House of Glass

by Sophie Littlefield

  That hadn’t happened, which begged all kinds of questions, all of them ominous. But she didn’t want to communicate her fear to Livvy, to make things any worse. She caressed her daughter’s cheek, pushing a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes. “I imagine they’re doing what anyone does in the morning. Using the bathroom, maybe getting something to eat. But don’t think about that, sweetie. It doesn’t matter. You’re here with us. With me and Daddy.”

  “Mom. They’re criminals.”

  “Oh, baby, I don’t think they’re all that dangerous,” Jen said, praying it was true. “Guys like this, they’re probably just in a jam. You know, with the economy the way it is, everyone struggling, all it takes is a missed paycheck or two and normal people start facing difficult decisions, and they do desperate things.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t go around holding people hostage in their basements. You have to be sociopathic to do that.”

  Jen hugged Livvy tighter. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  Livvy opened her hands, revealing the stubby little purple-and-orange plastic receiver of a walkie-talkie set that Ted had recently given Jake for his birthday. It had been a double-edged gift—the real reason Ted wanted Jake to have it was so that he would play with it with Teddy. It had led to an argument with Jen; she hated it when Ted tried to second-guess the speech pathologist, when he complained that Teddy’s progress wasn’t fast enough. But she had to admit that the toy had been a huge hit: Jake called every night from his bedroom in Tanya’s apartment across the ravine in Hastings, and Teddy answered. If Ted didn’t mind that he was the one who ended up talking to Jake when Teddy got tired of playing with the buttons, then Jen supposed it was a good thing, especially because Jake could certainly use a father figure.

  “I found this,” Livvy said. “When Dan brought Teddy’s toys down from the living room, this was in the pile. Jake probably called after dinner, but we missed it because it wasn’t turned on. But look, it’s still charged.” She pushed the button and the little light glowed orange. “Maybe we can call Aunt Tanya.”

  “That’s—that’s a great idea, Liv,” Jen said. “But they don’t work down here, remember? You have to be upstairs or the signal doesn’t come through.”

  Livvy looked crestfallen. She switched the receiver off. “Maybe one of us could sneak upstairs.”

  “But it only works if the other one’s on, too. And Aunt Tanya only lets Jake use it after dinner so he doesn’t run down the battery. I just don’t think it’s going to work. I’m sorry, honey.”

  The door at the top of the stairs opened, and they heard heavy footsteps. “I’m coming down.” Dan’s voice. “Stay where you are.”

  Livvy quickly jammed the receiver under the couch and grabbed Jen’s wrist tightly, and they watched Dan descend the steps. Ted groaned softly and shifted on the floor, his joints popping. Teddy turned in his sleep, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

  Dan came down the stairs, looking better than he had the day before: well rested, clean shaven and wearing one of Ted’s shirts. The shirt was snug on Dan, and he’d rolled the cuffs up over his forearms unevenly, the latex gloves looking fussy on his big hands.

  Ted rolled onto his side and blinked, then lurched to his feet, cursing. Dan’s hand went to the gun jammed in the waistband of his pants. The pants were Ted’s, as well; Dan’s gut hung over the waistband.

  “Watch it,” Dan barked. “Get up. Hands up.”

  Ted complied instantly. “I wasn’t—”

  “Save it. It’s showtime.”

  Ted rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Is that—is that my shirt?”

  “Ted,” Jen warned. She pulled Livvy against her, instinctively shielding her daughter’s face from the stranger.

  “You and me,” Dan said, ignoring Ted and pointing at Jen. “We’re going on a little trip. Time to get ready.”

  Jen pulled Livvy tighter against her, trying to read Dan’s expression. His eyes were calculating, not cruel, but not kind. “Where do you...”

  Ted cut her off. “You’re not taking my wife anywhere!”

  “Calm down. Nothing’s going to happen to her.” Dan barely glanced at Ted. “Jen, we’re leaving at ten after nine. I’m taking you upstairs now so you can take a shower and get dressed. Ted, we’ll only be gone an hour or so. Stay here, feed your kids—it’ll be over soon.”

  “I need to know where you’re taking her.”

  “You don’t need to know anything.” Dan took a step toward Ted, his hand never leaving the gun. “You don’t call the shots anymore, remember?”

  “Listen,” Ted said, standing his ground. “How about this. How about I’ll go with you, whatever it is you need us to do, okay? Leave my wife here. I can promise you I won’t give you any trouble.”

  Dan laughed harshly. “That right, Tonto? You gonna come along quietly?”

  Ted paled, and closed his mouth. Jen glanced sharply at him, but he wouldn’t look at her. Tonto...the nickname he’d earned in business school, when he had a reputation for reckless bravado, volunteering in class even when he wasn’t prepared and playing pickup rugby in the quad. The nickname had stuck with him, but only among the handful of guys from school who still got together to ski every March, to relive the youth that seemed more distant as they settled more and more comfortably into middle age.

  “Why did he call you that?” she asked. Livvy was staring, too, confused.

