by John Hunt
Jen led the way upstairs with Lucy in the middle and Olivia at the back. The stairs creaked under their weight. Olivia worried they were making too much noise. Enough noise for a person to hear them coming, right outside the door at the top of the stairs. A person wearing a Jackal mask and holding something deadly, like an axe, sweaty hands gripping the handle as they approached, breathing harsh behind the rubber mask. Her eyes focussed on the door knob. Nothing to do about it. They had no weapons and they were not going back. Not alive anyways. She couldn’t shake the image of him waiting for them beyond the door. Her heart trembled and her mouth cottoned. She couldn’t be steps away from freedom. This isn’t how things happened. Not in real life. The Gorilla and the Jackal taught her all about the real world. They cut away her optimism with a few snips of garden shears and a sharp razor. They showed her in real life, more often than not, the monster gets his meal and the bogeyman claims another child. Olivia found it hard to press forward, as though she trudged through a swamp. She wanted to be sure. Lucy reached to grasp the handle and Olivia said, “Wait! Do you hear anything?”
Alarmed, Lucy said, “No! Do you?”
“Just listen at the door.”
Jen said, “There’s nobody there. I’d feel him.”
Olivia stared at Jen and thought, maybe she would. Jen had most likely been here the longest. What provided for the longevity? How did Olivia and Jen placate the two men to avoid ending up on the hook in the freezer? It was obvious Lucy hadn’t been here that long. She didn’t have the look to her, that look of placid desperation she and Jen shared, the haunted look seen in old photos of Holocaust survivors. She hadn’t lost an ear or a hand or some fingers and toes. She had all her fingers. She’d been through some terrible times, that’s for sure, they all had but there were varying degrees of it weren’t there? Sure there was. Getting your hand cut off and having it returned to you minus flesh was pretty fucking terrible. On the barometer of awfulness, it sat right at the top. Those atrocious moments can shape you, mould you into someone you no longer recognized. The Olivia who had been thrown in here so long ago is vastly different to the Olivia standing on the stairs in the dark hoping murder in a jackal mask wasn’t waiting on the other side. They’ve all been changed. So maybe Jen, who’d been here the longest, could feel him. Maybe her senses had been so sharpened she picked up the ability to know when a visit was imminent. Maybe. Olivia did know the soft assurance issued by Jen served to quell her fear and still her doubts.
“Alright,” said Olivia, “open the door. Let’s get out of here.”
Jen turned the knob and when the door didn’t open Lucy sighed and said, “It’s locked. Of course it’s fucking locked.”
Olivia said, “Try one of the keys.”
“Yeah. Right,” sounding surprised, as though she’d forgotten all about them, she tittered, “I still got em’ in my hand.”
Jen stepped to the side and Lucy, after finding the right key, pushed open the door.
Olivia saw a kitchen over the shoulder of Jen and Lucy. Stainless steel appliances, granite counter, white cupboards and a wooden sign above a light switch reading, Bless this Mess. Olivia, struck by the ordinariness of the scene, paused on the stairs. They all did. Olivia didn’t know what she expected but commonplace domesticity with a hint of religion wasn’t it. She expected more…chains? Hooks? Something indicative of the evil personalities living here. Jen, crouched low, moved ahead first, head swivelling like a deer approaching a watering hole. On the island in front of them, Lucy plucked a knife out of the set in a block. She paused, considering, and then grabbed another one. Olivia crept in to do the same and her eyes were drawn to the cordless phone, sitting there on the counter. She didn’t remember crossing the distance from the doorway to the phone. It was like the phone materialized in her hand. She pressed the talk button and the numbers back lit a pleasant green. The dial tone droned in her ear. Had there ever been a more beautiful sound? Her fingers flew on their own. She should have phoned the police. Called 911. That would be the smart thing to do. Instead, the image in the forefront of her mind was her father’s face. She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her it was okay, she would make friends on that first day of school when the yard of screaming kids overwhelmed her and weakened her knees. The person who checked her closet and under her bed because she was too afraid to. The man who read to her when she was sick, keeping a cool cloth close to hand making sure she took the medicine at the right times. His calm assurances when he was teaching her to drive after she reversed into a light pole in an empty parking lot when the jumping car scared her heart into her throat. He had been her rock. The one person she could always count on. It didn’t occur to her he wouldn’t answer, or that he moved and his number had changed. He would be home because he wouldn’t be anywhere else. So that’s who she called and when his voice came on the line, it felt like sunshine on her face, the sweetest music in her ears. In a voice soaked in tears and hope, she cried the name of the person who had always been there and would always be there. She cried, she couldn’t help it, as her dad screamed her name back to her.
