Daddy's Little Girl

by William Malmborg

  “I’m guessing the pictures are not your typical family photos?” Katie said, entering the dispatch area.

  Gary looked up.

  Katie pointed at the phone and mouthed the words Detective Powell.

  He nodded and started writing on a piece of paper.

  “No,” Tina said. “They’re teenagers, all dressed in school uniforms. Chained up, in cages, hanging from ropes, stretched out on a rack, spread eagle on a bed—if you can imagine it, he probably took a picture of it. Several show girls in the process of being violated. Both with sex toys, random objects, and the man himself. He liked taking shots of his penis pressed up against their faces and down their throats, their mouths held open by a painful-looking gag device.” She paused. “I’ve only seen what was scattered about in his bedroom, likely because he wanted them to burn and simply dumped them out onto the mattress, one box after another. We’re not touching them, so those that are covered or turned over haven’t been examined yet.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “Awful doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  “Can you tell me about this Misty? Who do you think she is?”

  “Ah yes, that’s where things really take a turn for the bizarre.”

  Gary handed her the note. It said: Bitsy was just seen at the high school.

  Katie pulled up alongside the main entrance of the high school just as a bus was leaving, a group of disheveled residents making their way through the doors to the check-in table. Seeing this, Katie was reminded of the fact that the town had been devastated, the twisters having left a good chunk of its residents homeless. Others had been killed. It was the worst disaster to ever befall Smallwood, yet for her it was nothing more than a backdrop. Bitsy was her focus. She needed to find her and get her back, not just to save her potential career, but because of what Detective Powell had described was found down in Champaign-Urbana.

  Are the two really connected?

  They have to be.

  Two things were certain about the serial killer that had fled Champaign-Urbana. First, he had an old VW Van. Second, he had a daughter named Misty, yet no wife or a record of ever having been married. A daughter who apparently lived among the captives that her father brought home and held in the cellar dungeon. Where she had originally come from was unknown, but given what was found in her bedroom, it was clear that she not only knew about the captives, but that she would occasionally torment them herself.

  “Alongside the professor?” Katie had asked, horrified.

  “It’s hard to say,” Tina had replied. “Obviously someone was behind the camera taking the pictures of her with the captives, often while she was wearing what I can only describe as a kinky female prison camp warden outfit—one that looks really bizarre given that she probably is only thirteen or fourteen in the photos—but if it was the man, he didn’t seem to be taking part in the activities the way he did in his own pictures, which he always took himself, not with a partner. And in one you can see some of the picture-taker in a mirror on the side of the wall. It isn’t enough to make out an identity, but one thing is clear. Whoever is taking the picture is wearing a pink dress.”

  “That could be Bitsy,” Katie suggested.

  “Who knows? We’re still going through everything. Misty’s pictures were kept in pink photo albums that were in a box under her bed. Normally it would have been locked, but someone obviously opened it and grabbed stuff. These albums were likely the rejects while she looked for others that might be more significant. I also suspect she had a digital camera, one that could be hooked up to the photo printer we found in the professor’s home office. Both took their cameras, but not the printer. Our tech guys are going to go through it to see if they can find anything.”

  “Can you do me a favor?” Katie asked, eyes on the note that Gary had written, one that was urging her to get to the school. “I’m going to send you a photo of Bitsy that I took earlier. If you can, try to see if it matches any of the photos left behind. That way we can nail things down and say for sure that the family fled this way and got themselves stuck here in Smallwood.”

  “Okay, yeah, send that over.”

  “Will do.”

  “Great.”

  A few moments later, the photo she had taken while in the interview room was texted over. Whether this was standard procedure for situations like this, Katie didn’t know, but it seemed the quickest way to get things over to the detective.

  Now, while walking into the school, her phone buzzed with a text.

  It was from the detective and simply read: It’s them.

  Katie stared at the message, a question of “now what?” echoing.

  The phone buzzed again.

  Katie thumbed open the new text. It was a picture of Bitsy. She was standing next to a newly planted tree, wearing a dress that was similar in style to the one that she had been in earlier that day, one that was currently folded up in a box as evidence.

  Buzz.

  This one was a selfie of Bitsy alongside another young woman. Both were smiling.

  Misty? she wondered.

  Buzz.

  This one read: The girl next to her is Misty.

  Several more texts followed, all pictures. They were simple shots of Misty modeling outfits for the camera, photos that would have looked like those of any teenager who was excited about her new outfit—if the outfit hadn’t looked like something one would see at a fetish event.

  Another buzz echoed, only this time it was the first ring of a call rather than a text.

  She answered.

  “Sorry to photo bomb you like that, but I figured you should see what it is we are dealing with here since you’ve found yourself on the front line,” Tina said.

  “No worries, this is good stuff and will be very useful,” Katie said. Up ahead she could see a fellow officer named Owen standing with three young adults, two of whom were the storm chasers from earlier, the other a young man she did not recognize. “Up until now, we didn’t know who Misty was or what she looked like, so this will really help.” She hesitated and then asked, “Are you going to come up here?”

