The Girl Before

by Rena Olsen

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Dance class.” He laughs. “I had my eye on you that day. If Glen hadn’t snatched you up first, I might have gotten to . . .” He trails off when he sees my face. I am sure my disgust is reflected there. Anger flashes in his eyes before he shrugs. “Anyway,” he says, backing off the porch. “Just wanted to let you know about Glen.” He turns and walks away without another word. I lock the door behind me when I return to the house.

  Now

  It is quiet. The lights have gone down, but my eyes have adjusted to the dimness. Glen’s words echo in my mind. Make the right choice. Save or destroy. My life is not about choices. I don’t know what he means, and I toss in my bed as I try to figure it out.

  The faces of my daughters rotate through the flip book that my brain has become. Each with her own personality, each with her own special flair for life. I spent time with each of them to find their talents, to uncover what made them unique gems. What were they doing without my guidance? How would their new families know how to talk to them? Would Daisy’s new parents know that she likes to count the dots on her pajama pants before bed every night? Would Kathy’s parents know to braid her long hair before she sleeps, so it does not tangle into an unmanageable mess by morning? What about Passion? Where is she now? Did people come forward to take her, or is she in a room like me, alone, unable to sleep, haunted by her lost family?

  My heart beats faster and my lungs refuse to take in air. I’m supposed to talk tomorrow. What if I can’t remember what to say? More important, what if I can’t remember what not to say? What if I slip up? Is that what Glen was talking about? Will a tiny mistake destroy us all? And who else do they have? Where are they keeping the others? The men, the other women? Did they get to Glen’s other businesses? Is everyone waiting, wondering if I will say the right thing to save us?

  I no longer want to talk, even if that means Glen’s wrath. I cannot have this pressure. I cannot deal with it. I sit upright, and I cannot tell if the black in my vision is from the darkness of the room or my lack of oxygen. I stumble out of bed, tripping over my blankets and sprawling on the floor. I cry out, and the lights flash on.

  Momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness, I cover my eyes and curl into a tight ball. I cannot breathe, but I no longer care. I can feel my head getting lighter, starved of air, and I welcome the sensation. I want to escape, to leave this place, to be someplace where I do not have to talk, where I do not have to lie, where remembering doesn’t hurt so much.

  Hands grab at me, trying to pull me apart. I lock my muscles and refuse to let them break me. But with my breath failing, I am too weak to resist for long. I am pulled flat, and I hear frantic voices around me, their words flowing together like a rushing river, surrounding me, covering me, pulling me under.

  I scream. My arm lashes out, hoping for any contact. The fleshy thud and following crack of a skull against the wall are satisfying. I open my eyes and use all my limbs to launch myself at the intruders. They should have let me be. They should have left me to sink into the peaceful place where thinking is unnecessary.

  Strong hands hold me down. I feel a stinging in my arm, and coolness rushes through my veins. Soon, it is too much work to struggle. My arms and legs go limp. The blackness reaches out for me again, but it is not threatening. It welcomes me, and I gratefully surrender.

  Then

  My excitement is palpable. Glen has brought me along on this business trip to South Dakota. It is something Papa never would have allowed when he was alive, but Glen wants me here, and I was not about to argue about going on a trip. I bounce in my seat, craning my neck to try to take in all the sights at once. Glen puts a restraining hand on my arm, but his smile is indulgent. I have never been this far from home, have never been much farther than a couple hours from any of our homes, and I am intrigued by the views rushing past outside the windows. Everything is so big out here, wide-open spaces interspersed with rolling hills, everything covered with a colorful layer of fall leaves. Our van travels through charming towns, with people crowding the sidewalks for autumn festivals, and lonely villages, where most of the people spill from the open doors of the one bar in the area. Glen has promised me a tourist stop and romantic dinner after our business is concluded. Our stay is short, but I intend to enjoy every minute of my temporary surroundings.

  I do not know the man at the wheel; he is not one of Glen’s, but he is friendly, regaling us with tales of his twin toddlers. I laugh along with him, but a sharp pang in my heart reminds me of my little girls, left in the care of Mama Mae in my absence. I hope she is treating them well.