-7-
The Jackal tapped the steering wheel to the Steve Miller Band singing The Joker on the radio. He attempted to sing along but he didn’t know the words and tended to mumble them. He knew himself to be a terrible singer. The worst. Still, it put him in a better mood. Music could do that. And he knew what else lifted his mood: a visit with his girls. What were they up to now he wondered? Especially his favourite, Olivia. His beautiful angel. Soft skin, eyes made for pain, large liquid pools of despair, he yearned for her. How he loved her the most.
The truth is they saved him from normalcy. They allowed him to stand out from the herd of boring conformity. With them, he could remove his carefully crafted mask and put on his true one. In many ways, he was grateful to them. They made him free. They made him exult in the freedom their pain and death provided him. The freedom to indulge in his fantasies. How many people could say they did that? Maybe a handful of people? Maybe less? Unless you were some fascist dictator, the person who created the laws, no one possessed real freedom to do what they want. With every action accompanied by consequence, true freedom couldn’t be achieved. In theory, it could never be achieved but it didn’t hurt to strive for it. In order for him to pursue the freedom he wanted, he had to fool the world. Fool everyone that knew him. He had to wear the face that said ‘trust me’, or ‘I’m safe.’ He hated that face and if he had to wear it all the time, he would go nuts, like the shooter in the bell tower kind of nuts. He preferred his own type of crazy to that. And it was the girls who gave it to them. Against their will of course and that made it more precious to him.
He glanced at the time on his dash and nodded. He had time. He could pop in for a visit. It would serve to keep Grady on his toes. Even better, he could spend time with Olivia. Grady could just sit in the fucking corner for all he cared. Pouting under his mask with his arms folded across his chest like some sulky teenager. No need to hurt Olivia tonight. Tonight he would be gentle. Maybe paint her nails or French braid her hair. He liked the French braid on Olivia. She looked like royalty after he finished. His erection pressed pleasurably against the front of his pants.
He grinned. Only Olivia had the power to do that. To cause him an erection without the thought of violence entwined. Imagine when he took her, made that long awaited decision to partake of her. It would be nothing short of glorious. He could wait a while longer yet. Without her, what would he have? The other girls, although wonderful and very similar to Olivia, were missing that something. They were cardboard cutouts of Olivia. Strange, to feel this emotion for a person. What is it that he felt? Love? He smiled at the notion. Would you want to destroy the thing you loved? He didn’t know. He changed the song to Ava Maria. It boosted his excitement to see her. A thing he didn’t believe possible. It scare
d him a little to feel this much. It gave the other person a certain power over you and it was both terrible and scary. He would have to destroy her sooner or later. He knew that.
-8-
“Olivia! My God! Where are you, honey?”
Crying on the other end, “I don’t know. Daddy, you have to get me out of here!”
“Okay! Okay! Where are you?”
“I uh, I don’t know! In a house! Daddy, they did things to me!”
He squeezed his eyes shut tight. White motes danced under his lids. He didn’t know it, but his free hand was in his hair, tugging at it. If he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he would think that’s what insane looked like. Don’t think about that right now. Help her. Help your daughter. He paced the floor. His thoughts twisted and swirled, refusing coherence.
Focus. You need to focus. His guts felt loose, almost liquid inside. Harry dug the nails of his fingers into his palm. The sharp pain brought clarity.
“Okay, um, is there any mail lying around. Something with an address on it. Bills.”
She spoke to someone and then a drawer opened and he heard something metallic hitting the floor.
“Olivia? Who is with you?”
A wetness to her voice, thickened with tears when she replied, “Others like me.”
“Dear God.”
Others like her. More fathers and mothers waiting to hear, to know something about where their daughters went. People living in constant hope and despair. Hope to learn their children were safe, despair to learn of their death. Plastic smiles covering up the urge to scream, to cry, to tear out their hair and wish it were someone else’s child they were reading about. Someone else’s baby who had been ripped violently from their life.
“Okay. We got something. A hydro bill? I don’t know. It says the address is 87 Alice Street. In Erin.”
“Erin? You know how close that is? Jesus, you’ve been so close all this time.”
“Come get me daddy!”
“I will, right away but I need you to hang up and dial 911.”
“No, no, no. I don’t want to. I need to hear you.”
“I know. It’ll be hard for me too. Real hard. You have to do it. They’ll get the address from the phone call but if they don’t you at least know it. And then, if you can, run out to a neighbour’s house and wait. I’m going to call them too. From my end. Just to make sure someone’s coming. I’m coming too. I’m leaving right now. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Daddy!”
“Call them, honey.” His voice broke, “You have to call them.”
“Okay. Hurry. Come take me home.”
“I’m coming! Call them!”
When she hung up, he released the phone, his hand an aching claw from holding it so tight. Olivia! Alive! He snatched the keys and cell phone off the table, grateful to be only two beers deep. He could drive. He ran to his car, and yanked on the door so hard it peeled the nail from his index finger back. He cursed, realizing he hadn’t unlocked the door. He depressed the button, got in and sped out of the driveway, typing the address into the GPS as he went. He white-knuckled the steering wheel, his face glowing in concentration. He muttered under his breath and called 911 from his cellphone. With luck, Olivia had already called and they were almost there.
