The Voice
Published by Lands Atlantic
www.landsatlantic.com
This is a work of fiction. Any names and locations are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Anne Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
ISBN 978-0985725006
Cover Design: Paragraphic Designs
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
Lying in the dark cabin, I tried not to think about the foul smell of body odor mixed with the stench of urine. I tried not to think about how hungry I was, or when I would eat again. About the plastic zip ties cutting into my wrists, or the spider crawling up my arm. I kept trying and failing. There was nothing to do but think.
Audrey? he spoke in my mind.
“Here,” I replied, still not understanding who or what the voicewas, hoping I wasn’t going crazy. Though, after what I had been through, crazy wasn’t too far off. Instead, I focused on what the voicewas saying. After weeks of being stuck here, he was the only thing keeping me grounded and giving me hope.
I need you to do something for me.
He sounded drained. “Are you okay?” I asked.
Scream.
“What?”
I need you to scream as loud as you can. Now, Audrey! Scream!
Bill had left the cabin only five minutes earlier, and I was afraid to make any noise. What if he was still outside and heard me? Would he come back in? I was so sore and bruised that I couldn’t handle anymore.
Scream! he urged.
Finally trusting the voice, I sucked in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and screamed as loud as I could. At first I sounded like a cat that was being strangled, the sound barely audible and grating on my ears. But I kept trying, and the noise transformed into something loud and fierce.
Yell the word “help.”
“HELP!” My throat was raw, but that didn’t stop me. I took all of my hurt and anger, and used those emotions for the energy needed to sustain the scream.
Then a thumping came from the other room—maybe the front door. My body shuddered. Shimmying to the edge of the mattress, I tried to stand, but my legs gave out, and I fell to the rough, wooden floor, landing on my knees. With bound hands, I inched my way to the corner of the room, as far away from the door as possible.
Keep screaming!
I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear, but I did what the voicesaid and let out a shrill, loud cry for help. The sound bounced off the walls, echoing.
Wood shattered in the other room. I kept yelling, wishing that I had the power to destroy Bill with my scream.
The doorknob twisted. Please don’t hurt me again . . . please don’t touch me . . . no more, please. No more.
The door exploded open. Instead of Bill, there stood three hunters dressed in camouflage and bright orange vests. One held a shotgun, and another held an axe. I froze in horror. The men looked at one another and then back at me.
Audrey, tell them who you are. Your name.
“I’m Audrey Marshall. Please help me.”
“The kidnapped girl?” the older guy on the right asked. I nodded. “I’m calling 9-1-1. You’re going to be all right now,” he said reassuringly, his cell phone already at his ear.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the voice. But he didn’t respond.
Chapter 2
The phone rang so often that it was simply background noise to my parents. I, however, was keenly aware of it. It felt like an ice cube sliding down my back every single time. Nobody bothered answering anymore. Not since we realized the calls were mostly reporters or my friends from school, and I didn’t want to talk to any of them.
I wished Mom would just disconnect the phone or change the number, but she insisted it would calm down. That everything would go back to normal. If there was such a thing.
The first week after my return, I actually counted the number of calls. We had 162 the first day. The second week it decreased to about a hundred a day. Now, the third week, we were down to a mere eighty a day. Next week would be freaking fantastic.
Lying on the bed, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling, the ringing finally stopped. My hands unclenched, until there was a knock on my bedroom door. Then my entire body went stiff again.
“Honey,” my mom called.
Closing my eyes, I breathed slowly, trying to maintain a sense of control. I didn’t want to look at the door. It always reminded me of that day. No, I couldn’t think about that. Calm down.
“Audrey.” My mom’s voice was louder; she had to be in my room. Opening my eyes, I focused on the ceiling again. “Someone’s here to see you,” she said gently. “Want to come down?”
“Who?” I asked. The police, FBI, my family, therapist, and doctors were already more than I could handle. I didn’t want to talk to anyone that I didn’t have to. Not like this. The bruises were still a greenish yellow and everything was still sore.
“Kara.”
My best friend. She’d been coming over every single day since my return, but I hadn’t seen her once. “I don’t think so,” I whispered.
Turning my head away from my mother, I focused on my white wood desk. My pink laptop was still sitting in the center, right where I had left it. All of my favorite books were on the shelves above, alphabetically organized by author and then title. The quilt my grandma had made for me before I was born was folded over the chair. I loved that blanket—all purple, green, and white squares, with stitching done by hand.
“Maybe if you start acting normally, things will go back to normal. Isn’t that what you want?” Mom asked. Her voice wasn’t as soft or as careful as it usually was.
“Leave me alone,” I replied. How could she even ask me something like that?
“And what do you want me to tell Kara?” Mom prodded.
