by Amber Garza
Before the kidnapping my parents had people over all the time. My mom loved to entertain. Every weekend our home was alive with excitement. We had barbecues in the summer, garden parties in the spring, and dinner parties in the winter. I used to love the parties at our house; the way the scent of freshly baked treats filled the air, and laughter and chatter swirled around me. I loved how Mom and Dad seemed so alive and happy.
Since my return, our home had been quiet and solemn. It made sense though. My parents had been betrayed by someone they trusted; a guest they had invited into our home. They were both afraid of making the same mistake again. It only got worse after we moved. The people of Red Blossom were strangers. And after what we’d been through, trusting strangers was nearly impossible.
“Why not?” I scooted my chair forward, my bare knees raking across the bottom of the table. “I thought you liked Carter.”
“I do, but he’s not a reporter. So why is he taking an interest in you like this?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Because he’s a nice guy, and he knows Neil’s an ass.”
“Aspen,” Mom admonished me.
“Oh, Caroline. She’s an adult. She can use the word ass,” Dad interjected as he reached a thick hand into the bread basket in the center of the table.
Mom pressed her lips together, clearly annoyed. I felt bad that I caused tension between them. Mom always seemed to be making up for lost time, while Dad consistently tried to remind her that I was an adult. Sometimes I thought about how different life would be for all of us if things had gone according to plan. If he hadn’t shown up, disrupting everything, I would have grown up in this home, safe and happy. And once I hit eighteen I would have gone away to school, and my parents would have been empty nesters, free to be whoever they wanted to. Instead we all seemed stuck in this never-ending ride; this merry go round that no one knew how to stop. Round and round we went day in and day out. Frankly, it was starting to make me sick. And ever since I’d met Carter, I could see him standing at the edge of the ride, motioning for me to get off. I wanted to leap out and follow him, even if it meant getting hurt in the process.
“Do you think it’s a good idea for her to spend time with this boy, Frank?” Mom pursed her lips, awaiting his response. She held the fork in her hand that lingered over her plate. I shoveled a piece of chicken into my mouth, watching Dad.
“He’s not a boy. He’s a grown man,” Dad responded. “And I don’t know if it‘s a good idea or not. I haven’t even met the guy. But if Aspen feels comfortable with him, then I think we need to trust her judgment.”
Mom frowned, clearly unhappy with his answer. But my insides warmed. I assumed that Dad would side with Mom on this one. I knew he worried about me too. But I loved knowing that he saw me as an adult who was capable of making her own decisions.
“She needs to be careful. We don’t know what Carter’s agenda is.” Leaning forward, Mom stabbed a green bean with her fork.
Hearing the concern in Mom’s tone, my heart softened toward her. “I will, Mom. I promise.”
Huffing, she took a bite of her dinner.
“At least he’s more sensitive with her then that jackass reporter was,” Dad said gruffly.
I smiled a little, the image of Neil filling my mind. Dad was not thrilled when I told him how Neil had treated me. It sort of made me wish Dad had been home when Neil was here. He would’ve scared him a lot more than Carter did.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. He’s a little too sensitive with her.” Mom dropped her fork on the table next to her plate and reached for her wine glass.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I think you know what it means.” She gave me a pointed look.
Dad’s eyebrows knit together in a look of confusion.
My cheeks felt hot. “He’s just nice, Mom.”
“A little too nice, and you seem to like it a little too much.” She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Aspen?” Dad stopped eating as well and stared at me like I had two heads.
I swallowed hard to keep from yelling at them. What I wanted to do was remind them that I was an adult, and if I liked Carter there was nothing wrong with that. Only I knew that argument wouldn’t fly. I may have been an adult, but to my parents I’d always be damaged goods. I’d always be that little girl who left her house after refusing to wear her rain boots, and never returned. So instead, I said, “I’m not interested in Carter, Mom. Not as anything more than a friend, okay?”
