Daddy's Little Girl

by William Malmborg

  Doesn’t matter.

  Daddy was dead and would never have to face such a decision.

  Even so, the question lingered.

  As did questions about her future.

  Where would she go?

  The police car wouldn’t be able to get her far, even if she was in a police uniform, not when it would call attention to itself once the town realized it was missing, and she didn’t think she would be able to get the van back on its wheels.

  But maybe she could find a different car.

  One that she could have the schoolgirl drive until they found a new house, one up north like Daddy had wanted, in the woods near a lake. Such a place had always been his dream. A dream that she was interested in experiencing. A dream that could still be a reality.

  She thought about his body.

  Maybe her inability to dig a hole for him had been for the best.

  Being entombed by a lake in the woods would make him happy, and once there, she would be able to visit with him rather than simply picturing the area of dirt that she had left him in down here. And he would have the schoolgirl with him, her body buried alongside his once she had finished being a driver for her and Bitsy.

  Bitsy.

  Sadness threatened to return but then was quickly stifled as she did her best to push the thoughts of Bitsy away and focus her attention upon the van, which was looming before her, its dark shape sticking out against the nighttime darkness.

  Was it still visible from the road?

  If so, then staying at the farm for the night might not be the best option.

  It’s the only option.

  No…

  If she wanted, she could have the schoolgirl drive her around until they found a new car and then take that northward.

  Or maybe it would be better to have the policeman drive her—that way the schoolgirl could keep Daddy company in the trunk. Given his age, the policeman probably would be a better driver, and he might know the way up north better than the schoolgirl would.

  But could she really control him?

  If she had Bitsy with her, then yes. Working together, the two could keep him secure. Without her though…

  Think about it later.

  Right now she needed the bag with the flashlight so that she could move around the barn without too much trouble, and she needed the collar and leash so that she could have the schoolgirl drive the police car.

  Or…

  She looked out toward where the road was, thoughts on trying to drive the car herself once again entering into her mind.

  Could she do it?

  She had the keys with her.

  And it didn’t really look all that difficult, her eyes having studied what Daddy did several times on those occasions when he had allowed her to accompany him on errands and for special dinners, her hope always being that when he finally did start teaching her that he would be impressed by how much she already knew.

  Hesitation gripped her.

  Get Daddy’s bag.

  And change into the uniform

  Once she did that, she could make a decision on how she was going to handle the police car.

  “It’s not going to work,” Norman said.

  “It has to!” Abigail snapped, his statement and the pain in her right hand threatening to push her over the edge.

  “It won’t. I can’t bend it that far.”

  “Then try something else!”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, just stand up and start hopping up and down until the keys bounce out.”

  “The pocket’s buttoned shut.”

  “Then try with your mouth again, or your toes. Fucking do something!”

  He didn’t reply.

  She stood up again, her wrists unable to take the weight that sitting down produced.

  A grunt appeared.

  And then several mouth breaths.

  He was trying with his teeth again.

  She shook her head.

  After all the work to get his shoe off, they were back at the mouth attempts.

  Such a waste.

  But really, now that she thought about it, the chances of him getting the pocket open with his mouth were better. Trying to bend a leg toward one’s body without being able to grab it and pull was pointless if one wasn’t already flexible enough to touch it to his face, which he obviously wasn’t. Why she hadn’t considered this before while encouraging him to get his shoe off, she didn’t know, but now she chided herself for the lapse in judgment.

  “Are you able to swing it?” she asked, left hand exploring the cuff link around her right wrist.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, an exhausting ring present within his voice.

  “Can you sort of like buck your chest upward to swing the pocket toward your mouth and catch it?”

  “I’ll try.”

  The sound that followed was bizarre.

  Pathetic too.

  Had she not been in so much pain, she would have felt sorry for him, but her mind couldn’t go that route, not when he was her only chance at freedom.

  Several more odd sounds followed, her mind picturing the noises as being pre-thrust motivation sounds. Sort of like karate shouts as one swung his fists and feet.

  And then there was a muffled shout that could only be one of triumph.

  “You get it?” she asked.

  Nothing but a muffled sound followed, which was good because it meant his mouth was likely full of cloth.

  And then he let out a gasp and took several breaths.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I had…it,” he said.

  “But?”

  “Couldn’t breathe.”

  “But you still got it,” she said. “That’s encouraging.”

  “Yeah.”

  He took another breath.

  She wanted to tell him to keep trying, but knew he would even without her saying it.

  The odd thrusting grunt echoed, followed by a curse.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Something stuck me,” he said. “This post is full of splinters.”

  “Same with this rail,” she said. “How old do you think this barn is?”