  “Eventually. Your department is going to get swamped with investigators from several agencies, though that will take at least a day, especially with the storms having wreaked havoc upon much of the state. So for now you are going to be on your own in locking this thing down.”

  Owen saw her and waved her over.

  Katie held up a finger and was about to let Tina know that she had to run, when Tina said something else.

  “I also hope you realize something. Those outfits that Misty is wearing in the pictures, they aren’t things that a teenager her age can simply walk into a store and buy—even if we had stores that sold such things around here.”

  “Ah, good point,” Katie said. “How would she secure clothing like that?”

  “My guess, her father bought it for her, which really adds a dimension to this that I don’t want to think about. It also means that if you do find her, be careful. She may be just a teen, one that has likely suffered in ways we can’t even begin to imagine, especially if she was originally born from a captive, but she is also an accomplice in everything that was taking place here, and will need to be treated as such to ensure your own safety when apprehending her. Simply put, don’t look at her as a victim that needs rescuing, because she likely isn’t going to be viewing you as a rescuer freeing her from captivity. Instead, you’re a threat, one that she will likely try to defend herself against.”

  Katie thought about Bitsy and how they had miscalculated her view toward them to the point of her walking out of the station when their backs were turned. She wasn’t going to be making any more mistakes like that. “Don’t worry, once we find her, we won’t let our guard down.”

  “Okay,” Tina said. “Good. I have to run. Impromptu meeting. But I will keep you posted on what we learn down here.”

  “Same here.”

  The call ended.

  “There
we go,” Lindsey said. “Good as new.”

  Bitsy looked down at her leg, the sting from the disinfectant fading now that the gauze was in place.

  “Do you want me to change the one on your head while we’re in here?” Lindsey asked.

  Bitsy looked up at her, the flickering light from the candle reflecting itself in the mirror, which bathed the girl in brightness. “Do you think it needs to be changed?” she asked.

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Okay.”

  “We can clean off your face too. Seems you got splattered with mud.”

  “While being tackled by that boy,” Bitsy confirmed.

  “Dennis,” Lindsey said.

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “What? Ugh. No way!”

  Bitsy was quiet for a moment and then said, “That dog wanted to eat me.”

  “Cujo wants to eat everyone.”

  “Cujo! Does he have rabies?”

  “What?”

  “Cujo had rabies.”

  “Well, no, he’s not the actual Cujo. That’s just what we call him because he’s mean.”

  “Did he used to be nice?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe when he was little before he lived there. Everyone in that house is mean.”

  “Cujo was nice in the beginning, but got sick because he chased the rabbit into the hole.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “Yeah, it’s sad. He was a good dog, but then became a bad dog because of the rabies. Did you see it?”

  “Not really. Just bits of it on TV from time to time.”

  “I watched it with Misty. It was on Amazon. We ordered a pizza and breadsticks with garlic dipping sauce.”

  “Ah, fun. Do you and Misty like scary movies?” Lindsey asked, finger gently rubbing at the edge of the tape on her forehead so she could snag a corner and peel away the muddy bandage.

  “Yes, especially while the Daddy-man is gone.”

  “The Daddy-man?”

  Bitsy winced as the tape was peeled away.

  “Sorry,” Lindsey said.

  “It’s okay.”

  Lindsey leaned in close to look at her forehead.

  Bitsy studied her while she did this, eyes going from her face down to her body and then back up to her face. She was very pretty, though her eyes looked funny.

  “This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Lindsey said.

  “The nice man that covered it said it looked worse than it really was. He said heads bleed like crazy, which is scary, but that it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

  “I bet you weren’t scared though.”

  “I was.” She looked down while saying this.

  “Well, that’s okay,” Lindsey said, handing over a wet washcloth. “I was scared too when the storm hit.”

  Bitsy smiled and twisted toward the mirror.

  Lindsey watched from over her shoulder.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Bitsy asked, holding the washcloth.

  “My eyes?”

  “Yeah, they look funny.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  In the other room, one of the girls laughed.

  The other cussed.

  Something crashed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Lindsey said.

  Bitsy nodded while rubbing at a spot of mud on her cheek.

  It came away easily.

  Some of the others were a bit more stubborn, but even so, she managed to scrub them free.

  Following that, she put the washcloth into the sink and then turned on the faucet to wash the muddy residue from her fingers, carefully rolling up her sleeves so that they didn’t get any mud on them from her fingers and wouldn’t get wet once they were under the water.

  “Those two,” Lindsey said, coming back into the room. “They rolled another blunt and pulled out the Ouija board.”

  Bitsy spun toward her, water splashing.

  “Ouija boards are dangerous!” So dangerous that the Daddy-man once spanked Misty right in front of her for ordering one from Amazon with the gift cards. She had said she wanted to try and talk to her mommy with it, but he burned it before they could even open it.

  “Oh don’t worry, they’re not going to do anything with it,” Lindsey said.