Clearly appeased by my reassurance, Dad went back to eating. Mom eyed me suspiciously for a moment before reluctantly resuming her meal too. They were both silent as they chewed. I bent over my plate, tucking my fork into the potatoes. The sound of silverware scraping plates, chewing and swallowing surrounded me. No one spoke the rest of the dinner, and I imagined we were all lost in our own thoughts. Having been raised in a home full of noise for the first eight years of my life, it was weird how silence had become the norm the past ten years. At first I thought it was because of me; because I hardly spoke during my years in captivity. Therefore, silence had become a way of life. But after awhile I noticed that my parents seemed to have become quieter too. It made me wonder what it was like when I was gone. Perhaps they hadn’t spoken at all during my absence. The thought made me indescribably sad. It’s funny the ripple effect an event can have. When I was kidnapped it felt like the bad thing had only happened to me. Like life had gone on for everyone else in the world. But when I returned, I realized that wasn’t the case. My life wasn’t the only one stolen. He had stolen my parents’ lives too.
He brought me some clothes. As I held them in between my fingers, I wondered where he got them from. I was afraid he was going to stay in here while I changed, but thankfully he left me alone. After peeling off my stinky, sweaty shirt I discarded it on the floor. Then I pried off my pants and underwear. They reeked of urine. I knew I’d wet myself, and I felt mortified by that. The last accident I had was when I was in preschool. I had been playing on the bars on the playground and I didn’t want to stop. I thought I could hold it. It was so embarrassing when I couldn’t. The teacher had to call my mom, and she brought me a change of clothes.
A tear slipped down my cheek at the recollection. If only my mom could come here now. With shaking hands, I pulled one of the clean shirts over my head. It was a little small but it would work. I shoved my legs into a pair of pants. They were a little big, but I was grateful since he didn’t bring me any underwear. If the pants were too tight, they’d hurt me. It was already uncomfortable enough, but I wouldn’t complain. I didn’t want to upset him. So far he hadn’t hurt me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
But I didn’t hold out a lot of hope. I was sure he’d hurt me at some point. Wasn’t that what happened when you were kidnapped? Why else would he have me here?
My stomach knotted. I glanced up at the window. Reaching out, I touched the bars that ensured I couldn’t climb out. A sob tore at the back of my throat, and I wondered where my parents were. I pictured our house. I envisioned my room with the flowers painted on the walls, the fresh scent of my sheets, the stuffed animals in the corner, and the comforter my mom bought me last year.
As my gaze lifted to the sky, I wondered if Mom and Dad were looking for me. One night I stayed up late and watched the news with my parents. I remember a story about a young girl who’d been abducted. They showed video of friends and family putting flyers up all over town. I wondered if there were flyers posted to telephone poles and store windows with my face on it.
Panic choked me as I stared around the room; at the four walls that held me captive. Even if they did, how would anyone find me in here? Hopelessness blanketed me, and I fell to my knees in despair.
I was never going to be found. I was sure of it.
The shrill ring of the phone pierced through the quiet room. Mom pushed away from the table, stood up and scurried to the kitchen where the cordless phone sat on the counter, nestled in the cradle.
Dad and I continued eating as she answered.
“Just a minute,” I heard her say, and then footsteps neared the dining room. Dad turned, fully expecting the phone call to be for him. However, Mom’s eyes locked with mine. “It’s for you, Aspen.” She held the phone out toward me like an accusation.
“Me?” I didn’t bother masking my surprise. No one ever called me. “Who is it?”
“Carter,” Mom said, her voice clipped.
A week ago she was beyond giddy about Carter Johnston coming to our house. What changed? I slowly wiped my napkin across my lips and then stood up. On shaky legs, I walked toward Mom. My heart hammered so loudly in my chest, I was sure everyone in the room could hear it. Why was Carter calling me? If he wanted to schedule a time to come over and take pictures, he could’ve told my mom. As my fingers curled around the phone, I felt like something significant was happening. Like once I took this phone call my life would be changed forever.