  We have been driving outside the boundaries of civilization for quite a while now. Every few miles a house pops out from the wilderness, some lit up, warm and welcoming, others dark, surrounded with an air of abandonment. Wildlife flashes through the trees, almost too quick for my eyes to catch. I look forward as the van slows. We stop in front of a tall gate, idling as the driver punches a code into a small keypad by the entrance. The gate swings open, and we drive up a long lane. I gasp when the house comes into view.

  Standing at least three stories high, the house is twice the size of ours. Multiple balconies poke out from faux log cabin siding. Outbuildings dot the meticulously manicured grounds. As we park and exit the vehicle, barking fills the air from what must be an army of dogs, invisible right now, but clearly aware of our presence. More car doors slam shut behind us as the second vehicle in our small parade joins us. The men Glen brought rode in that van, and they follow us up the stairs. My heart rate picks up as Glen pushes the small button by the door and chimes resonate within the large building.

  I hear a quiet chuckle beside me. Joel covers his mouth with his hand when Glen shoots him a glare, but catches my eye and winks.

  “Don’t worry, Clare,” Joel whispers. “No one in here will bite.” He pauses, eyes twinkling. “Unless you ask nicely.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. Joel has been more informal with me lately, and it makes me uncomfortable. He may be Glen’s top guy, but I don’t like the way he looks at me, or the girls. If I weren’t afraid of Glen’s anger, I would ask for Joel to be banned from the house.

  The others around us are familiar, but I cannot place names and faces. I have had little contact with the other men, even on this trip. I spent most of the past day in the lodge, reading books about the history of the area. I was surprised when Glen invited me along this evening. He wants my opinion on something. I smile to myself. I feel important.

  Rapid footsteps announce someone’s approach on the other side of the door. It opens just wide enough for us to squeeze through, and we are ushered in.

  “Hurry, please,” the man at the door says.

  Inside, the air is stale. The entryway is tall, and sunlight streams in through high windows, cutting the clouds of dust. There are cloth-covered pieces of furniture in the rooms off the entry, and while outside the grounds were well-tended, the inside of the house looks abandoned.

  The man who opened the door starts up the stairs. “Come,” he says, motioning for us to follow. I grip Glen’s arm and he glances down at me, raising an eyebrow. I loosen my hold and give him a reassuring smile. I will not let on how anxious I am, though I sense he already knows.

  At the top of the stairs, we are led to a large room. A small group is gathered there, and the air is thick with smoke. I cough and try to hide the action behind my hand. Glen shoots me a warning glance. My behavior must be perfect.

  “Hello, and welcome!” says a large man, stepping out from the crowd with arms extended. He comes to Glen and clasps his shoulders, then kisses the air on each side of Glen’s face. Glen looks startled at first, but covers his surprise with a genial smile.

  “Mr. Harrison, thank you for meeting with me,” Glen says.

  “Of course, of course,” Mr. Harrison says. His voice is deep, his tone welcoming. “I knew your father well.
I was very sorry to hear of his passing.”

  Glen nods. “He always spoke highly of you as well, Mr. Harrison. I hope you find your dealings with me to be just as pleasant.” I do not see this humble side of Glen very often. He is deferring to the other man. He has already begun negotiations.

  Mr. Harrison chuckles. “I am quite sure I will, my boy.” He turns to me, looking me up and down in a way that makes my skin crawl. Glen’s arm tenses against mine, but his face remains impassive. “And who is this?” Mr. Harrison asks.

  Glen snakes an arm around me. “This is Clara,” he says. “She has come to help with the girls.”

  What girls? Glen never told me the exact purpose of my presence. I try not to let my surprise show. Mr. Harrison steps forward and clasps my hand. His skin is dry and feels like tissue paper. He lifts my hand to his lips. “I am very pleased to meet you, my dear,” he says, his breath stirring the sparse hair on my arm. He presses his lips to my skin, and when he raises his head, a thin string of spittle stretches between us. My hand spasms. Mr. Harrison’s eyes narrow, and I try to cover my reaction. I giggle.

