The Tutor

by K Larsen

I can’t find Lotte and Holden isn’t back from hunting yet. I call her name throughout the cabin but get no answer. Stepping onto the porch, I faintly hear a scraping sound in the distance. I walk toward the room Holden’s been working on for weeks now. It’s almost finished. When I round the side, I see Lotte. Lotte never looks at the structure Holden builds, in fact, she avoids it when possible.

  “What are you doing?” She’s holding a hand saw and cutting a rectangular shaped chunk from the base of the structure. Her eyes widen and she stops her sawing motion. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, as if steeling herself for what she’s about to say.

  “Please trust me,” she says. I blink absently and frown.

  “Lotte, Holden will be mad that you’re ruining his hard work.”

  Lotte looks at the saw. Her face scrunches into a determined look. She passes the saw through the wood one more time, until a wooden brick chunk falls to the grass at her feet. She picks up the wooden brick and slides it back into the wall. Holden’s truck echoes as it approaches. Lotte jumps with a squeak and picks up the saw. Setting the saw back on the stump where it was earlier, she turns and says, “Nora, don’t tell.” I’m flabbergasted. Lotte has never shown such petulance before but the emotion in her eyes pleads with me. Whatever she believes she’s done, she truly believes it’s for a good reason. It’s plain as day in her expression.

  “Come wash up, we’ll talk about it later,” I say. Lotte visibly relaxes. I can’t help but wonder what she’s up to as I follow her back into the cabin.

  Tears spill over Eve’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “You didn’t. It just . . . it hurts knowing she went through all that horrific stuff with me, then went through it again with you. It scares me, knowing she was alone with him for months before you showed up.”

  “She’s okay.” Eve lays her head on the edge of my bed. I rest a hand on top of it. “I’ll get her back.”

  Eve lifts her head. She shoots me a look. “Nora, how?”

  I reach an arm inside the neck of my gown and finger the thin raised line. “He will come for me.” I tell her.

  “He has no way to get off the mountain. No money. A missing girl with him. He’s not stupid.”

  “You’re right and wrong. He has money and he is not stupid. But he is in love.”

  Aubry

  The storm makes me anxious. Nora called yesterday. She’s being discharged and wanted me to pick her up. When Mom and I got home last week and filled in Anton and Aimee about Nora’s state, Anton seemed irritated that there was news to tell, which really irked me. He’s treated her like family for years and yet he seems to be upset that she’s back. Mom held my hand the entire drive home from Pocketville. We’d rode in silence. It was hard to see my best friend look so unlike herself. She was gaunt. Her hair was dull. Bruises peppered her skin and her eyes lacked the shine they usually held.

  “I really wish this storm would let up already. I wanted to pick her up.” Mom looks at me and gives a sad smile.

  “Honey, it’s probably better this way. You can be at the house to welcome her back and help her settle in.”

  I huff and cross my arms over my chest. “I feel useless. I feel like I let her down.”

  Mom wraps her arms around me and pulls me tight against her. “So do I, love, but we couldn’t have known. We did everything we could. What Nora needs now is love and support and we can give her that.”

  “I have a stack of new books for her. I’m going to wrap them all and hide them around the house before she gets back.”

  Mom kisses the top of my head. “You’re a good girl.”

  I sit in Nora’s room and wrap her books. Mom is cleaning the house top to bottom, so Nora doesn’t have to worry about it. I bought gold glitter paper. Nora loves sparkles. She won’t admit that to anyone but every time she sees something glittery, she touches it. I bought six paperbacks from the new release section at the bookstore. I made sure they were all happily ever after kinds of stories, too. I put a little note inside each book for her, too. I feel as though I’m not doing enough. I feel a lot of things lately. Having a police detail outside our house has been odd and scary. They said it was related to Nora’s case and for our safety but it does not make me feel safe. What does my family have to do with Nora’s case, anyway? I tuck one wrapped book under Nora’s pillow.

  Toting the stack of books, I wander the house and hide one here and there. I want her to find them over time, not all at once, so I try to be sneaky.

