Once, We Were Stolen

by Courtney Symons

  “Why?” Even little Ben had the guts to question. “What’s happening?” he asked, presumably to his sister.

  “It’s okay Ben,” Violet sobbed. “It’s alright. We’re going to be just fine. We’re just going to go inside for a quick moment and see this surprise.” She paused to close her eyes and clench her mouth in fear. “Then we’ll be on our way back home to mom.”

  The last word evoked even more sobs from Ben, which in turn made Violet cry harder. She had no clue how long this man would keep them.

  Jeremy needed to get them inside. His resolve was fading. He needed them secured in place so he could start winning them back in what he knew was going to be a long, trying courtship. But he was sure he would be able to do it if he could only get them inside.

  The way to do it was with confidence. No more waffling, no more I’m sorry and I wish I didn’t have to do this. He was doing it. He should do it.

  “Okay, wait here,” he said as he got out of the car one more time. He went to Violet’s door, opened it, motioned for her to get up. His impromptu leash still had Ben in the back seat, and he hadn’t thought about how to get them both out of the car. Violet stood and Ben had to scramble between the two front seats to follow his sister out.

  Jeremy grabbed the rope between their two snared wrists. It was as taut as a tightrope. They were pulling against it, two opposing forces, with every ounce of them. The best kind of war?

  He led them toward the front door, up the porch steps and through the entry, the front hallway, to the back staircase, down the stairs.

  Violet looked around frantically, her head swiveling to take it all in so she could describe it to someone if need be. It was primal fear, a basic instinct to figure out as much as possible about her surroundings.

  Had it been Violet alone, Jeremy could have carried her. But he had two human beings on a leash, being led down the dark, damp stairs into the basement. There were many bedrooms upstairs, but they were full of windows and escape routes. It was too risky right now but when they chose to stay, he could move them up there. There was plenty of room.

  “You won’t be down here for long,” Jeremy said. He meant to be reassuring.

  Everything in the house was old and beautiful, full of antiques. There were paintings on the soft, neutral walls. It looked like a home. Violet held onto this observation as tightly as she could as they descended the stairs but was struck with the thought that if Jeremy killed her down there, earthworms would squiggle through the walls to eat her eyeballs before anyone ever found her. When they reached the bottom of the steps, Ben almost tripping down the last one, Jeremy ushered them into the back corner.

  The cellar. There was one tiny window facing outside, one tiny source of light casting shadows across the space. Its walls were stacked with beautiful old bricks and below them lay a cement floor, a modern addition on top of the original dirt.

  Jeremy knew it was cruel. He had put as many blankets as he could down there, comforters and sheets and pillows. With five bedrooms upstairs, there was a lot of bedding. Jeremy wouldn’t have sheets on his own bed tonight, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, he was sure of it.

  For a washroom, he’d put a big barrel in the corner with a seat and cover, even a toilet paper holder. He had done the best he could, but it wasn’t the sort of thing that led to comfort. It would be hard to convince them that they were somewhere they wanted to be when they had to piss and shit next to each other into a barrel from the garden. It had been dumped of soil and placed down there with a couple of wooden boards.

  Jeremy realized he wouldn’t be able to do any more convincing right then. He’d be best to remove himself and let them get used to their surroundings. A couple of bags of chips were stashed for them in the corner, some bottles of water too. There was a pot they could use to wash themselves with. He knew they would figure this all out, and decided to leave them. Maybe they would choose to think of it as an adventure. He wondered how long it would take them to realize they could be happy here, with everything they needed provided for them.

  “Okay,” Jeremy said as he began to untie their wrists. “I’m going to leave you alone now. You should be comfortable down here. I won’t leave you for too long, but hopefully you can get some sleep. You two have a big day tomorrow.”