  Bitsy sighed, but then wondered if using one might be helpful. Would the spirits on the other side help her find her way back to Misty and the van?

  “Christ, what happened to your wrists?” Lindsey asked.

  “What?” Bitsy looked down at them. “Oh, that was from a game that me and Misty played.”

  Lindsey gently took her right wrist and examined it. “What’s it from?”

  “Rope.”

  “Rope? What in the world were you two playing?”

  “Misty wanted to try being a schoolgirl again and had me be the daddy and act like a boy, but then afterward Misty got upset with me and tied me up to hang from the ceiling in the dungeon.”

  “Dungeon?”

  “Yeah. The Daddy-man built it in the cellar.”

  “And Misty hung you up in there from your wrists?”

  Bitsy nodded.

  “For how long?”

  “I’m not sure. I think maybe a day. I passed out for a while.”

  “Jesus.”

  Bitsy pulled her hand back and pushed the sleeve down. “It’s okay. We play games like that a lot.”

  “Why?”

  “Misty likes them.”

  “And you?”

  “What?”

  “Do you like them?”

  Bitsy thought about this for a moment and said, “I liked being able to act like a boy the other night.” She had liked that a lot. “And I think Misty liked me acting like a boy. She made lots of happy noises.”

  But then why did she get mad later?

  Bitsy was still confused by this.

  “And your dad is okay with these games?”

  “I don’t have a daddy,” Bitsy said.

  “But…who is the Daddy-man?”

  “That’s Misty’s daddy.”

  “I thought Misty was your sister?”

  “No.”

  “Cousin?”

  “No.”

  “Mother?”

  “What? That’s silly.”

  “Okay, maybe you should explain it to me. Who are you exactly?”

  “I’m Bitsy Cole.”

  “Yes, I know, but how are you related to Misty and the…um…Daddy-man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You live with her, right? You said they are your family, but if he’s not your daddy, and Misty is not your sister, cousin, or mother, how are you all related?”

  “He gave me to her after her mommy died.”

  “What?”

  “To keep her company so she wouldn’t be sad.”

  “He gave you to her?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lindsey didn’t say anything for several seconds.

  Bitsy wondered if maybe she had said too much about her home life. Misty always said they were supposed to keep things secret, but that was before she got lost.

  “What’s Misty’s last name?”

  Bitsy shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “And it’s not the same as your last name?”

  “No.”

  “You said your name is Bitsy Cole.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Bitsy your real name?”

  “Oh, well no, it’s Elizabeth. Elizabeth Cole. But Misty calls me Bitsy.”

  “Like the American Girl doll?” a voice asked from the hall.

  “What?” Lindsey asked.

  Liz, the girl that had given her the stuffed tiger earlier, stepped into the bathroom. “Elizabeth Cole, aka Bitsy Cole. It’s the name of an American Girl doll.” She turned to Bitsy. “You’re named after a doll?”

  “I am a doll.”

  “She said she lost her home and couldn’t find her family, so I figured maybe they were here
at the school,” Andrew said.

  “And then what, you two recognized her and came to find out what was going on?” Katie asked Tess and Ramsey.

  “Tess did,” Ramsey said.

  “I thought it was odd that she was here without any police,” Tess added.

  “And I just thought she was lost,” Andrew said. “I didn’t know she had escaped. Jesus, I didn’t mean to…”

  “Aid and abet?” Tess asked.

  “Yeah!”

  “It’s okay,” Katie said, his fear obvious. “She didn’t really escape since she wasn’t in custody. We were just trying to figure out who she was, given her confusion.”

  “And you just let her wander away?” Tess asked.

  “Pretty much,” Katie said, holding back a glare. “And it was my fault. I thought she was sleeping and went to get a cup of coffee. After that, she was gone.” She turned back to Andrew. “Did she tell you anything else about herself, or give any indication of where she was heading?”

  “Not really,” he said with a shrug. “She was just looking for her family.”

  “And then ran away when you two approached?”

  “Yep,” Ramsey said.

  “After she saw the police officer,” Tess added.

  Katie nodded.

  Officer Owen Collins, who worked part time for the department, had been at the school helping keep things organized and had had no idea about Bitsy until Tess told him that she had been brought to the police station earlier and might have been a victim of kidnapping. A bit skeptical, Owen had radioed in to find out if there was any truth to what Tess had to say, which was when Gary informed him that yes, they were looking for a young girl named Bitsy that had wandered away from the station. Unfortunately, by then there was no sign of her outside of the school.

  Buzz.

  She ignored the phone for the moment and turned to the storm chasers. “I know earlier you told me that you couldn’t say exactly where it was that you picked her up, but do you think we could try to pinpoint it? I have a map and can show you exactly where I was flaring things. Maybe we can backtrack from there.”

  “We could try,” Ramsey said. “But I doubt it will be much more than a general ‘this area’ description. We went back and forth quite a bit trying to find a road that wasn’t blocked.”