  “Not sure.”

  With that, he made another attempt, the muffled sounds as he caught the cloth in his mouth once again appearing.

  And then what?

  Did he try to undo the button with his tongue and teeth, or simply pull until the button came free?

  Or maybe grind his teeth behind the button trying to sever the thread?

  Whichever it was, he was right in the middle of it, and this time it didn’t seem like he was going to stop until it was free or he choked to death, the sound of him taking deep breaths while the button was likely between his teeth appearing.

  She continued exploring her cuffs while he did this, her fingers desperately trying to figure out a way to loosen the grip of the right link.

  “Got it!”

  She spun toward him, cuff links digging into her flesh with the movement, momentarily afraid to ask what he meant, but then finding her voice.

  The door to the barn opened, Misty stepping inside, the beam of a flashlight scanning back and forth until it found Abigail, the light blinding her.

  Misty then shifted it toward Norman.

  “What are you doing?” Misty asked, flashlight beam back on the schoolgirl Abigail, who was standing up rather than sitting, her face looking guilty. Pain was present as well.

  “My cuffs are too tight,” Abigail said. “Can you please loosen them?”

  Misty eyed her.

  “Please. I bumped one of them and it tightened and it’s cutting off the blood flow. Please! I can’t feel my fingers.”

  Something wasn’t right.

  Misty could sense it.

  She swung the light back onto the police officer, who shifted his eyes away from the beam.

  From what she could see, he was still secure, as was the girl, light reflecti
ng off both their cuffs, yet something was up. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was but knew it to be so.

  His shoe!

  Had it come off earlier when she had been dragging him toward the post?

  Was that what was wrong?

  No.

  It was something else.

  But what?

  No answer arrived.

  “Please,” Abigail said again. “My cuffs.”

  Misty turned back to her, light bathing the girl.

  “You were trying to get free,” she said.

  “No,” Abigail said.

  “Yes.” But only managed to make things worse.

  “Please!”

  Misty sighed and stepped toward the girl, left hand holding the collar and leash. “You’re coming with me for a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “I need you to move his car.”

  Abigail looked toward the policeman and then back. Pain was still present upon her face, yet it had changed. Misty couldn’t make out what exactly the change was, but for some reason it chilled her.

  She turned to the policeman, light upon him.

  His eyes squinted against it but did not look away.

  His nose looked terrible, mucus having crusted upon his upper lip and parts of his chin. It was also on his shirt, almost as if it had been oozing.

  Or had he hacked it out, but not gotten it clear of his own body?

  Misty grimaced at the thought but didn’t let it dominate her focus as she shifted the light, eyes looking for any signs of what it was that had taken place while she was away.

  Nothing jumped out at her.

  She looked at the shoe.

  It was from his right foot.

  “What happened?” Misty asked.

  “I kicked it off,” Norman said.

  “Why?”

  He made a shrug-like motion. “Had an itch.”

  Misty considered this and then stepped around behind him to check his wrists.

  The handcuffs looked secure.

  She knelt down and tested them.

  Secure.

  She stood and turned back to Abigail.

  Hope.

  That’s what it was.

  She had hope.

  But why?

  Was it simply because she knew her cuffs were going to be opened in a moment and the pain she was in would fade?

  No.

  It was something else.

  But what?

  She studied both of them again, but nothing more was revealed.

  It has to do with the policeman.

  What would Daddy do?

  Several scenes from various videos he had made played out across her mind, but none of them offered up any realistic ideas.

  She turned back toward Abigail.

  “You better not have been lying about being able to drive,” she said.

  “Why would I lie?” Abigail asked, almost as if she was insulted by the suggestion.

  Misty didn’t reply to that and simply stepped forward to put the collar around Abigail’s throat, the flashlight tucked up under her arm while she did this, thoughts on Bitsy and how much she missed her trying to work their way into her focus.

  “Jesus,” Abigail whined once it was in place, throat making a swallowing noise. “It’s too tight.”

  Misty gave the leash a tug to silence her complaints, one that would have sealed Bitsy’s lips until she was told she could speak again. This was not the case with Abigail, who let out a choking noise and then called her a bitch.

  “You want me to be a bitch?” Misty said, getting close. “Because I can be a bitch.”

  With that, she reached out her free hand and closed her fingers across the cuffed wrist, squeezing it until she heard a ratchet click.

  Abigail let out a scream while bucking against her, fruitlessly trying to loosen the link.

  Misty stepped back and watched her struggle.

  After a few seconds, she gave the leash a gentle tug. “Schoolgirl, look at me.”