  Where had that last bit come from? He sounded like a sordid camp counselor advising his terrified campers. He didn’t know what about tomorrow would be big, since they wouldn’t be able to come out of the cellar just yet. It made him sad to know that he was depriving them of the outdoors, of their own beds. He wished he didn’t have to do it this way, but it was the only option.

  Violet and Ben continued to cry. They looked at the floor, not at him. Jeremy retreated.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he closed the door. He couldn’t help it. He was sorry, but not enough so to let them go home.

  The door clicked shut. There was a lock on the outside, something he had always noticed and wondered about. In a wine cellar, what would be trying to escape, what would the bolt be locking in? The old bottles wouldn’t grow legs and walk themselves out of the room. A burglar would easily be able to unlock the door from the outside and stroll in as he pleased. Maybe the lock was there for this purpose alone.

  Jeremy sat down with his back to the door. He leaned against it, and pressed his ear to the solid panel between them. He could hear them whispering. His eyes welled up, and tears just as silent as Violet’s began to fall down his face.

  He couldn’t make out the words on the other side, but it was Ben who was speaking them, Ben who was whispering wetly, “He stole us.”

  The words hit the walls thickly. The comforters mellowed the sound, cushioning its echo. Just small, sad musings of a little brother to his big sister, wondering what had gone so terribly wrong.

  6

  It’s scary down here.

  My sister is scared, which means it’s scary. She’s brave, most of the time.

  I can’t stop crying. I know the kids in class would call me a daisy, but I don’t know what else to do.

  Sometimes, when I fall off my bike, I cry. I try not to when friends are around. I look around real quick, and decide if I can let tears come out or not. If my mom is there, I just cry anyways. She likes it when I cry, I think. Or at least she treats me really nice when I do.

  I don’t want to think about how much scarier it would be if Vi wasn’t here with me. She’s shaking. I’ve never seen my big sister shake. She’s not making much noise though, and I wish she would. It might make me feel a little better.

  Maybe she’s trying to be quiet so the man won’t hear us. He could forget that we’re down here. I’ll bet he’s gone to grab some more kids and put them in here with us. I don’t know if that would be good or bad.

  I want to ask questions. Who is that man and why does Violet know him? But I don’t think my words would come out right.

  You’re supposed to say please and thank you and you’re supposed to ask for things before you take them. But he didn’t ask if he could take us, and he didn’t say please. He just did it.

  “He stole us.”

  I said it out loud by accident, and it feels better. I can’t stop.

  “He stole us.” Because he did. We shouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be here if he had asked. We would have said no. Well, he sort of asked but Vi said no.

  I know not to get into a car with strangers, but my sister got in there. She’s not a stranger, and she’s smart. I’m not mad at her, I’m glad she’s here. But things keep popping into my head like what will we eat? How will I go to the bathroom? I guess I don’t mind missing school but I’ll miss my mom, and Jane from my class. I think she might be pretty soon. Just the other day she wore a bow in her hair, a red one, and I know it was her mom who did it, she probably didn’t know how to do it herself, but it was still lovely. I think she looked really lovely.

  I want some milk. What if he doesn’t ever let us outside? What if we’re stuck in her
e forever and we become ghosts? Then at least we could sneak out through the walls.

  I should be at home, playing with my toys or riding my bike or having some dinner. Mom probably made me some chicken fingers tonight. Something really yummy. Who is going to eat it?

  She’ll find us. She will. She’ll know somehow, she always knows stuff. Like when I ask her where my favourite Lego set is, and she knows the exact spot where it’s hiding. Or when I ask her a question about a place or a person, and she always seems to know what to tell me. Moms know these things. She’ll know we’re here.

  It won’t be long.

  Maybe I should tell this to Vi. Maybe she needs to hear it, too. I try to do an extra big swallow so I’ll stop crying long enough to say something. I whisper really quiet so the man can’t hear us and know our plan.

  “Vi, Mom will come get us. She’ll come soon.” I didn’t mean for it to, but the last part sounded like a question. I meant to sound sure and to make her feel better, but I don’t think it worked.