  Ted merely shook his head. Dan looked from him to Jen, smirking. “You can discuss it later. Now, Jen.”

  Livvy whimpered and slid her hand into Jen’s. “She stays with me,” Jen said, trying not to show her fear.

  “She can come upstairs, but only for a few minutes. Then she comes back down here. You’ll both be fine. Let’s go.”

  Jen refused to look at her husband as she followed Dan up the stairs. Tonto, Tonto, the stupid name echoed in her head. Something incomprehensible was going on. Ted knew something, he’d done something and she could barely contain the fury brewing inside of her.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Dan locked the door behind him. Jen and Livvy blinked in the bright sun streaming through the front door. They’d been in the basement for less than twelve hours, but Jen felt like she’d been released from a prison. She turned her face to the light and let it blind her.

  Dan hurried her along. “Come on, upstairs.”

  As they passed the kitchen, Jen spotted Ryan standing at the counter. The fridge door was open and he was drinking straight from the orange juice carton. When he saw them, he set down the juice and licked his lips slowly, staring at Livvy.

  “Ladies,” he drawled, the sound rippling up Jen’s spine.

  “Come on, sweetie,” she muttered, tugging Livvy’s hand.

  Upstairs, the hall bath was already steamy. One of the green towels was wadded on the floor.

  “I’ll give you five minutes,” Dan said. “Then you go back downstairs, Livvy.”

  Livvy looked beseechingly at her mother. “Come in with me,” she begged.

  “Just give me a sec, and I will,” she said, touching Livvy’s cheek. “Go on in, now, sweetie. I’ll be right here.”

  Livvy’s eyes were red and puffy, but she nodded and closed the door quietly behind her.

  Jen knew she didn’t have much time. “How did you know about his nickname?” she demanded, speaking quietly so Livvy wouldn’t hear. “About Tonto?”

  Dan raised his eyebrows. That smirk—Jen wished she could smack it right off his face. “Lucky guess?”

  “How did you know?” Jen said, closing the gap between them, her face inches from his, fury making spittle fly from her mouth.

  Dan reached up deliberately and wiped a fleck of spit from his cheek. “I think you have more important things to worry about right now. Go in there with your daughter. She needs you.” />
  “If I go with you—” Jen stopped herself, took a breath and tried again. “Can you promise me that Ryan will leave my daughter alone?”

  “What—yeah,” Dan said, but Jen didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. She thought of the way Ryan had looked at Livvy, his gaze sliding over her body, and her nerves twisted.

  She had no reason to believe Dan when he said that their errand would be brief or that she would return safely. It was possible he meant to take her somewhere, rape her, kill her, leave her body in a shack or a culvert—but that didn’t seem right. He was too...calculating, and when he looked at her, she didn’t sense anything predatory or sexual. But Ryan was something else entirely.

  “Look, I know I’m not in a position to ask you for anything. But I won’t give you any trouble. Just please promise me that nothing will happen to her while we’re gone.”

  “Jen,” Dan said, and maybe it was her desperation, but she thought he softened, just a little. “I want this to be over as much as you do. Nothing bad’s going to happen, okay?”

  Jen nodded, but as she put her hand on the bathroom doorknob, she had a terrible feeling that it was a promise he couldn’t keep.

  Inside the bathroom, Livvy was staring at herself in the mirror, her eyes glazed over. “Here, sweetheart,” Jen murmured, taking a washcloth from the white wicker basket and running cool water over it. She squeezed out the excess and then patted her daughter’s face gently, dotting away the sleep from her eyes, the red blotches on her cheeks. She picked up the boar’s-hair brush, a splurge last Christmas from a fancy bath store, and began to brush Livvy’s hair, taking care not to tug. The ends were tangled, and as she patiently worked out the knots she hummed softly, tunelessly at first, and then seguing into the Brahm’s “Lullaby,” something she’d sung to Livvy every single day when she was a baby.

  When Livvy’s hair was neat and straight, Jen set down the brush and put her hands on her daughter’s face, turning her gently toward her. “Livvy, listen to me. I’m going to go with Dan now.”

  “Are you coming back?”

  Not when are you coming back, but...are you. Jen forced the muscles of her face to relax, pulled a smile out of some desperate last reserve of maternal will. “Of course I am, sweetie. Dan’s just, he just needs me to... I am going to find out how to get them the things they want, the money and all that.”

  Livvy knew she was making it up. Jen could tell by the way her lip trembled, her breath huffed out in tiny puffs. She had to do better. “Dan is not going to hurt me,” she said carefully. “You just have to have faith in that, honey. I do. I really do.”

  “Mommy,” Livvy whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Please. I need you. Come back as fast as you can.” She put her own hands over Jen’s and squeezed them, and then hugged her hard.

  “Oh, sweetie, you’re my brave, brave girl,” Jen murmured, just like she had when Livvy was seven and ran into the drinking fountain and had to have stitches in her scalp. “I’m so proud of you. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Livvy finally pulled back and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m fine. Really.”