  “Mom, is under the bathroom sink too weird?” I call out. Mom laughs from somewhere downstairs.

  “If you think it’s too weird, it probably is.”

  I snort and leave the bathroom. It’s probably not a good place for a book anyway.

  It’s after five when Mom finishes. I’ve set all the books around the house and even laid out Nora’s favorite jammies on her bed for her. I stocked the fridge with her favorites, too. I glance around the house. I pray that Nora will be able to get better here at home. That it will help her get back to being herself again. I don’t know how to help the Nora who was at the hospital. That girl was not my bestie. Not even a shadow of my best friend.

  Agent Brown

  I’m frazzled and out of sorts, having been rushed earlier in the morning. More than that, I never really cared much about impressions and had never been the sort of person to worry too much about my appearance. So why now? I pull up to the hospital and stare up at the third floor. Nora Robertson is up there. Waiting. Detective Salve and I are escorting her home. The storm prevented her from getting a ride and seeing as Eve is going with her, which blows my mind, it seemed only right that we drive her. I want to secure her house and speak with the local PD about surveillance. Salve waves from the hospital entrance. I throw the car in park and kill the engine. My morning call with Dr. Richardson had been enlightening. She will continue to see Nora, they will meet halfway at an office one of Dr. Richardson’s colleagues offered up, twice a week until she feels Nora can cope in a healthy way. She mentioned Stockholm syndrome, which, if I’m honest, I never really bought into as a diagnosis.

  How much damage can one man do to a young woman? “This is what happens when you poison other people’s minds with ideas. I mean, it’s amazing how an idea can take a hold and bring a person down.” I said.

  Dr. Richardson raised her sorrow filled voice. “In chess, it’s called Zugzwang . . . when the only viable move . . . is not to move.” That really made me stop and think. Was Nora’s behavior simply a coping mechanism or was there more to it?

  I’d hung up with more questions than answers. Salve hands me a coffee and up we go to the third floor.

  Nora and I sit in the front seat, silently. Salve sips his coffee, occasionally filling the car with his slurping sounds from the back.

  I look in the rearview mirror at him every time he does it.

  Once we’re on the highway, I decide this is as good a time as any to talk to the girls. “Did Holden seem confused, intoxicated, or impaired in any way?”

  Nora looks at Eve and then to me. “No, not at all. He knew exactly what was going on. He used to say, ‘sometimes you need to do something bad to stop you from doing something worse,’” she says, a dreamy look taking over her face.

  I quell my desire to explain to her that her statement is wrong. “What was he like, then?”

  “Compassionate. Dominant. I don’t know—like any other man.” Salve makes a choking sound and I suppress my quick reply. Eve stares out her window, hand tightly clasped in her lap.

  “Okay, did you ever feel threatened by him?”

  “Yes, there were times I was scared,” she says.

  “Can you share an example?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. She adjusts her seatbelt, then rubs the pads of her thumbs over her other fingers.

  I blow out a frustrated sigh, and I look in the rearview at Eve. “Eve, how would you describe Holden?”

  S
he holds my gaze in the mirror. “Brutal and dominant.” Her voice is flat. I notice Nora’s lips press into a thin line. How can both these girls have survived the same man and have such vastly different points of view?

  The snow is a touch lighter now and everything is hazy and foggy as the temperature increases. Soon, it will just be rain. The car is enveloped in silence and the sound of the windshield wipers.

  “I wrote letters in the dark and then burned them in the lantern flame. I needed to have something of my own. Something he couldn’t touch,” Nora says.

  “I made drawings with Lotte and hid them in her mattress,” Eve replies. I don’t dare speak and apparently Salve feels the same way.

  “I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudginess of it; semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t know, about the in-between parts; the gory bits of me and him. I wasn’t able to make sense of it or compartmentalize, so on that day, I made a lot of silly decisions,” Nora says.

  “You’re so young, Nora. How could you possibly know how to handle a man like Holden?” I ask.

  She snaps her head in my direction. “I don’t feel very young.”

  “Well, you are. What day are you referring to?”