I shrugged. Just thinking about Kara brought tears to my eyes. I bit my bottom lip and kept blinking. Before this summer, we never went a day without talking. And now, well, I couldn’t face her.
“But you haven’t been out of your room in days.”
Not true—I had left to use the bathroom a couple of times.
The phone rang. It was the fiftieth time that day. I shivered. The memory crept up on me before I could stop it. Stuck in the cabin in that dark room all alone, not knowing when Bill would come for me again. On the other side of the locked bedroom door, his phone would ring. The answering machine would pick up, followed by a short beep.
“Audrey . . . I know you can hear me. I’ve been thinking about you . . . about our time together. I can’t wait to see you again. To feel you in my arms, to touch you. Do you miss me? I miss you. I’ll be there soon.” And then deep breathing, followed by a click.
He had called throughout the day, sometimes twenty or thirty times, talking on the answering machine. I couldn’t get away from his messages, from the sound of his slimy voice echoing off the walls.
; “Aren’t you going to eat your lunch?” Mom asked, bringing me back into the present.
“What?” Why was she still here?
“Your food is sitting on the tray. It doesn’t look like you’ve even touched it.”
Yes, my lunch—in other words, another opportunity for Mom to fatten me up. She’d made me a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich with chips, cookies, and an apple. There was also some sort of dark-brown protein drink on the tray. It was thick and gooey like mud. I wasn’t going to even think about drinking it.
The phone stopped ringing. I unclenched my hands. Deep breaths in and out. Mom sighed, and then I heard footsteps on the stairs. She must have left without shutting the door.
Don’t look at the door. It doesn’t matter. I’m safe. Just focus on the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” my mom said, her voice distant.
“Is she doing any better today?” Kara asked. Hearing her broke my heart. But if she knew the nightmare I’d endured, she wouldn’t want to see me. In my own way, I was protecting her.
“Every day she heals more and more. It won’t be too much longer,” Mom replied.
“If she needs anything, let me know. Everyone’s asking about her at school. We’re all worried,” Kara said.
The phone rang again. Fifty-one. I clung to my bedspread, grounding myself in the present. The front door shut just as our answering machine picked up. This time I could hear it, since my bedroom door was still open. It was my therapist, leaving a message to say that she agreed with me, that a trip to California to visit my Aunt Kate for a few weeks might help me distance myself from what happened. Wonder if Mom and Dad were going to let me go. The machine beeped off.
The phone rang again. Fifty-two.
Chapter 3
The following week, I stood in my living room with a suitcase clenched in my hand, looking around for the last time. I had no intention of returning. My family’s portrait hung over the fireplace mantle. Picture perfect. Mom, Dad, my three older brothers, and then me, front and center. The picture was taken a couple of years ago when I was a freshman in high school. If only I could go back in time.
My mom’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “I really wish you didn’t want to go. California is so far,” she said.
“We’ve been over this, Mom. It’s for the best.” There was no way she would be letting me out of her sight if my therapist hadn’t agreed that a few weeks of separation from my now overprotective and hovering mother would aid in my recovery. And my mom would do anything to fix me—to get me back to the way I was. As if that were even possible.
My father took the rest of my bags out to Aunt Kate’s rental car, probably trying to stay busy. He tended to do that a lot lately. I overheard him tell Mom that he felt responsible for what had happened. It wasn’t his fault, really. At least, I tried not to blame him or anyone else who had refused to listen to me.
“Ready?” Aunt Kate asked.
I nodded. The sooner we were gone, the better. Aunt Kate was my mom’s younger sister and my only relative who didn’t live in Bethel Park, Pennsylvania. She’d gone to college in San Diego and never returned. Now, I couldn’t blame her.
“Call when you get in,” my mom said, and before I realized what she was going to do, she hugged me. I went rigid, repelled by the contact. “I’m so sorry. I forgot.” She released me, but the damage was already done.
I ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet. My entire body was shaky and clammy. Kneeling on the cold tile, I grabbed a tissue and wiped my mouth. Then I held onto the edge of the counter, pulled myself up to the sink, and splashed water on my face. This had to stop. I couldn’t live like this any longer. Drying myself off, I avoided the mirror and counted to one hundred, trying to stay focused in the present. That’s what my therapist told me to do when something became overwhelming—which seemed like always.
I managed to calm myself down enough to face my family again. That’s when I noticed a heated discussion coming from the living room. Cracking the bathroom door open, I heard Dad’s voice carry down the hall. “I’m afraid she’s going to do something stupid.”
“She’ll be fine,” my mother said, trying to convince them. “The therapist said she would eventually be back to herself. It’s just going to take a little more time.” If it were up to my mom, she would snap her fingers and have everything back to the way it was before.
