by Jan Gangsei
Addie’s room was on the other side, just as he remembered it from all those years ago, like a shrine to young Addie—the yellow eyelet duvet, the boy band poster above her desk, the old computer and stacks of books on the nightstand. Everything was exactly the same, right down to the hopscotch rug in the center. Except for one very important thing:
Addie wasn’t there.
Darrow stood there for a beat, trying to process the sight of the empty room, an all-too-familiar fear washing over him. It couldn’t be happening. Not again.
A flutter in front of the window seat caught his eye. It was the yellow curtain, blowing in the breeze. The window behind it was open, cool air rushing inside. Just outside, the branches of the old oak tree that he and Addie had snuck down to play in the woods reached toward him like a hand full of twisted fingers.
Darrow ran to the window and looked down, and his heart leapt back into his throat; a fresh set of footprints was pressed into the muddy earth two stories below, moving away from the house. Without hesitating, he squeezed through the window onto the nearest tree branch.
Darrow moved lower, the next branch sagging beneath his weight. He wobbled, hit with the realization that the last time he’d attempted this, he’d only weighed seventy pounds. He grabbed another branch for support and shimmied down to the ground, landing with a thud.
Straight ahead, the lawn sloped away from the house and into the dense forest. Darrow squinted into the darkness, picked up the trail of footprints that led across the damp grass, and took off running. But at the edge of the tree line, the trail came to an abrupt stop in the blanket of pine needles that covered the ground. The woods loomed dark and foreboding ahead of him.
Darrow paused, trying to silence his breathing, and listened. Something rustled in the leaves up ahead. A chill crept up Darrow’s spine as he realized, if someone had gotten to Addie again, he might not be out here alone. He pulled his keychain from his pocket and curled his fist around his silver house key, ready to stab someone in the eye with it if need be.
“Addie?” Darrow said into the darkness.
There was another rustle. Darrow began blindly running in the direction of the sound, nearly tripping as his feet caught on the gnarled roots. It had been years since he’d run through this forest and it was unfamiliar to him now, overgrown and changed. A bird squawked overhead and swooped through the trees, startling him.
Darrow heard something that sounded like a voice, muted but close, followed by rapid footsteps. He trained his eyes toward the sound.
“Addie!” Darrow shouted. There was a shriek in response. Darrow was unsure if the noise was Addie, or if it was just another bird and his mind was playing tricks on him. He thought he heard something coming up behind him, crunching the dead leaves and twigs, but when he looked back, no one was there. He ran faster, deeper into the woods, branches pinging against his arms. The light from the house was far away now, and Darrow could barely make out where he was going.
Suddenly, his foot caught on something and he pitched forward. The keys flew from his grip, and his bare hands scraped across the dry ground as he tried to catch himself.
“Ow,” he muttered as he sat up, grabbing his keys and looking back at the thing he’d just tripped over. He blinked and tried to make sense of what he was seeing in front of him. It wasn’t a stump. Or a rock.
It was a girl, crouched in a ball, hands clutched over her head. She was barefoot, wearing just a pair of jeans and a thin black T-shirt. Her dark hair hung in a curtain around her face.
“Addie?” he said.
The girl whimpered.
“Addie?” Darrow moved closer and reached out a hand, touching the girl’s back. She jolted, head tilting sideways. The green eyes he’d waited so long to see were wide with fear.
“Addie, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s me—Darrow. Darrow Fergusson. Your old friend, remember?”
“Darrow?” she said in a low whisper.
“Yes. It’s me. Darrow.”
She looked around the dim forest, dazed. “Darrow? What are you doing here?” she said.
“Looking for you,” Darrow said. Something crunched in the leaves nearby. Darrow’s back stiffened. Instinctively, he moved closer to Addie. “What are you hiding from?” he whispered. “Is someone else out here?”
“No. No, just me,” Addie said. Another shuffle of leaves and twigs.
Darrow, still rattled, got up and held out a hand, helping Addie to her feet. As she stood, her warm breath grazed Darrow’s cheek and his heart strained against his rib cage. It took everything in his willpower not to scoop her up and clutch her to his chest, just to make sure she wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
“Are you okay?” he said, the words immediately sounding stupid in his own ears. Of course she wasn’t okay. He had just found her barefoot, crouched and hiding in the middle of the woods.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Addie said with a shaky half-smile.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I don’t know exactly.” Addie shook her head and looked away. “I was playing with Mac. Then I went to my room to take a nap. I must have had a bad dream. I woke up all confused and was about to head downstairs when I heard unfamiliar voices in the foyer.…” Her voice trailed off. “It must have been you. But I guess I got spooked. Last thing I remember, I ran out here and hid. I just kind of tuned everything out after that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Darrow said. “I’m just so glad you’re here, that you’re…” He couldn’t finish. “I really…”
“I know, Dare. I really missed you, too.”
Addie’s eyes met his, and this time Darrow did reach out and hug her, folding her narrow frame into his arms. She felt so warm, so alive—so real—that Darrow was afraid to let go. Like she might just disappear if he did.
Shouts echoed from the house.
