethany licked her cracked lips, picturing the rows and rows of food. Oreos and chocolate chip granola bars. Fresh strawberries and milk. Everything sounded so good right now—even broccoli.

  I promise, I’ll never complain about food again if I could just have something to eat soon.

  Floating along in her happy daydream of strawberries and blueberry muffins and pineapple pizza, Bethany didn’t realize that she’d wandered into the bad man’s room until she stood a foot away from his bed.

  You shouldn’t be in here, a tiny voice in her head whispered. This is a bad idea. But then the ringing in her ears grew louder, and she forgot all about bad ideas.

  The bed with the navy-blue comforter with thin white stripes was all made up, as neat as one in a hotel room. Bethany ran her hand over the silky material as she looked around the other furniture. No dust in here. No mess of any kind. Everything was so tidy. Not like her mama’s bedroom at home, where the floor or chair was usually covered in clothes.

  Bethany wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. This room was almost too clean, like it was trying to impress someone or lure them inside. Goose bumps raced down her arms.

  You should leave.

  Soon. But first, she’d check for food. Or a phone, or maybe a weapon.

  Bethany opened the drawers of the bedside table, but they were as empty as the kitchen cupboards.

  Besides the bed, the only other piece of furniture was a large bookcase, so she drifted there next. Instead of books, the shelves held more photos, like the ones hanging in the hall. All of the poofy-haired woman and the little boy.

  She squinted at the nearest one, nearly touching her nose to the glass. Could the bad man be the little boy?

  No. The bad man had never been a little boy. He’d probably been sent here from outer space in an alien egg or created in an evil doctor’s lab.

  A giggle slipped from her lips. Quiet, the voice in her head whispered.

  “Why?” Bethany whispered back before giggling again. Her head was really spinning now, like one of those fair rides that made you barf, so she plopped down on her butt. “Now I’m the baby in the grocery store.”

  As she giggled again, her gaze fell on a set of books on the bottom shelf. The books were a rainbow of soft pinks and blues and yellows, and they all had fancy gold designs decorating the spines. Moving closer, she noticed a different name on each one. She read the names, pausing at one near the end.

  Ellie. That was a good name. Like a superhero or the policewoman who’d saved her once.

  Bethany slid out the album and opened the cover. The first page showed two photos of the same girl with pretty red curls and pale skin. Older than Bethany, maybe high school aged. Below the photos were cut out pieces of newspaper.

  The little black words crawled across the page like ants at first, so Bethany shook her head and tried again. Better.

  The article talked about the redheaded girl being kidnapped one night and how worried her parents had been.

  Just like me. I bet my mama’s worried too.

  Bethany flipped the page to find three photos of a different person. A woman. In the first picture, she scowled into the camera while holding up a sign. The other two were photos of the left and right sides of her face. The kinds of photos the police took when you were arrested. Bethany had seen it in a cartoon once.

  She studied the photo. The woman didn’t look like a criminal, but then again, Bethany wasn’t sure what a criminal looked like. Plus, her mama was always telling her that not all crimes were the same, and sometimes, people did bad things for good reasons.

  This woman had short, dark hair and wore lots of black eyeliner and purple eyeshadow, and her red lipstick was smeared half off her mouth and onto her cheek. There was an ugly black bruise on her face, and she was dressed weird, in a shiny pink top that was so tight, her boobs looked like they might pop out, and a black skirt that was way shorter than any of Bethany’s.

  She read the name on the sign first. Sophie “Cleo” Finn. Sophie was a pretty name, almost as pretty as Ellie.

  The next part of the sign made her frown. “So-li-ci-ta-tion.” Bethany sounded out each syllable but had no idea what the word meant.

  She flipped through the rest of the book, stopping on the last page. Tucked inside was a shiny silver circle. Bethany stroked the DVD with a finger and wondered what was on it. Maybe there was a player hidden somewhere in the room.

  Bethany lifted her head to search, and her hands went numb.

  The bad man stared at her from the doorway, his face a dark cloud.

