by Lily Blake
There was a noise behind her, and she spun around, checking the garage door. It was still closed. She noticed then there was a small glass window in it, but there were no signs of Ryan. She pulled the yellow lunchbox from the floor and opened it. Her hands started to shake. Inside was a bottle of chloroform and two thick rags. There was a bunch of the same plastic twine he’d use to tie her hands. This was what he’d used to take the girl. When was he planning on taking her? How long was he going to wait before he killed them both?
She looked up, catching a glimpse of something in the side mirror. Before she could react, Ryan sprung up, grabbing her by the throat with both his hands through the open window. She tried to scream but nothing came out. Her body writhed against him, but he fought her, his top half pushing into the front seat of the car. As she kept struggling, her nails digging into his skin, she heard the doorbell sound. It kept ringing, the person pushing it over and over again. Even as she fought him, the strength slowly leaving her body, she somehow could sense who it was.
Her mom had found her. She wasn’t alone.
Ryan managed to get the door of the car open. Elissa kicked at him, trying to keep him away, but he grabbed one of the rags and pressed it to her face. It was still damp with chloroform. Her resolve left her. She started to see black at the edges of her vision, and her body went slack. She was not able to fight him as he dragged her out of the front seat and around to the back. Her limbs were weak. With one quick motion he heaved her into the trunk, locking her inside.
It took several minutes for her to regain consciousness enough to realize where she was. She felt for the flashlight she had jammed into the back pocket of her jeans, switching it on. There, just inches away, was the girl she’d seen in the cell. She was curled into a tight little ball, her body rigid. She was dead. Elissa couldn’t breathe. She turned, trying to get as far away from the body as possible.
She rested her back against the side of the trunk and began kicking as hard as she could at the place where the backseat would be. Her legs hurt from using so much force. She kicked again and again, jabbing the heels of her boots into the same spot. Slowly, the upholstery started to give. She maneuvered around and dug her fingers into it, feeling the thin carpeting that covered the back of the trunk. She yanked it back, pulling a layer away.
Then she started kicking again. The whole car rocked from the motion. I will not die in here, she thought, the anger swelling inside her. I refuse to let him kill me. She landed one final blow into the back of the seat and her leg went through, pushing down the center console. She pried at the upholstery until she created a big enough space to squeeze out of. When she was finally free of the trunk, the girl’s body still locked inside, Elissa grabbed the flashlight off the front seat and felt its heft in her hand. Then she lay back for a moment and listened to herself breathe.
Sarah paced the length of the porch. She rang the doorbell again, waiting for someone to appear. The lights in Ryan’s house were off. The kitchen window was broken, and it smelled like something was burning. She pressed the doorbell again and again, knowing in her gut something was wrong. Elissa wasn’t at home. She wasn’t at school. Sarah had called her cell six times, and it had gone to voice mail. Where was she? And where was Ryan?
She thought of the X-ray again, and her stomach twisted. The doctors couldn’t believe any one person could’ve done so much damage to someone’s ankle. They went through the eyewitness accounts, trying to piece together what had happened. They were certain he’s smashed Tyler’s leg with some blunt object—a pipe or bat. The bone was shattered, the break so vicious they’d been surprised Tyler hadn’t passed out from the pain.
Sarah pulled out her cell, dialing Officer Weaver’s number again. He’d left the hospital over an hour ago, assuring Sarah he’d find Elissa. She’d waited there, expecting him to at least call back—but nothing. Now his car was sitting here at the edge of the driveway, empty.
She rang the doorbell again. Finally, a light went on. Ryan appeared from the far end of the kitchen. He opened the front door a crack. “Hi, Mrs. Cassidy,” he said calmly.
Sarah studied him. The side of his face was swollen, presumably from the fight in the parking lot. There was a small cut above his lip. But he had changed into a clean shirt and jeans. She glanced over his shoulder, but the kitchen looked organized—everything in its place. “I’m looking for Elissa,” she said. “Is she here?”
“No, ma’am.”
“She’s not at home—I thought she was with you.” Ryan looked at his shoes, using the toe of his boot to press a loose floorboard into place. She nearly felt guilty for a moment, coming here, insisting that Elissa was in his house. He seemed so meek, so…childish.
“No…she’s not here, Mrs. Cassidy,” he repeated. He went to shut the door, but Sarah pressed her shoulder into the house, stopping him.
“Look, I’m not angry or anything. I just want to—” The motion-sensor porch light clicked off, throwing them into darkness. Ryan’s face slowly came into view, and she noticed the glowing smears across his cheek and on the back of his hands. Shimmery, iridescent paint covered his skin. It was the glow-in-the-dark makeup she’d bought for Elissa. The same kind she’d picked out just a day before, as an apology for being so stern.