  Vi is looking at me but all I can see on her face are tears. Her cheeks are wet, her shirt is too, and her sleeves from where she’s been rubbing them against her face. She still looks so sad. I don’t think she believes me.

  I try again.

  “She’s coming for us.”

  Vi is bigger than me but it looks like she’s just as scared, maybe even more. And boys are supposed to be tough. I’ll be tough for her.

  But she keeps crying, and she keeps being so quiet, and she won’t really look at me. And I don’t know what to do.

  “He stole us.” I can’t help saying it again. It slips out.

  7

  There’s a place in Japan where lovers go.

  You climb a mountain together, stair after stair. You bring a padlock.

  When you get to the top, there are locks everywhere. Attached to every tree, every railing, every spot you can see are locks of lovers past.

  You lock your padlock to that mountain. It’s a prayer mountain. You chain your love to that pinnacle so that it holds tight and strong. And then you take the key, and you toss if off the edge.

  What faith, locking your love to a mountain for eternity, with no hope of finding the key, no need. That is the sort of love that should last forever, bound to something bigger.

  Jeremy thought about this as he sat outside the cellar door. He’d seen it on a documentary once and for some reason hadn’t changed the channel.

  He hadn’t thrown away the key to this lock. There wasn’t one to throw; with the push of a bolt and the twist of a knob, it was done. Easy to reverse.

  Maybe this house was his mountain. They weren’t his lovers, but he would become important to them. Would it be too aggrandizing to call him their guardian, their keeper? He had already taken care of the padlock part. The rest would come in time.

  They had quieted down a bit. Violet wasn’t loud, it was mostly little Ben. Jeremy wondered if he should try to find a stuffed animal, something soft for him to cuddle, but didn’t know when little boys became too old for that.

  He fought the impulse to unlock the door, enter the room and sit with them. He knew it was too soon. He couldn’t be the good guy just yet. He had to be the bad one to make sure that they would stay.

  Forcing himself to turn away, Jeremy walked upstairs and went to the fridge to get a drink. His eyes stopped on the calendar hanging there, at the red circle surrounding the current day.

  Fuck.

  The family picnic. It was the one time during the whole year that his family pretended to be one. They weren’t a family at Thanksgiving; they weren’t a family at Christmas. But for some reason, on a day in the fall, they came together and pretended with games, food, drinks and forged laughter. No one knew one another, not really. When they left, they said, “See you soon!” By that, they meant the family picnic next fall. It amazed him that it still happened, that the Ridgeroy’s still attended every year.

  After spending a few years with Children’s Aid, he had landed in the Ridgeroy household. They had eight adopted children. It sounded like a fairytale but it wasn’t.

  No one has time for eight children. It’s just not possible. No one has that much love, and even if they can muster it up somehow, there isn’t enough time in the day to distribute it. The result, at least for the Ridgeroy’s, was that no one got enough of anything. Not enough love, that was for sure. Not enough attention or guidance. There was no way for his mother and father to learn all the little things that made Jeremy who he was, with seven other siblings.

  The little effort Mr. and Mrs. Ridgeroy put towards the children was rejected as counterfeit. They were in a boarding house, and a toll was collected each time they walked back through the door.

  He still heard the sobs of the little girls in the room next door. Mr. Ridgeroy watched them while they tried to sleep. Sometimes, Jeremy would have to get up to pee in the middle of the night and would catch the stooped, miserable man lurking outside their door. Jeremy kept his nose to the ground, but whenever he heard their little girl cries, he would clench his jaw and avert his eyes, disgusted with himself for not doing a thing to stop it.

  A stronger man would have barged in there and removed Mr. Ridgeroy from their bodies. Jeremy was not a strong man, though, not now and especially not back then.

  Once a year, he goes to the family picnic and sees those little girls’ faces all grown up. They come with bad men that change every year, whose wandering eyes are the only constant.