“Addie! Darrow! Where are you? It’s time for dinner.”
Darrow released her from his grasp. “We’d better get back inside.”
“Right,” Addie said. She lifted her head, rubbing her eyes as though she’d just been awakened from a dream, and walked with Darrow across the lawn. But as they approached the front porch, she stopped suddenly and grabbed his arm.
“Wait,” she said.
“What is it?”
“My parents,” Addie said. “Your mother. You can’t tell them.”
“Tell them what?” Darrow asked, confused.
Addie motioned over her shoulder. “That you found me out here…like that.”
“What are you talking about?”
She shook her head. “You don’t know how it is. They’re terrified of me. They act like I’m made of glass. If they knew I ran off like that and hid, it would just get worse. I’ve put them through enough.”
“But you didn’t put them through anything,” Darrow said. “The people who took you did.” He felt a rage swelling up in his chest, the same rage he’d spent so much time trying to shove back down, to channel into something useful—the lacrosse field, homework. Anything that wouldn’t land him in trouble. Anything that wouldn’t leave him feeling helpless like he had the day she disappeared, like he did right now, wishing he could punch a hole in something.
“It doesn’t matter,” Addie said. “Please. Please don’t give them one more thing to worry about. I just can’t handle it.”
Darrow hesitated. Addie kept her determined gaze fixed directly on him, and for a brief moment, he saw the old Addie. He knew that look. It was the same one that sent him three branches too high up the tallest tree, or three feet too far into the deep end of the pool.
Double-dog Dare you.…
“Well, what am I supposed to tell them we’ve been doing out here instead?” Darrow said.
“I don’t know,” Addie said. “Just say we were so excited to see each other, we
climbed down the tree and ran into the woods. Like when we were kids.”
“Addie…” Darrow began. “But you’re not even wearing shoes. They’re never going to believe that.”
“Sure they will. People believe what they want to believe.” Back in the darkness of the forest, something rustled. Another bird? Or was it something else?
“Please,” Addie said. “I’m begging you. Please, Dare. Do this for me.”
The front door swung open, and the president was standing on the other side. “Oh, there you two are,” he said. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Dinner is ready.” The president forced a smile, an attempt to hide his obvious concern that Addie hadn’t come when he’d called.
And there Darrow went, blindly up to the top of the tree, the hard ground too far away. No one to catch his fall. Just like when he was eight.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “It’s my fault. We just got so excited to see each other again, we ran down to the creek. Like the old days.”
The president’s shoulders relaxed. “Sounds like fun. Now come on inside. It’s a little chilly to be out here barefoot.”
Darrow and Addie walked through the front door. As they did, Addie leaned over and whispered in Darrow’s ear.
“Thank you,” she said. “I knew you’d understand.”
Darrow nodded. But he didn’t understand. Burned in his mind was the other look Addie had given him—the terrified one when he’d tapped her on the back just moments earlier. As though he’d caught her doing something. As though for a minute she’d thought he was the bad guy.
“In this house we have rules, little one,” he said. “I know you’re not used to hearing the word ‘no,’ but I can’t protect you if you don’t follow the rules. Understand?”
Addie nodded. Her shirt was torn where he had grabbed her and pulled her into the car, then up the front steps and into the kitchen. Now she sat on a wooden chair, legs too short to reach the ground, feet swinging back and forth. Remnants of fiery tears still burned the corners of her eyes. Her mouth was dry from screaming. Mikey sat opposite her, head down, a smudge of chocolate on one cheek, the red imprint of a hand outlined on the other.
The man rounded the kitchen table and kneeled in front of Addie. He grabbed her swinging legs.
“Stop fidgeting and listen to me,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said, willing herself to hold perfectly still.
“Yes what?” he said.
“Yes…” Addie glanced briefly away, confused. She could see Mikey out of the corner of her eye, mouthing something. She pushed her eyebrows together. He mouthed the word again. Addie looked back at the man.
“Yes, Father,” she said, swallowing the bile rising up in her throat.
“That’s better,” he said with a smile. “Now, what was I saying?”
Addie stayed silent, afraid to open her mouth.
“Yes,” he said. “Rules, little one. In this house we have rules. Do you remember the first and most important rule?”
Addie nodded.
“Let me hear you say it,” he said.
Addie ran her dry tongue across the roof of her mouth. It felt like sandpaper. “Always listen to Father,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “And did you listen to your father today?”
“No,” she said.
He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow arched.
“No, Father,” she quickly corrected herself.
“Good,” he said. “Now listen, little one. The rules are not meant to make you suffer. We have rules because they provide order. You are still learning and don’t know any better. But you will come to understand. Now go to your room and think about what I’ve told you. Think about the consequences of your actions.”
“Yes, Father,” Addie said.
She slipped from the chair and stood on wobbling legs. As she walked down the hall toward her dark room and went inside, she could still feel where his hands had gripped her calves. She shut the door. Moments later, she heard the lock latch from the outside. She began to shake, not knowing how long he would leave her in there. Locked up. Alone. Sometimes when he was displeased, he left her for days.