“Ryan…do you mind if I have a glass of water?” she asked. “It’s been a long day for both of us, I’m sure.” She pushed past him into the dark kitchen. There was no fear in her. She knew Elissa was here, inside somewhere. Her daughter needed her.
Ryan pulled a glass from an upper cabinet and filled it with water. Sarah took it from him, trying to stop the shaking in her hands. They stood there, facing each other, Ryan just a few feet from her. Sarah eyed the knives on the counter behind him. It was impossible to know if he had a gun, or if Weaver was here somewhere, being held inside the house as well.
Before she could say anything, she heard a faint scream coming from somewhere below. It was Elissa’s voice—she would recognize it anywhere. Sarah darted to the door at the far end of the kitchen and yanked it open. But before she could get down the first step, she felt the pain rip through her stomach. A knife stuck out of her side. She fell back, landing hard on the floor, watching as Ryan’s features changed.
He looked more assertive, calm even, as he tugged the switchblade out of her flesh and put it in his back pocket. Then he grabbed her ankle, yanking her down the stairs, down into the abyss.
When Elissa got to the door between the garage and the basement, she jiggled and twisted the knob, but it wouldn’t open. It must’ve locked from the inside. She screamed again, hoping her mother could hear her.
She felt the glass pane in the door, trying to figure out how thick it was. It was two feet wide by two feet tall—big enough for her to slip through if she could break it open. She banged on it with the metal flashlight, but it didn’t even crack. Sticking the flashlight into her waistband, she scanned the garage again. This time she noticed a toolbox sitting on the far wall. She rifled through it and found one of those smaller hammers that have a ball on the front instead of a flat hammerhead.
She swung at the glass pane again and again, not stopping until it shattered. She hit the edges, where the doorframe met the glass, making sure she had enough room to slip through. Above the doorway there was a metal pipe. She grabbed hold of it and lifted her legs up, swinging to slide down through the small window.
The back of her legs scraped against the remaining broken glass, the blood welling up to soak through her ripped jeans. She was back in the basement. The officer’s body was still there. The washing machine was overturned on its side, shoved away from the trapdoor. She didn’t see anyone else. Where is my mom? She started back for the stairs but heard something above her. Someone was coming. She shrank back, hiding behind the old water heater in the corner, the hammer still clutched in her hands.
Ryan started down the wooden steps, dragging something behind him. The body slid forward, landing at the bottom of the basemen
t stairs with a dull thud. Elissa blinked back the tears. Her mother was lying on the cement floor, one arm outstretched, her limbs completely still. There was a wound in her side. Her shirt was ripped and covered with blood.
Elissa stayed there, watching her mother’s chest, which still rose and fell with each breath. She’s alive, Elissa thought. You have to help her. Ryan dragged Sarah toward the garage door, but he stopped when he noticed the broken window. Elissa pressed her body against the wall. She crouched low, hoping he couldn’t see her.
“I want you here with me,” Ryan said, speaking to the darkness. “But I need Carrie Anne back. I need her back—I need to make it right. And if you can’t do that for me, Elissa, I can’t keep you.”
Elissa buried her face in her hands, inching farther into the narrow space filled with pipes, concrete blocks, and old tools. She could sense there was a small room somewhere behind her. Ryan left Sarah’s body and started toward Elissa, his footsteps echoing in the concrete basement.
The single lightbulb buzzed above them. Elissa heard each one of her mother’s choked breaths. Ryan crept forward and, for an instant, their eyes met. He lunged at her, but Elissa jerked herself backward, through the pipes and into a small alcove where the furnace was. She struggled to stay on her feet, her eyes locked on the cop’s gun, which was still sitting on the floor three feet away. She could hear Ryan right behind her. He moved past the pipes and came up behind her as she dove for the weapon, her arms burning as she slid across the concrete floor.
He snatched at her ankles, trying to drag her back to him. As she wrapped her hands around the butt of the gun, he let go of her legs. When she turned back, ready to fire at him, he had already run to the other side of the basement. He was fiddling with a fuse box. In one swift motion he threw a lever, sending the entire room into darkness.
She squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She remembered the flashlight at her belt, clicking it on. It showed only small circles of the pitch black basement—the wall with the fuse box, her mother’s body, the broken garage door. She held the gun in her other hand, thinking Ryan might have escaped through the garage. Then she took a step to her right and saw him dart out from behind the water heater, the knife aimed at her throat. She fired three times, the bullets hitting him in the stomach. He staggered backward. Then he curled up against the wall, his head falling forward as he stopped moving.