  Nora goes back to staring out the window in silence. Salve rests a hand on my shoulder, which I shrug off.

  Just under two hours later, when we pull up to the house, I am surprised.

  “This is your house?” Eve gasps from the back.

  “Don’t know how the media found out about this so quickly,” Salve growls, “but there’s going to be hell to pay when I find out who leaked it.” Salve looks tired, ready to go home, ready to be done with this case already. I don’t blame him. It’s been a long week.”

  “Yes. This is my house. Don’t get excited, I didn’t buy it. My parents left it to me.”

  “Girls,” I say, “When we exit the car, you stay between Salve and me. Do not speak to the reporters. Understood?”

  Both girls say yes, as I pull into Nora’s driveway.

  Nora

  There’s a knot in my stomach as I look out of the car and see the news vans piled up, reporters jockeying for the best position to question me. Eve helps me out of the front seat. Hands my crutches to me. Aubry is on the porch, waiting to usher me inside.

  “Nora . . .”

  “What was it like up there?

  “Did you try and escape?”

  “How long exactly were you held captive?”

  “How’d you finally make it out?”

  “Is it true you had a relationship with ‘The Tutor’?”

  That last one stings a bit. I know they are trying to land a response, hoping for a juicy spot for the evening newscast. It is only four o’clock; if they act quick, they might have a tidbit for the six o’clock news. Holden and I aren’t a news story though. I hobble to the front steps, guarded by Agent Brown, Salve and Eve. Aubry grabs my arm and helps me inside. When everyone is in, she slams the door shut and flips off the reporters through the top window.

  “Hi,” she says. I stare at her, while the others head into the kitchen, where I hear Ang greeting them.

  “Hi.” I take in her long healthy hair. Her innocent eyes and svelte figure. Glancing down at myself, I make the obvious comparisons. I am not attractive by society’s standards at present. I am too thin. Too pale. I am too redheaded. I am marked. Aubry advances on me. Wraps her arms tightly around my neck. Her hair tickles my face. “I am so happy you’re home, Nora.”

  I fake a smile as she pulls away. “Me, too.” I lie.

  Aubry

  I pinch the paper between my fingers and read her letter for the millionth time. It’s the last tangible thing I have that reminds me that my Nora existed.

  Dear Aub,

  There is an outhouse.

  Did you read that? I’m dead serious. I have been using an outhouse for the last two weeks. Holden said we’d run into town tomorrow, so I figured it was time to write you a letter.

  Where to start? I’ll dive into the facts first. There is a well, with a hand pump on it. That’s where the water comes from. Thank God you suggested I bring that pack of baby wipes; otherwise, I would be pungent right now. Surprisingly, being without technology is not the worst thing to ever happen to me. I think the lack of running water is the hardest thing to get used to. You can’t just fill a glass of water at the sink or rinse a dish when you’re done with it. It’s strange. The lack of electricity is less tough to adjust to because he has a plethora of kerosene lamps in the cabin. Oh, yes, that’s right . . . it’s a cabin. It’s hot during the day, and cold at night and more so in my room because it’s not actually a room—I suspect it was a woodshed at one point that he converted to a bedroom.

  Lotte is adorable. She dresses like a character from Little House on the Prairie. I might suggest to Holden that he grab her some new clothes. And sometimes I wonder about her and Holden’s relationship. He’s strict and domineering to her but so incredibly sweet to me. He barely lets me help out at all. Sometimes I watch him. He’s so handsome and otherworldly. Almost like he wouldn’t survive in the real world because he’s made for this place he calls home. Let me tell you Aub, it is stunning here. The mountains look beautiful, like a postcard, and I am in love. Gorgeous. Exquisite. It’s so peaceful. The only sounds are that of nature or the three of us. From the top of a nearby gorge, you can see for miles. I really think you would love it.

  I’m sure you are reading between the lines of this letter, so I won’t keep you in suspense. Yes, Holden is good looking. Yes, he is sometimes flirty. No, nothing has happened . . . but I do catch myself thinking about him often. So, maybe I have developed a little crush. But you know me. I will keep it strictly professional because I’m an inexperienced nerd.