  She dropped the album like a hot potato, but it was too late. His eyes narrowed on the book at her feet like he was mad, except when he glanced up, his face was blank. For some reason, that scared Bethany more. Even that creepy little smile was gone. He looked dead, or plastic, like a statue or a doll.

  “Someone’s been very naughty, I see. How very disappointing. I expect all of my guests to obey the rules when they’re under my roof.”

  He spoke in a lower, softer voice than usual, which didn’t seem like it should make Bethany shiver but somehow did. She scooted back, until the bookshelves trapped her. “I…I…”

  “Stand up. Now.”

  With the help of the shelf, Bethany scrambled to her feet and tried not to throw up when the room tilted.

  “Come here.”

  He held out a hand. Bethany’s skin crawled at the thought of touching him, but the emptiness in his eyes scared her too much to disobey. What else could she do, anyway? There was nowhere to run. No way out. She’d missed her chance.

  His fingers curled around her wrist and tugged her into the hall. She was so tired, and her feet kept tripping like she was dressed up in her mama’s shoes. He led her toward the living room, and Bethany cast a longing glance at the tiny bedroom before scurrying after him.

  Where are we going?

  She didn’t dare ask. Wherever they were going, it was nowhere good. Not that she had a choice. The bad man was too strong, and Bethany was too weak, and anyway, if there was no food, then she didn’t care much where they went, as long as she could curl up in a ball somewhere and go back to sleep.

  The man pulled her into the kitchen, and for a second, hope flared in Bethany’s belly. When the man unlocked the chain on the refrigerator, she licked her lips and took an eager step forward.

  Finally, he was going to feed her! If she’d had the energy, Bethany would have done a little dance. Instead, she held her growling stomach and tried to boss him with her mind.

  Come on, faster. Hurry up and open the door already.

  The metal chain clinked. The door swung open. Bethany stared into the empty space and refused to accept it.

  No. There had to be food here, somewhere. What had happe
ned to it all?

  Not only the food but the shelves were gone. Without them, the inside of the fridge looked more like a big white box.

  Like a sleepwalker, she drifted closer. Maybe this was all a dream, and sometimes in dreams, Bethany discovered new things if she kept searching. Maybe she’d find food in the fridge. But no. No milk, no cheese, no fruit or pudding appeared. The only thing left were a few Tupperware containers in the door.

  “Why?” Her voice cracked.

  Instead of answering, the man dug his fingers into her waist and shoved her inside. Her hip smacked the back wall, and the pain sucked her breath away.

  The pain also woke her up, like a pinch in a dream, and fear clawed at her skin. “No! Stop!” Bethany twisted and lunged for the opening. The man’s scary smile stretched his lips before he slammed the refrigerator door on her fingers.

  She screamed again, and the door snicked open, just long enough to yank her hand out. When the door slammed shut this time, the refrigerator plunged into darkness. Bethany pounded the wall with her good hand for a few sobbing breaths before giving up. Her hip ached, and her fingers throbbed, and her throat burned, but none of that mattered because she needed to get out.

  Take slow, easy breaths. Especially when you’re afraid.

  Her mama’s lesson helped. Bethany worked on breathing and reminded herself to be brave.

  Once she was quiet, the man spoke through the door. “You’re going to stay in there until you’ve learned your lesson. Did you know that people can live in refrigerators for a long time? Maybe we should see how long you last in there. And maybe I should plug it back in so that you turn into a popsicle.”

  Bethany’s throat knotted up like it did when she was about to cry, but no tears came. She remembered how she hadn’t needed to pee that morning and wondered if it was possible for bodies to be too thirsty to make any new water.

  It was too dark inside to see her hand in front of her face, and the air tasted stale. Bethany was so tired, and the dizziness was back. Her legs trembled, and she was about to sit down when she remembered.

  Containers. There had been containers in the door.

  Panting, she groped around until her hands hit plastic. At this point, she didn’t care what was inside. Anything. She’d eat anything.