An operator answered, “Police. What is your emergency?”
Harry told them.
-9-
Olivia called the police. At first, the operator’s voice resonated indifference, but that soon changed. The operator told her the police were on the way. Could she make it out of the house, maybe go to a neighbour’s? Olivia didn’t know. She had no idea how far a neighbour was. Could be right next door or it could be through a field in the deep snow. The operator asked Olivia to stay on the phone until the police arrived. The calm, professional voice soothed her rattled nerves for the moment. Jen and Lucy stayed near her with widened eyes searching out every part of the kitchen.
Olivia said, “Okay. I’m going to try to find the front door.”
The dispatcher said, “Are you sure the other one is not in the house?”
Olivia remembered what Lucy said earlier, how she knew he wasn’t here because she couldn’t feel him. Olivia thought she was right about that. She knew what Lucy meant. The Jackal and the Gorilla carried with them an air of oppressive menace and tangible doom. The house felt empty, devoid of them, a vacuum bereft of evil.
“I’m sure.”
“Then get out of there. Our officers are about five minutes out.”
“Okay, okay.”
Barefoot, she moved out of the kitchen into a hallway. The front door awaited them. Stairs curved upstairs. She ignored a dimly lit room branching off the hallway. She focussed on the front door. It offered an exit from this hell house. All she had to do was open it and walk out and keep walking and she would be free. Tears spilled down her cheeks unnoticed. The aching in her fingers and toes a distant hum. The two girls following behind her, companions in misery were nothing to her at that moment. All she cared about was the freedom on the other side of that door. A mountain lion could be on the porch and Olivia would kick it aside to escape this house. What was a fucking cat compared to the animals who imprisoned her?
Olivia said, more to herself than the operator, “I’m at the door. It’s right there.”
“Good, good. Get out of there.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
She reached for the knob and frowned. The door didn’t have a handle. Just a deadbolt lock right where the knob should be.
“Fuck!”
“What?” The operator sounded alarmed.
“There’s no latch or doorknob. Just a lock. You need a key to open it.”
“Do you have one?”
Lucy squeezed up beside Olivia and holding up the keys Olivia took from the Gorilla said, “How about one of these? One of these should do it.”
To the operator, Olivia said, “Maybe.”
Lucy gave Olivia one of the knives she took, the smaller one, and held the keys up to the light. Olivia had no idea what she was looking at. They were keys for fuck’s sake. Just pick one and get on with it.
Olivia glanced back at Jen. She held her stump to her stomach, bent over, peering at a picture in a frame on a dark table in the hallway. She turned her head to Olivia and said, “Fake. Like the picture came with the frame or something.”
Olivia didn’t answer, though what could she say? Who gave a shit what picture was in what frame? They were still trapped in this house. They didn’t know where the Jackal was and they didn’t even know if they had the keys to get out. Olivia trembled so much her teeth chattered.
In her ear the operator said, “Is everything okay?”
Olivia said, “I don’t know yet.”
Scrape of keys and breathing.
Lucy said, “Goddamnit! None of them work!”
“Should we look around?”
Lucy held her arms out, exasperated and said, “Where? I mean this isn’t a small fucking house. They could be anywhere.”
Jen said, “Just break a window,” in the same tone someone would say pass the salt.
Olivia said, “Fuck it. Let’s do that then.”
The operator said, “The police should be there any minute.”
Olivia said, “I’m not waiting any longer.”
Heavy footsteps crunched gravel outside. A porch plank groaned.
Lucy backed away from the door, knife held out in front of her.
Olivia whispered to the operator, “I think he’s back!”
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The operator, caught up in the moment, lost her professional demeanour and blurted, “Fuck!”
. . .
The girls backed up from the door. Something sharp poked Olivia in the back. Lucy muttered, “Sorry,” and Olivia realized Lucy’s knife must have jabbed her. Olivia didn’t respond. She held the phone against her ear and held the knife in front of her. The pitiful little knife, pointy end towards the door. What the fuck would it do against the Jackal? He’d take it from her and carve her up, piece by piece. No window in the front door so she could not see who stood outside. It had to be the Jackal though. She should have known better. There was no escape from this place or him. He’ll open the door any second now and yell, “Honey! I’m home!” and then whisk them away to another hidey-hole to stock up another meat freezer. She sucked back a sob. It wracked her bony frame. Would he have a gun? Would he even bother taking them someplace new? It would be smarter to execute them all and torch the place.
“It’s an officer!”
Olivia jumped and glanced at the phone, surprised she still held it in her hand. She’d forgotten all about it.
“What?”
The operator said, “At the door. It’s a police officer!”
“How do you know?”
“We’re talking to him, over the radio. There are three of them there. Two are at the back of the house.”
“Tell him to break down the fucking door!” Lucy said.