  Every time, Mr. and Mrs. Ridgeroy make some punch and papier-mâché piñata, smiling through the whole spectacle. Jeremy figured it might be their penance, to force themselves to look those wayward boarders in the eye, and know that whatever defeat they saw before them was due to their own failures.

  Whatever the reason for the fanfare, the picnic was tomorrow. He would have to iron a shirt, probably shave, grab a bottle of wine to bring. And practise his smile. He didn’t know why he felt obligated to go. He shouldn’t, really, and he’d fantasized often about cutting all ties. But he would go because they were his family, and you had to love your family no matter what. Didn’t you?

  Jeremy headed upstairs to his naked bed and curled up in it. He didn’t feel much that night. He didn’t cry and he definitely didn’t smile. But he did sleep.

  The shirt he chose was forest green, which brought out the emerald of his eyes, and made his hair look extra fiery.

  Bottle of wine in hand, he got out of his car and walked up the church steps. None of the children had gone to church a day in their lives, but Mr. and Mrs. Ridgeroy were adamantly Christian. Jeremy wondered if it caused them discomfort to be in God’s house with the children they had so badly fucked up. It had to be penance. The ritual was enjoyable to no one.

  Eight stairs led him up to the church doors, with a sprinkle of fallen leaves at their threshold. He spotted a brilliant red one and thought about picking it for Violet. With the wine under his left arm, he pushed the door open with his right and was greeted with music, which they had learned was the best way to fill the silence.

  There they were. Mr. and Mrs. Ridgeroy, and then from oldest to youngest: Samson, Erica, Derek, Anna, (Jeremy fit right here), Jessie, and Sally. Rose, the youngest of them all, had yet to arrive. She had always been Jeremy’s favourite, and the one he felt most guilty for. She had only been five years old when Mr. Ridgeroy had begun to puncture her petite frame. What a bastard. What a poor, sweet little girl.

  Not any longer. Rose had covered herself in tattoos and piercings. She had three babies with three different men, and none of them were around. She learned to pay the bills with men’s appreciation of her body and for what she would do to them with it. Sad and ironic, or maybe just inevitable.

  “Jeremy!” Mrs. Ridgeroy squeaked. He never thought of her as Mother or Mom or anything close. Not even as Amy, which was her first name. Just Mrs. Ridgeroy. It was his way of holding her away from him, keeping her at arm’s length. “How ARE you? It’s been so long.
”

  She rushed over to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He resisted the urge to wipe the spot where her lips had landed.

  “I’m great,” he lied. “What sort of piñata do we have this year?”

  “It’s a giant llama,” she laughed. “Can you believe it? Who has ever heard of a llama piñata? But we started to put on the strips of paper, and some bumps started to come up out of nowhere, so we figured we’d go with it!”

  By then, she’d walked up to the piñata and was holding it up to show that yes, it really was a llama piñata, albeit a poor one.

  “Son,” Mr. Ridgeroy nodded at Jeremy, who nodded back in reply. There was never a lot to say between them, or maybe it was that there was too much and where would they start?

  Jeremy made the rounds with his siblings. At one time there had been a dutiful bond between them, one of sufferance, and they felt it was their obligation to show up here for each other so that none of them would have to face it alone.

  Rose walked through the door as Jeremy finished hugging Anna.

  “Howdy!” she said. She was flanked with a child on each side, another on her hip, and definitely one growing in her belly. Jeremy didn’t know a thing about his little sister’s current love life, but guessed it wouldn’t be long before Rose had four babies with four different men.

  Jeremy had always loved her spirit. Her hair was short and spiked, this time with a hint of pink. Her colour and style changed with the weather. Her kids all looked happy and smiling, and he wondered how she did it. Rose was the only one who would bring any children along. The rest were too reluctant to put theirs through it.

  Being the nearest to her, Jeremy got the first hug from Rose. She had to plop her little chubby one down before leaning in.