Daddy's Little Girl

by William Malmborg

Misty tugged on the leash, a muffled yelp pleasing her ears.

  “I told you to stay still.”

  The girl didn’t reply.

  Couldn’t reply.

  Misty had seen to that with an item she had grabbed from her daddy’s bag, one that had been retrieved from the van. It was an item she had worn herself many times while Daddy was working, her mouth trying to get a feel for it to see if she would truly enjoy taking on the schoolgirl slave roll he had envisioned for her all those years ago. It was a future she had not known she was originally destined for, one that she only learned about when trying to find videos of her mother because she had grown curious to hear her voice again, her hope being that Daddy had taken some video of her reading Misty bedtimes stories when she was little, her tiny head resting on her mother’s thigh while her mother read from the book, her mother always trying to stay still so that the clank of chain didn’t disrupt the tale. They were nice memories, ones that she wanted to relive with more than just the pictures she had. She wanted video. Only there was no video. At least none that she could find. Instead, she saw the scenes of her daddy and mommy together at night, scenes that sometimes made her sad because she didn’t think her mommy liked what Daddy was doing to her. Other times they made her laugh, the noises her daddy made when he spurted his gooey spunk amusing.

  He wanted to raise me to be one those schoolgirls, yet didn’t.

  And why did he continue to tell me I was his daughter if I really wasn’t?

  No answer would ever arrive.

  She had spent too much time wondering about it and she had missed her opportunity for an answer.

  All because of the schoolgirl and her stupid Apple Watch thing.

  And the storm.

  How could he make so many poor decisions?

  It didn’t make sense.

  And now Bitsy had betrayed her.

  Somehow that was the worst thing of all.

  Her daddy dying was bad and something that would take quite a bit of time to recover from, but the reason for it was understandable. They had gotten caught in a storm. With Bitsy, she just didn’t get it. How could she do this? And why?

  She looked at the picture of the two of them together while thinking about this, a realization that she couldn’t simply leave without knowing unfolding. She had to find Bitsy first. She had to know why. Bitsy owed her that much.

  After that, if deemed appropriate, she would put an end to her.

  With a knotted piece of rope.

  Just like her daddy always did with the schoolgirls once he was finished with them.

  But not Mommy.

  Not after Misty had zapped her all those years ago, the tape she had put over her face to keep her from chewing off her other thumb to get out of the handcuffs once again having caused her to suffocate.

  “Look out!” Liz shouted just as Lindsey saw the downed power line pole and hit the brakes.

  They didn’t see the wire.

  It was dangling at headlight level, stretched across the road.

  The car slammed into it just as the brakes engaged, the wire forced down beneath the car and lifting them up into the air for a moment before a loud crack echoed, the sound joining their screams, one end shooting toward the ditch on the left, an explosion of sparks shooting up into the air as it hit the standing water within, the other to the right where nothing happened, the car thumping back down onto the pavement.

  No one spoke for several seconds, the light from the line that had sparked fading, the wire having danced right out of the water.

  “Lindsey,” Liz said, her voice nearly a whisper.

  Nothing else followed.

  Lindsey looked at her for several seconds and then through the windshield, the headlights illuminating the pole that lay across the road, its lines a tangled mess. Her eyes then shifted to the rearview mirror.

  Bitsy was looking out the window, nearly touching it.

  “Bitsy!” she snapped.

  “What?” Bitsy asked, startled.

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  “Why?”

  “We might be touching a power line.”

  “Won’t the tires keep us safe?” Liz asked.

  “I think that’s just a myth.”

  “But they’re rubber.”

  “Google it.”

  Liz did, Lindsey’s phone still in her hand.

  Several seconds passed.

  “Shit, you’re right,” Liz said. “It says tires are too thin to offer protection.” She scrolled down a bit. “Hey, does the car have a metal frame?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It says that a metal frame inside the car will make it safer than one without.”

  “What? That doesn’t make sense!”

  “It says that it will conduct the electricity around the car and into the ground rather than through the car where we are.”

  “Does it say what we should do? How do we get out?”

  “It says we should call nine-one-one and that we should only try to get out of the car as a last—”

  Bitsy opened the back door, a door ajar beep echoing.

  “Bitsy!” Lindsey snapped.

  Nothing happened.

  “They should be just across this field,” Bitsy said, pointing.

  “Bitsy!” Liz warned. “Don’t step out.”

  “But we need to hurry!”

  “If you touch the ground while a wire is touching the car, you could get electrocuted.”

  “Is a wire touching the car?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Does it say how we get out if one is?” Lindsey asked.

  “It says we need to jump,” Liz said. “And that if we touch the car at any point while touching the ground we could get electrocuted.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I think we should just call—”

  “Are you coming?” Bitsy asked.

  Lindsey and Liz turned.

  Bitsy was standing outside of the car, looking in, her hands touching the doorframe as she peered down at them, a look of impatience on her face.