  Abigail didn’t look at her, eyes and fingers focused on the wrist and cuff link, tears present.

  “Schoolgirl,” Misty said again, giving the leash a second, firmer tug.

  Abigail looked at her, tears now running down her cheeks. “Please, take it off!”

  “Do you promise to behave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “I promise.”

  “You promise what?”

  “To behave.”

  Misty nodded and then stepped forward to release the cuff link.

  Abigail cried out as the blood raced back into her fingers, body dropping down to her knees.

  Misty let her stay like that for a moment, one hand on the leash, the other returning the key to her pocket and grabbing the flashlight from beneath her arm.

  She looked at the policeman.

  Nothing had changed.

  She turned back to the schoolgirl. “Put the handcuff back on.”

  Abigail complied, fingers carefully clicking the link closed, the sound of three ratchet clicks echoing.

  “Let me see.”

  Abigail stood up and stepped forward, wrists out in front of her.

  It was tight but could be tighter without causing harm, her fingers giving it another click.

  Abigail winced.

  “Knock it off,” Misty said and gave the leash a yank. “Let’s go. The sooner we move the police car, the sooner you can be back, and this time you’ll have some food and water.”

  Abigail did not protest.

  The two left the barn.

  Seven

  “He thinks he’s a girl,” Andrew said with a chuckle as they waited for Sparky to finish with the fire hydrant.

  “What do you mean?” Bitsy asked, a bit confused.

  “He won’t lift his leg. Always squats. Has ever since he was a puppy.”

  “Oh,” Bitsy said.

  “In the world of dogs, it’s odd, kind of like if I started using the women’s bathroom or you the men’s room.”

  Bitsy nodded.

  Nothing else about the leg lifting was said as the two waited for Sparky to finish up with the fire hydrant.

  Andrew fidgeted with the leash.

  It was cloth rather than leather.

  Same with the collar Sparky wore.

  She liked hers better.

  A gust of wind arrived, her sweatshirt providing very little protection against it.

  Andrew, noticing this, shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.

  “No, it’s okay,” Bitsy said, waving a hand.

  “No, no, I have on two shirts and a sweatshirt. I’ll be fine.”

  She smiled and put the jacket on.

  It was warm, like a cocoon.

  “Just don’t let me forget about it once we find your family,” he said. “My dad will kill me if I lose it.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  “Not literally,” he added, seeing her look.

  Bitsy didn’t reply, questions on his daddy and whether he was like the Daddy-man entering her mind but going unasked.

  Sparky finished and they started walking again, the shoes he had let her wear, while way too big, proving to be a good idea given all the debris they started to come across.

  “Oh my God, look at that!” Andrew said, voice nearly a shout.

  Startled, Bitsy followed his finger but couldn’t tell what he was pointing at. “What is it?” she asked.

  “There’s a freaking toilet in the yard over there.”

  She saw it.

  “Can you believe it?”

  “It’s crazy,” Bitsy said, unsure how to answer his question.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  They continued onward.

  “There it is,” he said a few minutes later.

  This time Bitsy didn’t need him to indicate what it was he was referring to and simply said, “It’s big.”

  “I guess.” Then, a few seconds later, “Where do you go to schoo
l?”

  “Nowhere. I stay at home.”

  “Oh, home school?”

  Bitsy thought about the school games that she and Misty played, she being the student, Misty the teacher, paddle always within reach if she couldn’t read the sentences correctly, and nodded. “Yep.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Again, Bitsy wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  Up ahead a police car rounded a corner and started down the street toward them.

  Fear tickled her bowels.

  It drove past without stopping.

  Bitsy let out a silent sigh.

  Andrew himself didn’t seem fazed.

  They kept walking.

  “So, what was the tornado like?” Andrew asked.

  Does he know about the van?

  Should I tell him?

  No!

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Probably too soon.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll tell you, I was scared shitless.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ve seen movies and some of those storm-chasing shows, but this wasn’t anything like that. It was intense.”

  Bitsy nodded, watching him as he spoke.

  “And I’m guessing it was way worse for you.”

  Bitsy continued to nod.

  “But at least you’re okay.”

  “Yes.”

  “And pretty soon you’ll be back with your family.”

  “Yes.” I hope so.

  Would they really be inside?

  If so, why wouldn’t Katie have simply taken her here?

  She had overheard Katie and others talking about wanting to find Misty and the Daddy-man, yet at no point had they said anything about going to the school. It seemed weird. But then maybe they didn’t realize the house was gone. She had only mentioned the van.

  “I think we’ll probably need the main entrance, which is over there,” Andrew said as they neared the end of the sidewalk, a street between them and where it began again on the school side.