She lay on the bed, shivering, until another sound made her jolt upright.
“No, Father! Please!” Mikey pleaded.
There was a scuffle and something banged into the door. Addie began shaking harder.
“Michael, we talked about this,” an eerily calm voice said. “You, unlike her, should know better. You were given a simple task, and you failed. You understand that now you must be punished.”
“But it wasn’t my fault,” the boy whimpered. “She tricked me. I did what you asked.”
“Never,” he said coolly, “never blame others for your own failures.”
“But…”
“Accept your punishment now, Michael,” he said. “Unless you wish for it to be worse.”
“Yes, Father,” Mikey said shakily.
“Raise your shirt.”
Addie heard muffled sobs, another shuffling noise, followed by the crack of the belt against Mikey’s bare skin. Her entire body quaked with fear. She pressed her hands tight over her ears, rocking back and forth, as he cried out in pain.
Darrow jogged down the front steps of his brick row house, taking a right on P Street and a left on 35th. He sucked in the fresh spring air, feet slapping against the slate sidewalks. The morning sun filtered through the rows of trees above his head; daffodils sprouted in the flower beds; fresh-faced tourists wandered the historic Georgetown streets, snapping photos and pointing out landmarks.
But Darrow didn’t notice any of it.
All he saw was Addie, crouched in the woods, hands over her head. Sure, she’d seemed perfectly fine when they’d gone inside moments later. Maybe too fine. As though nothing had ever happened.
But it had happened.
Darrow knew that better than anyone. He’d lived with the guilt of Addie’s disappearance for so long—nearly half his life—that it had become like a second shadow. Even when he willed himself not to think about her anymore, the shadow lingered, casting darkness over everything he did.
Darrow jogged to the intersection of M Street and turned left toward Pennsylvania Avenue. He would follow the road all the way to the White House, then loop back home, where he’d shower and change for school. Usually a morning jog helped clear Darrow’s head, get him ready for another day at Cabot. Not today. His thoughts were more scrambled than ever.
To Darrow’s right, the Potomac River flickered in and out of view. Boats glided along the water and bicyclists zipped down the path alongside. But Darrow was oblivious to it all. His head was so full of Addie he didn’t even notice the group of middle school girls on a field trip giggling and waving when he ran past.
He definitely didn’t notice the government-issued blue sedan with tinted windows, rolling along slowly on the street beside him. The man sitting in the driver’s seat with dark sunglasses, watching. Or the small camera he held up discreetly, a series of clicks documenting Darrow’s every move.
The Foggy Bottom Metro station was clogged with people. Typical Monday morning rush hour. The young woman in medical scrubs, fresh off the night shift at GWU, stood shoulder to shoulder with dozens of other commuters. Her feet were sore and she was anxious to get on board and sit down. Eight months pregnant and big as a house, she didn’t know how many more twelve-hour shifts of changing bedpans and attaching IV lines she could take. Finally the warning lights flashed and the Blue Line train pulled into the station, wheels screeching on the metal tracks as it came to a stop.
“Doors opening,” an automated voice announced.
The double doors in front of her parted with a whoosh. A few passengers filtered out as the mass of humanity on the platform pushed its way in. The woman looked around the train car. Every seat was taken, and no one ever bothered to get up for a pregnant lady anymore, so she found an empty inch of silver pole to hang on to with one han
d. She put the other on her lower back for support as more people pushed into the empty spaces around her.
“Excuse me—ma’am?” a voice said.
She turned toward the sound to see a young guy, probably a college kid, in a GWU sweatshirt with a blue-and-yellow backpack at his feet. He nodded toward her and stood.
“Here. Have my seat, please,” he said.
She smiled as the boy stepped aside. “Thanks. You have no idea how much that means to me.” She lowered herself into the seat, happy to take the weight off her aching legs, and closed her eyes. The automated voice came over the loudspeaker.
“Doors closing. Please stand clear of the doors.”
Trying to get comfortable, the woman shifted her body, tucking her feet beneath the seat. They bumped into something. A blue-and-yellow backpack. She quickly grabbed it and stood up, looking for the guy.
“Hey!” she said, scanning the crowded subway car for his GWU sweatshirt, unable to find his face among the commuters. She turned toward the window, just in time to see the boy running across the platform and up the escalators, probably late for class.
“Hey!” she yelled again, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly hear what she was saying. “You forgot your backpack!”
She sat back down. Poor kid. Did something nice, and now he was probably missing his homework. She placed the backpack on her lap and flipped it around, hoping there was some sort of identification in it so she could return his stuff. Maybe give him a gift card to Starbucks, too. Thank him for being nice.
She yanked the zipper and her heart leapt into her throat. She stared at the open bag in her hands with disbelief.
No books.
No papers.
Just…
The train lurched forward and the backpack tipped upside down. A single silver canister rolled out, biohazard symbol clearly imprinted on the side. The woman placed her hands protectively over her belly, body shaking, and screamed. As her fellow passengers turned in her direction, trying to figure out why the pregnant lady was yelling frantically—was she in labor?—the train’s loudspeaker crackled back to life.