  Lindsey shook her head, a statement of wow echoing within her mind, and opened her door, quickly looking at the ground to make sure there were no wires where she would be stepping, the light from within the car illuminating everything.

  No wires.

  She stepped out, eyes coming face-to-face with a wire that was stretched across the street, one that hovered several inches above the car, passing over the rear passenger side and going straight for the—

  No!

  “Liz!” she screamed while turning. “Don’t step out—”

  An explosion echoed, the air around them brightening for a moment.

  Bitsy shouted.

  Liz’s body stayed standing for a second, a stunned expression present, and then collapsed.

  Lindsey, ducking beneath the wire, hurried around the rear of the car, a horrific smell already hanging in the air.

  Liz’s body was smoking.

  And then flames appeared.

  Lindsey didn’t know what to do.

  She knew CPR. Had been trained at the police station during the yearly program. But this? Liz’s body was on fire. On fire!

  Call the police.

  Where was the phone?

  Liz had it.

  It had been in her hand while in the car.

  Now?

  She didn’t see it anywhere.

  Had it actually been in her hand when she stepped out?

  If so, it could have ended up anywhere once it fell.

  And there was no telling where Liz’s was.

  Pocket?

  Given the smoke and flames that were continuing to grow—

  Do it.

  Getting down on her hands and knees, Lindsey crawled to her friend, mind sensing the wire above, skin prickling and what was likely nothing more than an imagined charge in the air, and reached into her pockets.

  Liz’s phone was in the front one but was complete
ly fried, and there was no sign of her own phone.

  “Lindsey,” Bitsy said.

  Lindsey didn’t reply, her body crawling back beneath the wire and away from Liz.

  “She dead?” Bitsy asked.

  Lindsey nodded.

  “She was your friend?”

  Lindsey nodded again, tears now present.

  Bitsy didn’t say anything else, simply turning and starting into the field.

  Lindsey watched her for several seconds, and then followed.

  No fire was visible as they approached Old Grove Street, which was disconcerting and caused Katie to bring the vehicle to a stop before turning.

  “What is it?” Gloria asked, concern evident in her voice.

  Katie didn’t reply right away, her body shifting around to look northward, her mind thinking that the county deputy had likely been heading in that direction when she saw the flames.

  Nothing.

  Something wasn’t right.

  She opened her car door.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Just want to check—”

  Burning rubber!

  Tires!

  The smell was hanging in the area.

  A vehicle had burned.

  She would never forget the smell, not after all the convoys that had been hit while on the roads in and around Baghdad.

  But where was it?

  “Officer?”

  Katie ignored the girl and took a few steps toward the field alongside Route 7, trying to figure out if she could tell what direction the smell was coming from.

  Nothing.

  If it were daytime, she would have been able to see the smoke for miles, but at night, the darkness shielded it. And since she couldn’t see the flames from where she stood, there didn’t seem to be any way to tell—

  A gust of wind arrived, and with it came a stronger smell and smoke particles from the vehicle that was burning.

  And then she spotted it, the wind having billowed the flames a bit, the glow momentarily visible on the horizon before fading, a glow she would not have seen if she hadn’t been looking to the south.

  She hurried back to the car.

  “Everything okay?” Gloria asked.

  “They’re south of here,” Katie said, shifting the car back into drive.

  “But the cemetery is that way.”

  “I don’t think they’re at the cemetery.”

  “Why not?”

  Katie didn’t reply right away, her focus solely on getting to the next road beyond Old Grove Street and taking a left, her hand grabbing the radio to call in a change of location on where the van likely was, but then hesitating, deciding to wait and make sure she was right.

  Headlights!

  Abigail saw them out to the west while leaning against the county sheriff car, her eyes blinking several times to make sure they were not a figment of her desperate imagination.

  They weren’t.

  A vehicle was heading this way.

  Would they see the fire?

  It had died down quite a bit since the initial engulfment, but hadn’t gone out, the glow from the flames still visible on the side of the old farmhouse.

  If they didn’t…

  Abigail had already experienced two situations that should have ended her captivity, but each had failed. She wasn’t going to let a third opportunity slip by. She needed to do something. She needed to get to the road and signal the occupants of the vehicle. She needed—

  The headlights disappeared.

  One moment they were on, the next they were gone, almost as if the driver had quickly shut them off.

  So as not to be noticed while coming upon the farmhouse?

  Hope appeared, her body shifting with anticipation, the movement causing another nasty yank on the leash.

  This time Abigail didn’t merely yelp, but took hold of the leash and yanked back, the sudden pull causing Misty to cry out as the looped end tugged at her wrist. It didn’t do any damage, but it was enough for Misty to get twisted around a bit and then stumble while getting out of the vehicle, an angry shout leaving her lips, followed by a poorly placed kick toward Abigail’s leg, one that Abigail caught with her cuffs, wrists quickly looping around and snagging the foot with the short bit of chain.

  Misty screamed, pain clinging to the rage that left her lips.

  Abigail twisted the foot.