Before the kidnapping I never thought like that. Then again, I was only eight. But after he abducted me I realized that one mistake, one action, one decision, can alter your life and the lives around you forever. It’s a huge weight to shoulder; all that responsibility. And sometimes the knowledge of that would crush me. I would feel so overwhelmed by it, I would be paralyzed, unable to do anything at all. Unable to make even the slightest decision for fear that it would ruin us all again.
I pressed the phone to my ear, a mixture of trepidation and excitement both swirling inside of me. “Hello.” My voice was timid, unsure. With my head down, I walked into the kitchen and up the stairs, not wanting my parents to eavesdrop.
“Hey,” Carter’s rich voice floated through the line.
I bit my lip, not knowing what to say. Small talk wasn’t something I was good at. I racked my brain, thinking of how people acted in movies and TV shows. “What’s up?” I asked, attempting to sound casual, but not certain I achieved that. I was sure it was evident that I wasn’t a normal girl, one who could carry on conversations with ease.
“After all that talk earlier about plants,” Carter said, “I’ve come to the conclusion that I am going to go out and buy all the artificial flowers I can, and stick them all over my yard.”
“Don’t you dare.” A giggle escaped through my lips as I sat down on the top step, leaning my head against the bannister.
“Why not? I think it’s the perfect solution.” He paused, and I could hear his smile through the phone. “That way I can have beautiful flowers in my yard without all the hassle.”
“Beautiful?” I snorted. “Fake flowers are not beautiful. They’re hideous.” My body practically shuddered at the thought.
“The real flowers in my yard are hideous too. They’re pathetic and shriveled looking. Not beautiful at all, I can assure you.”
“Didn’t I say I’d help with that?”
“Well, I need your help fast. I’m in a flower crisis over here.”
My entire body warmed at his words.
“What about tomorrow?” he asked.
I froze, listening to Mom and Dad moving around downstairs. It was fine when we were talking more in hypothetical terms, but now it all seemed too real.
“Aspen?” his voice was soft.
“Um…” I scratched my arm until red lines appeared on my flesh. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t want to….” His words trailed off, making me feel like shit.
He was the first person who’d reached out to me in years. Why was I pushing him away? What the hell was wrong with me?
“No, I do. I really do,” I said honestly.
“Great. I can pick you up in the morning. Does ten work?”
My heart arrested. “Um…yeah. Ok.”
“See you then.” The phone went dead before I could respond.
I stared at the phone in my hand, perplexed.
“Aspen?” Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs, a questioning look on her face. “What did he want?”
Grabbing onto the bannister, I pulled myself to a standing position. My legs felt wobbly, my whole body electrified. Even though I was afraid to tell Mom, I lifted my head high. “I’m gonna go to his house tomorrow.”
“You’re what?” Mom’s face paled.
My stomach knotted, knowing what she was thinking. I sighed. “To help him with his plants, Mom.”
Dad stepped into the room, his gaze darting between the two of us. “What’s going on?”
“Aspen is going over to Carter’s tomorrow to help him with his plants.” Mom spoke through gritted teeth.
“Good for her.” Dad nodded. “It’s about time she got out of the house and did something.”
“Are you serious?” By the daggers in her eyes, my guess was that Mom was not expecting this response from Dad.
“Yeah.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Caroline, it’s time for you to loosen the reigns. She’s twenty-three.”
I smiled. He was right. I was twenty-three, and it was time for me to start acting like it.
SIX
I dreamt of Kurt. Of his brown hair, dark eyes and large smile. Of his calloused hands and flannel shirts he always wore. He was everywhere. I couldn’t escape him no matter how hard I tried. When I ran away, attempting to go outside, I found myself in the room he kept me. The bars on the window taunted me. The dolls and stuffed animals mocked me with their crudely stitched-on smiles that made them appear as if they were constantly laughing. My chest tightened, and it was hard to catch my breath. That’s how I felt in captivity. Like I could never catch my breath. As if I was always drowning.