Elissa went to her mother, using the flashlight to find her way. She hovered over her and pressed her fingers to her side. The stab wound was deep. It was hard to stop the bleeding. “You’re okay,” Sarah gasped, reaching for Elissa’s face. The tears came quickly, slipping down Elissa’s cheeks. “We’re okay.”
Elissa set the gun down and held tightly to her mother, burying her face into her neck. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. You were right. But all that came out was a low, choked sob, as her terror gave way to relief.
She was looking up the stairs, wondering if she could carry her mother out, when she remembered that the door locked itself. “We need the keys,” she whispered, looking back over to Ryan’s body.
“No,” groaned Sarah.
“It’s okay, Mom.” Elissa smoothed some hair off her forehead and then moved slowly over to Ryan, fumbling around in his pockets, looking for the keys.
Suddenly, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist.
Elissa gasped. “Ryan, please, you have to stop!”
He looked at her with such pain, such emotion, that she almost felt sorry for him again. “I can’t,” he said simply.
She managed to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but the force knocked her backward onto the ground. He rose up above her, bringing the knife into the air with his other hand. “It will be over soon,” he said. “Just close your eyes.”
“It’s over now,” rasped Sarah as she staggered to her feet behind him. She grabbed the ball-peen hammer Elissa had dropped on the floor and swung it through the air.
Ryan sagged to the ground, the knife clattering to the floor, his blood pooling around him.
It was over.
Two weeks later, Elissa loaded the last of their boxes into the back of the SUV. The day was cooler than normal, the wind coming through the trees. She and her mother were starting over…again. Going back to Chicago, to a two-bedroom apartment three blocks away from their last one. Elissa would return to her old school, to Luca and her old friends. Sarah would work at the hospital in the city. But nothing would be the same—nothing could ever be the same again. It had turned out Elissa’s grandmother was wrong. A place could change you.
Elissa watched as Sarah locked up the house and started down the front porch. She held onto the wooden railing, taking each step one at a time. She still struggled to walk, even though the stitches had already been taken out. Elissa had promised she’d do all the driving during the two-day road trip, even though Sarah winced whenever she took left turns.
Across the lawn, the Jacobsen house was roped off with police tape. In the last weeks it had served as a constant reminder of what had happened there. Ryan, who’d survived despite his serious injuries, had been institutionalized. The house had yielded up one last terrible secret of the Jacobsen family: videotapes from the years following Carrie Anne’s death, with old family movies. In them, Ryan was dressed in Carrie Anne’s clothes. He was wearing a wig, and blue contact lenses. After the accident, his parents had used him as a replacement for their daughter, addressing him only by her name.
For years they’d kept him locked in her room, alternately celebrating family events with him and abusing him. Psychiatrists concluded he’d turned violent from the stress of the abuse. He eventually snapped and killed them both. Afterward, he’d gone back to his role of Ryan, the estranged brother, but he kept up his parents’ charade, kidnapping girls and turning them into Carrie Anne. He’d kept them in the secret room, locked up, treating them in the same way his parents had treated him. He kept repeating the cycle, and probably would have for many more years, if Elissa and Sarah hadn’t discovered his secrets.
Even now, in the institution, under the influence of strong sedatives, he still called out for his sister.
Elissa’s gaze fell on the tree at the edge of the state park—the same one Ryan had showed her weeks before, as they sat on the boulder. Sarah walked up and rested her arm around Elissa’s shoulder. It felt good to feel her mother there, right beside her. For once, Elissa could look at her mom without thinking about what Sarah had and hadn’t done—about the past, the divorce, or the tumultuous years that had followed. Elissa now thought of Sarah only as the person who’d saved her.
“What are you looking at?” Sarah brushed a few strands of hair away from Elissa’s face.
Elissa pointed to where the tree stood. She tilted her head, but the face didn’t appear to her now. She wondered if it had ever been there at all, or if in Ryan’s presence she had somehow imagined it. “What do you see?”
Sarah was quiet for a long time. “A tree?”
Elissa smiled, squeezing her mother’s hand. “Yeah, that’s what I see too.”
Sarah furrowed her brows, as if she wasn’t quite sure what the significance was. Elissa wanted to tell her she was sorry, that she knew how wrong she’d been. In the past days those words had never made it past her lips, though they ran on a constant loop in her head. What mattered now though, she realized, wasn’t whether she said it or not. For the first time in her life, she and her mother were beginning to see things the same way. It was in everything they did—how they cooked together in the kitchen, how they settled down on the couch together every night. Elissa always picked up when Sarah called.
“Ready to go, Liss?” Sarah asked, starting back toward the car.
Elissa didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, she let herself be pulled along behind her mother, their arms stretching out but still linked.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the amazing peo
ple at Relativity, FilmNation, and Poppy.