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Kate said. “We’ve always been close. I’m sure she’ll eventually open up and talk to me. The time away will be good for her. I’ve already talked with her therapist and have the number in case Audrey needs anything.”
I felt bad for using Aunt Kate. She was right—we’ve always been close, especially since she is only ten years older than me. But that wasn’t why I’d turned to her. I simply needed to get away, to end the pain. The memories were too vivid here, and my parents were watching my every move. Kate was getting married soon, so she had a ton on her plate. Hopefully she would be overwhelmed with things to do and wouldn’t notice what I had planned, until it was too late.
When I returned to the living room, everyone stopped talking. I hated the looks on their faces—sympathy, anger, helplessness, pity. How was I supposed to go back to normal when no one was capable of treating me that way?
The trip to the airport was uneventful. The only excitement was when a couple of people recognized me in the security line. Luckily, Kate was on it. She dragged me into a store and bought me a hideously expensive Pittsburgh Steelers hat. I kept it low over my hazel eyes and tucked my long, brown hair under my jacket. After that, no one noticed me. Problem solved. I almost felt normal.
When Kate and I arrived in San Diego, I couldn’t believe it was ninety degrees even in October. I kept my jacket on anyway, hoping no one would identify me. I needed to be anonymous.
Normal.
Not me.
If only I could forget . . . but it would be over soon. A few more hours and I would have the freedom to finish this.
During the car ride to her house, Kate finally spoke to me. I was thankful she’d managed to stay quiet for so long, a feat my mother would never have been able to accomplish. I could handle a little conversation as long as the subject wasn’t me.
“Listen, Audrey, I won’t push you to talk about anything that happened. You don’t have to unless you want to.” Not push me to talk? Amazing. “This trip is about you getting better.” I nodded in understanding, but couldn’t look at Kate. Instead, I focused on the ugly brown hills in the distance. Weren’t there any trees in California? Palms didn’t count. She continued, “I’m just so happy you’re here, that you’re alive.” Her voice cracked on the word “alive.” It didn’t seem like the right word for me.
Before all of this happened, I was a typical seventeen-year-old girl. I cared about my clothes and appearance. I’d had the same best friend since kindergarten. I was focused on keeping my grades up and getting into college. To pad my college admission applications, I volunteered at the local convalescent home, talking to the elderly and keeping them company on the weekends. I was a member of Key Club, on my school’s varsity tennis team, and involved with my youth group at church. How naive it all seemed now.
We finally arrived at Kate’s house. It was exactly what I had imagined—white stucco with palm trees in the front yard. Every single house on the street was almost identical to one another, and they were all lined up like dominoes. Kate’s house was pretty nice, though. I mean, she always complained about how little she earned as a high-school teacher. Her fiancé, Mike, was an attorney, so he must’ve made a decent amount of money.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kate began before I even had time to say anything. “It’s very suburban. But we plan on having kids, and the house is in a great school district—I would know,” she smiled wryly. Her shoulder-length, blond hair swirled in the wind. Kate was perfect. She was thin, athletic, and spunky. For a moment, I wished we could trade places. But I didn’t want her deali
ng with what I was. Keep taking deep breaths, focus.
I followed her inside. It felt like I had walked into a Pottery Barn catalog. Lots of browns, reds, and oranges. The house was decorated completely different from my parents’ country-cottage style. Kate gave me a brief tour of the downstairs. Nothing exciting. Then we headed up. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was off. I looked from the banister down into the living room. There was a couch, a coffee table, and then an open space where it looked like a chair should have been. There were even indentations in the carpet.
Walking down the hallway, I noticed a few blank spots where clearly pictures had once hung, the nails still protruding from the wall. Kate’s eyes darted back and forth, and I noticed a confused look on her face, but I didn’t ask or want to know why.
We entered the guest bedroom, which was in the back corner of the house, overlooking a golf course. The walls were sage green and the twin bedspread was white. There must have been twenty pillows on the bed, all perfectly arranged. I threw my bag on the bed and a pillow fell off. Kate cringed. Maybe the bed was just for looks and not actually meant to be used.
She headed back down the hallway, and I followed, not knowing what else to do. We entered Kate’s bedroom, where she abruptly stopped, causing me to run into her. Deep breaths. Focus. Don’t vomit. I began counting.
Frowning, Kate quietly scanned the room. Usually, everyone was so worried about me that they wore a fake happy face. It was refreshing to see some real emotion that had nothing to do with me for once.
After a moment, she stomped over to the closet and threw open the door. Looking around the room, a piece of paper lying on the bed caught my attention, and I walked over and picked it up.
Kate:
I’ve given us a lot of thought and have decided to move on. I’ll contact you once you’re done dealing with your niece and we can decide how to proceed with selling the house. I’ll leave it to you to cancel the wedding.
The Voice Page 1