I awoke with a gasp. My heart beat erratically in my chest, and my fists held tightly to my comforter. So tightly that it hurt when I released my death grip. The scent of dust and sour milk lingered in my memory. It was the scent of his house. Like something was rotten. I used to imagine it was his heart I was smelling. It was the very essence of his soul seeping out. As if evil had a scent.
Breathing deeply, I took in my surroundings – my simple purple bedspread with no frills at all, the plants hanging from the hooks in the ceiling and the skylight above me with the early morning sun shining on my face. The comforts of home soothed me, and pretty soon my heart slowed. It beat softly as if keeping time with a melody. The years I spent at Kurt’s, my heartbeat was fast and manic, like it had taken up drumming for a rock band. There were days I wondered if a child could die of a heart attack, because if so, I was sure that was my fate. Sadly, I would have welcomed death that way. A fast and painless way to heaven.
Heaven. That was a place I fantasized about a lot. My parents were never religious, but we had attended the occasional church service over the years. While I was held hostage, I recalled those messages. The ones of hope and of an eternal future. Heaven seemed like a glorious place filled with angels and light. A place where I could run and be free. Where no one would keep me locked up. Where bad guys couldn’t reach me. I think I also liked the idea that there was a heaven, because it meant there was a hell. A special placed reserved for men who stole little girls from their parents. Men like Kurt. The idea of him burning for all eternity gave me a sick sense of satisfaction.
Sitting up in bed, I smoothed back the long strands of hair from my face. My cheeks were slicked with sweat. Probably from my nightmare. If only I could stop dreaming of him and that house. It had been ten years, and yet he seemed to make appearances in my dreams too often. Over the years therapists had told me it was normal. But it didn’t feel normal to me. I wanted nothing more than to forget all about that time in my life. To close the book on that chapter and then lock it tight, never to be reminded of it again.
I thought about what Carter and Mom said about this article giving me closure, and I hoped they were right. Maybe speaking out once and for all would put it to rest. Then I could leave it in the past where it belonged.
I stretched my arms up above my head, my gaze lighting on the window. Flowers greeted me from outside, bright and colorful. A smile landed on
my lips as my thoughts drifted to Carter and the plans we had today. I wouldn’t let thoughts of my kidnapping ruin this day for me, so I shook off the remnants of my dream. After checking the clock on my nightstand I hopped out of bed. My bare feet hit the floor and I hurried across the room to my dresser. Yanking open a drawer, I perused through it until I found a cherry red tank top and a pair of jean shorts. After snatching out a bra and underwear, I carried my clothes in my hand and headed outside.
That was the only thing I didn’t like about the guesthouse. It didn’t have its own bathroom. Dad had given me false hope when he kept calling it a guesthouse before I’d seen it. In reality it’s just a guest room. I still had to go into the main house for everything other than sleeping. But I’d learned to keep my mouth shut and not complain. They were trying. They were always trying.
The aromatic scent of coffee assaulted me the minute I stepped inside. Mom and Dad’s voices traveled from the kitchen. I padded down the hallway. When I neared the kitchen, I saw that Mom had her head on Dad’s shoulder and his arm was draped around her. They talked faintly, their backs to me. My heart squeezed. It was so rare to see them like this. I wondered if I would ever know love like theirs. Was I too damaged to ever experience it, or was it possible for someone like me to heal?
Going to Carter’s house seemed like a good idea in theory. Reality was a little different. One thing I hadn’t thought through was getting into his car. Another thing I hadn’t thought through was going alone with him to his house. A house I’d never seen, with a man I hardly knew. Since my escape, I’d never been to anyone’s house alone. In fact, since we’d moved to Red Blossom I hadn’t been inside any home other than ours.
The minute Carter opened the car door for me ushering me inside, I felt the panic attack take root. It started as a little tingle, a tickle in my throat, a tightness in my chest. Pretty soon, I was dizzy and fighting to breathe normally. My hands shook, and my heart took off like a rollercoaster going at full speed.