  “That tickles, sir,” I say, forcing my lips into a small smile. I can hear the fake tone of my voice, but it seems to appease him.

  “Genevieve,” he barks, motioning someone from the crowd. A tall woman emerges from among the men. Her hair is a burnished auburn, and she is dressed in a frothy nightgown that leaves little to the imagination. She would be beautiful but for the thick layer of cakey makeup plastered over her face and the fine lines webbing out from her lips and eyes that no amount of cover-up can hide.

  “Yes, my love,” she coos, resting her hand on Harrison’s shoulder. Her long nails are painted black, and they dig into the fabric of the man’s sport coat.

  “Bring Clara to meet the other girls,” he says. He leans in and whispers something in her ear that only she can hear. Genevieve runs her hand down his arm as she leaves his side, and he swats her on the rear before she is out of range. She squeals, making the sound delighted rather than disgusted, as I would have.

  “Come along, Clara,” Genevieve says, her eyes on Glen instead of me. “We will have tea with the girls.”

  I cast Glen a questioning glance, and he inclines his head, indicating that I should go with Genevieve. I am not sure we should trust these men, but I go. I am nothing if not obedient.

  Now

  There is an annoying shuffling in the room. A moment of silence, a cleared throat, then the shifting of papers. I want to sink back into the blackness, but the damn shuffling will not quit. I crack my eyes open, and the light stabs into my pupils. I take a sharp breath, and the shuffling stops. Footsteps click across the room, and I sense the light dim behind my eyelids. I pry them open again and release a relieved breath when the soft light washes across my vision.

  “Awake at last,” a voice says from my right. I turn my head to see Meredith pulling a chair closer to the side of the bed. The metal legs scrape across the tiled floor, and I wince at the noise. A piece of hair falls into my face, tickling my nose, and I move to brush it away, but my hands meet resistance. I look down, and chains rattle as I strain against the padded cuffs securing my wrists to the side of the bed. My heart beats faster as my brain becomes more alert.

  “Calm down,” Meredith says, her tone mocking. “You don’t want another sedative, do you?”

  I stare at her with wide eyes. They drugged me. Memory flashes of my midnight panic attack assault me, and I close my eyes, my head falling back to my pillow. Tears well up behind my eyes, but I refuse to allow them. Not in front of her.

  Meredith sighs. “We’re not doing the silent act again, are we?” She crosses her legs and taps her pen on a sheaf of papers perched on her knee. “I thought we were past this.”

  “Why am I tied up?”

  She smiles. “You’re not tied up, Diana, you’re restrained. To keep from hurting yourself or others.”

  “I’m not going to hurt anyone. And my name is Clara.”

  “I’ll decide whether you’re a threat,” Meredith says, and turns her attention to her papers. “If our conversation goes well, and you are cooperative, I’ll see about having the restraints removed.”

  I glare at her. She has all the power. I have nothing for her. I am nothing to her. I do not understand why she is torturing me.

  Meredith’s foot wiggles and she studies the paper she is holding. It is an anxious movement. I realize that I do have something she wants. I have information that will help her. She thinks, they all think, that I am the key to whatever case they are building against Glen. A sense of power rushes through me, and with it a feeling of supreme calm. I feel my lips curl into a smile, and my muscles relax.

  Misinterpreting my sudden change in demeanor, Meredith returns my smile. “That’s better,” she says, confidence in her tone. Her foot stills, and she uncrosses her legs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Kidnapping is a very serious charge, Clara. Not as serious as some of the other charges against Glen, but still, stealing those girls away from their families seems almost worse somehow, doesn’t it?”

  Stealing them away? She thinks that we took those girls? We gave them a better life. Their parents gave them up. I want to scream at her. If only they would talk to the parents, all this would be cleared up.