  Misty went down, hands fruitlessly scrambling to catch hold of the door to stop her fall, the pistol she had taken from the officer earlier slipping from her fingers and hitting the ground.

  Abigail released her foot and tried to get the gun, but a yank on the leash from Misty pulled her throat to the left, her cuffed hands going up to try to stop the sudden assault.

  And then Misty was reaching for the gun.

  Abigail went for that hand, wrists using the chain to catch Misty’s wrist and force it into the ground just as she got hold of the pistol.

  The gun went off, Misty’s finger having gotten around the trigger, the explosion less than a foot from Abigail’s face, her ears feeling a horrific ping! and her face peppered with burning particles.

  Don’t let go!

  She kept pressure on the wrist, her own flesh continuing to tear as the cuff edges dug in, her senses reeling from the gun blast, eyes burning and blinded from the tears that were trying to flush everything out.

  And then a hand was in her hair, her scalp feeling as if it were being ripped free, a pathetic drool-filled scream leaving her lips.

  She couldn’t hold the wrist down any longer, cuffed hands releasing the pressure on it as her body went to the left, door catching her shoulder and digging in.

  A crack raced through her head as something was smashed into her right ear, skull feeling as if it were splitting open, eyes still blinded, ears not working.

  Her body hit the ground, back side down, mud seeming to take hold of her as Misty got on top of her, one arm pressing into her throat while the other held the gun muzzle to her face, the barrel opening searing the skin just beneath her nose, blistering her lip.

  Fingers found flesh.

  It was one of Misty’s breasts.

  She squeezed, skin opening beneath her muddy nails.

  Misty screamed and pulled back, the pressure leaving her throat.

  The weight left her body completely, fingers losing hold of the flesh she had held.

  And then there was a tug at her throat.

  Misty had backed up and was now pulling at the leash to bring her up.

  The mud would not release her, the collar feeling as if it would tear through her neck, leaving her head rolling about.

  A kick into her hip didn’t help.

  Nor did the shout for her to get up.

  A second kick landed.

  And then a third.

  Abigail tried to tell Misty she was stuck but only managed to choke on her own drool.

  Misty pulled on the leash some more and then, realizing that wasn’t working, reached down and took hold of her blouse with both hands and pulled.

  Fabric strained but held, her body popping free of the mud.

  Misty released her, letting Abigail roll over.

  The drool that was choking her ran out through the ring, as did several odd sounds as her throat tried to regain its composure.

  A hand gripped her hair and pulled.

  Abigail tried to spring up with the pull, hoping to knock Misty off-balance, but the girl seemed ready for such a thing and simply moved with it, the fist that was locked within her hair keeping her from falling back to the ground after she failed to connect with anything.

  Where was the gun?

  It obviously wasn’t in her hand anymore, not with the chunk of blouse she had grabbed.

  Was it in her waistband?

  Or had she dropped it somewhere?

  As if in answer, the gun was pressed into her back, Misty having had it within reach, it seemed.

  “Misty?” a voice said, startling them both.
<
br />   Katie heard the gunshot as she stepped from her patrol vehicle, her own gun coming free of its holster without her even thinking about pulling it, flames from the fire that she had barely been able to see while standing at the intersection of Route 7 and Old Grove Street now easily spotted up by the farmhouse.

  The gunshot had been somewhere to the right of those flames.

  Katie pulled her phone free and called Gary.

  “We had the wrong area,” she said. “They’re south of the cemetery, at the old Sanders farm. Get everyone you can down here.”

  “Roger that,” Gary said.

  A second later she heard his voice echoing on the radio within the car.

  Gloria looked at her, eyes wide.

  Katie probably didn’t need to say it, but she still instructed the girl to stay in the car.

  Gloria nodded.

  Katie started toward the farm, gun ready.

  No other shots echoed, an eerie calmness settling in.

  And then she saw the van.

  It was on its side, just as she had pictured it would be, the description from Tina Powell spot-on.

  This was it.

  This was where it all started, and God willing, it was where it was going to end.

  “Bitsy?” Misty said, surprise dominating her voice.

  She stood about ten feet away, body just visible within the darkness of the field, her clothes different, somehow more vibrant than they had been earlier.

  “Yes,” Bitsy said.

  “Where have you—” She shook her head, the events too much for her to comprehend.

  “I got lost,” Bitsy said. “I tried to find help, but then couldn’t find my way back.”

  Misty nodded and then said, “Get in the car. We need to get out of here.”

  A figure appeared next to Bitsy.

  It was a girl, one who was out of breath.

  For a moment, Misty thought it was her mother, the momentary resemblance causing her to do a double take, her eyes going wide, her voice failing as she tried to ask if was her.

  “Misty,” Bitsy said, voice cheery. “This is Lindsey. She’s a schoolgirl I found for your daddy, one that helped me find you. She wants to come live with us.”

  Lindsey?

  Not her mother, the resemblance quickly fading.

  Something isn’t right.

  “Where is he?” Bitsy asked.

  “Who?” Misty asked.

  “Your daddy?”