  You better not be throwing parties at my house every night. Please remember to water my plants.

  Miss you

  Xoxo

  Nora

  P.S. I hope you noted the lack of large words in this letter :)

  A tear drop splats on the paper. I set it on the bathroom counter and look in the mirror. I’ve been in the bathroom for a solid ten minutes now. Nora is . . . distant. Broken somehow. It hurts to be near her. I am her best friend. I am supposed to help her but I don’t know how to reach her. I wipe the tears from my face, tuck the letter in my back pocket and unlock the bathroom door.

  Eve

  I don’t mean to but I can’t make my feet move. Nora lifts her shirt because she thinks I’ve left. As she tosses it on her bed, I suck in a hard, deep breath. Twig-like scars along her back connect freckles. Her back looks like a constellation map. Nora spins around. Sweat prickles my hairline. “What are you doing?” Nora’s voice is cracked with tears.

  Shame, I think.

  “I’m sorry. I was leaving. And—” Her neck tenses and relaxes.

  “Get out,” she seethes. And I do. I turn, gagging, and run to my room.

  Her bedroom door slams. The sound cracks and echoes in the narrow hallway. Holden and his damn art. I shut my bedroom door gently and stand in front of the mirror. He tried only once. I was sick. I couldn’t defend myself. Bedridden with a fever, when he told me what he needed. Lotte had sobbed in the next room, as I screamed. I lift my shirt above the right side of my rib cage. Six white, thin raised lines connect, making a shape. Just a random shape. Nothing special. Nothing art like. All it is now is a reminder of that fucker who stole years of my life and my little sister.

  Dropping my shirt, I fall backward on the bed. The drive was long and tense. The reporters were a surprise and kind of scary. Salve and Agent Brown had swept the house. Made sure doors and windows were locked. They’d talked about putting silent alarms or sensors on the windows. Nora told them that was foolish. That if Holden wanted in, he’d get in, no matter what. I tend to agree with her but I’d still like the silent alarms. At least then, when they’re tripped, the police will automatically know and come.

 
I slide off my pants and slide under the blankets. And like every night for the past year, I say, “I love you, Lotte. I’m fighting for you. Don’t give up.” My guilt gnaws at me for leaving her. I thought if I could escape, I could save her. Sometimes the greatest acts of love are the hardest acts to commit and sometimes they don’t pan out.

  Him

  The day I opened the door to her cage, an uncharacteristic urge seized me to lift her into my arms, carry her inside, and observe her. She was so delicate, huddled in the corner. She was also so defiant. The fight in her worn thin, but her eyes showed her contempt. Her legs gave out mere steps from the room I’d built her. I scooped her up, when I’d let others collapse. Her bones felt light in my arms. Despite the cool morning, her skin was warm. Kissable. She told me the word for that once. I wish now, that I’d taken the time to remember it. Nora is different. I want to please her, as much as I desire to hurt her. Her quirks, like witchcraft, charmed me. I will have her back and Charlotte is the key.

  “There’s a wrinkle in your blanket.” Thwap. I hear the bamboo stick hitting the back side of Laura’s legs. She makes no noise. I stand in the corner, willing all my strength to her. Her eyes hold mine, pleading. She’s so little, and I am so big. Protect me, her eyes scream. And I want to, with everything I am, I want to. But I can’t protect her if I’m dead.

  “Stuffed animals are for children.” Thwap. Laura lifts her chin slightly. She’s so brave for six.

  “Ma, she is a child,” I say.

  Ma whirls to face me. Her eyes narrow at me. “Did you sleep in your clothes, boy?” I do nothing. She storms at me which is okay. It means there will be no more caning for Laura. “Turn, boy.” I do as I’m told. Thwap. Thwap. The bamboo switch sinks into the skin behind my knees and I bite my lip to keep from yelping. I’m always surprised that it hurts. After all these years, I thought the skin there would have no feeling left, every available nerve ending beaten away by now.