  A sickening thought intrudes on my confidence. Would the parents lie? I knew it had to be done in secret. What if we were being punished for the choices these parents made? What were they saying to keep themselves out of trouble? And what else does she know about Glen? Certainly they can’t know everything. Panic curls in my stomach, but I am determined not to let it show. I won’t give Meredith the satisfaction.

  “And refusing to answer our questions, well, that’s obstruction of justice. You don’t want to stop those little girls from getting justice, do you? A little cooperation will go a long way, Clara.” Meredith’s smile is grim, and not at all reassuring, despite her words. “Now,” she says, eyes glued to my face. “Give me the names of your biggest clients.”

  My mouth drops open in shock. She doesn’t waste any time. Except she is wasting time. Glen never trusted me with any of that information. I only knew them by their code names. Mr. Harrison’s face flashes through my mind. But Glen said South Dakota never happened. I stuff the face away and stare at Meredith, trying to decide how to respond.

  “Names, Clara,” she says, leaning back in the chair. “Easy. Just some names, and we’ll get you unhooked and back on track.”

  She wants names. I don’t have real names, but I can give her the ones I know. “Mr. White. Mr. Black. Mr. McDonald. Mr. Costello. Mr. Apple.”

  The papers drop to the floor as she stands. “Is this a joke to you?” she hisses. “Do you even care where those girls ended up?” She begins to pace.

  She is insulting my devotion to my daughters. Of course I care. Our clients were selected very carefully. “Those are the names I know,” I say.

  “Those aren’t real names,” she says, her heels clicking across the floor as she comes to sit by me again. Her face looms close, and I shrink away as much as the restraints will allow. “Tell me, so help me . . .”

  I begin listing names again. “Mr. Marlboro. Mr. Busch . . .”

  “I liked you better when you weren’t talking,” Meredith says, and the spit from her angry words sprays my face.

  “Maybe you should try it. People might like you better, too.”

  Slap.

  My cheek stings where her hand makes contact, and tears spring into my eyes. Meredith’s chest is heaving, straining the buttons of her prim blouse.

  The door flies open. “Meredith!” Connor strides in, his face twisted in fury. “Out,” he says, pointing to the door.

  “But she—”

  “Out!”

  Connor keeps his voice quiet, though rage vibrates through every word. Meredith s
tomps toward the door and Connor catches her arm. “We will discuss this later. Take the rest of the day off.”

  Meredith snarls something in response and stalks from the room. Connor moves to my side and uses gentle, efficient movements to survey the damage. A guard comes in and unlocks the shackles. I sit up and bring my knees to my chest, rubbing my wrists.

  “Are you all right?” Connor asks. His voice has regained its normal calming tone, and I nod. “Clara.” I look up at him. “Are you really okay?” There is genuine caring in his eyes, and I feel the tears creeping up again for different reasons than before. No one has shown me kindness like this in my entire life. Without the expectation of anything in return. Not Mama Mae. Not Papa G. Not even Glen.

  Snap out of it, I chide myself. He does want something from me. He wants the same thing Meredith wants. Names. Information. Something to use against Glen. I can’t give in to my emotions now.

  “I’m fine.”

  Connor looks at me a little longer, then nods. “Okay.” He stands. “We’ll skip the questions today,” he says. “I’ll have them bring you your lunch, if you’re hungry. “

  I nod.

  “Okay.” He is saying that a lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks to the door. I almost don’t want him to go. I am growing weary of being alone. “Clara?” He stops and turns at the door. “I’m sorry about Meredith. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I smile slightly. He inclines his head toward me, and then he is gone.

  Then

  I am walking through the hallway outside Papa G’s study, arms full of linens to put away, when I hear raised voices coming from the cracked door.

  “She is the one I want, Papa.”

  “She’s not available.”

  “You said whichever I wanted! My pick!”

  It is Papa G and Glen. I don’t know what they are arguing about, but it is rare to hear Glen angry. Every time I have encountered him since dance class he has been laughing and teasing. Now he sounds like a spoiled child, rather than the seventeen-year-old boy he is. I roll my eyes and continue down the hall.