  “I know you are. Just stay close to Teddy and Dad. There are three of you. Just one of him. And he’s going to be upstairs. Okay? I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

  “Hey, come on,” Dan said, knocking. “Let’s go, Livvy.”

  Livvy swallowed and nodded, and Jen gently shooed her out the door. “Go on now, sweetheart.” She watched her walk down the hall, padding in her socks, her blond hair streaming over her shoulders. Livvy walked quickly, not turning around, with Dan close behind her. Jen’s longing to chase after her took her breath and made her weak: if she died today, this would be the last time she saw her daughter.

  When Dan returned in less than a minute, Jen was holding on to the sink for support. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Put these on.” He handed her a stack of clothes: a pair of black pants, a soft lavender twin set, things Jen stored in her dresser because she rarely wore them. “Make yourself up. Make it look good, like you have a meeting or whatever. Conservative, tasteful, not slutty.” He paused before closing the door and shutting her in the bathroom. “You fuck up, I’ll make you do it over, but we’re on a schedule so don’t fuck up.”

  Jen locked the door and turned the shower on full blast and skimmed off her clothes. She stepped under the scalding water and welcomed its burn, the stinging spray against her arms and chest. She didn’t dare take long in the shower, so she didn’t get her hair wet, just scrubbed her body.

  She shut her eyes and let the hot spray wash over her, trying to see herself from an outsider’s point of view. From Dan’s point of view. He wanted her “conservative”—was that a euphemism for rich? Did he think she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth? Was that—God help her—a turn-on for him?

  Again her mind refused to accept the possibility; whatever Dan wanted from her, she was convinced it wasn’t sexual. But still, he had an idea in mind of who she was. How was he to know that she’d come from nothing? She’d worked so hard to expunge all traces of the past, the faint rural Great Lakes accent, the bad haircuts and the unschooled manners. But she’d been poor, and she’d been desperate. She remembered what it felt like.

  Jen toweled off quickly, trying to push those thoughts away. She folded her towel and hung it from the rack. She dressed, her heart racing. It felt like her pulse hadn’t slowed down since she first opened the bedroom door last night and saw their lives, changed forever, reflected in her daughter’s terrified eyes.

  She brushed her teeth and rinsed twice, trying to get the sour taste out of her mouth. For a moment she stood motionless, staring at her reflection, her feet cold on the tile floor. Her face looked dead: pale, expressionless, the faint lines bracketing her mouth and at the corner of her eyes more pronounced than usual. But she could do this; she could paint herself to look like what he wanted. She smoothed on foundation, dusted with powder, lined her eyes with the charcoal pencil. A swipe of eye shadow, two coats of mascara, lipstick in a shade of berry that the Chanel girl said complemented her coloring.

  Jen considered the result. She hadn’t been able to conceal the hollowness of her eyes, but she’d done a passable job with the cosmetics. It would have to do. She picked up Livvy’s brush and did her best with her hair, dampening it where it stood up, smoothing it as flat as she could.

  When she was finished, she took a deep breath, let it out slowly and opened the door.

  Dan was gone.

  She walked quietly down the hall, her bare feet making no sound. She heard voices when she got to the stairs.

  “...my operation.” Dan’s voice, angry but controlled, came from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Uncle Richie, it’s all you, ain’t it. You’re the big guy.” Ryan didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.

  When Jen entered the kitchen, Dan—Richie?—glared at her, turning his back on Ryan. “Tell me where the car keys are, Jen, and we’ll go.”

  “Not until I say goodbye to my family.” Jen’s heart thudded so hard she could feel it in her throat.

  “They’re fine. I took Livvy back downstairs,” Dan said.

  “She’s fine, all right,” Ryan said, ignoring Dan. “She’s so damn fine...” And then his tongue caressed his lower lip and he pantomimed a shudder.

  “That’s my daughter,” Jen snapped. She took two steps toward him, clenching her fists. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about, you—you cocksucker—”

  Dan grabbed her, his hands on her shoulders, maneuvering himself between her and Ryan, yelling at her to calm down. The word she’d said, the worst one Jen could think of, hung in the air, and Ryan’s smirk broadened.

  “Ignore him,” Dan muttered, backing her out of the kitchen, his grip strong enough to hurt.

>   “I need to see them. My children. Before we go. I can’t—I can’t do this if I don’t know that they’re all right.”

  She twisted her hands around his wrists so they were locked together. She dug her fingers into his skin above the gloves, trying to hurt him with her nails. But Dan’s arms were hard and corded, and he didn’t even wince. Not like her husband’s at all, not even with all those years of squash, all his home improvement projects.

  “Ryan,” Dan said in a low and dangerous voice, without taking his eyes off Jen’s face. “Go upstairs now.”

  Ryan shrugged, pushing himself with exaggerated effort away from the wall, and exited the kitchen. Jen heard his footsteps, taking his time, through the living room and up the stairs. Not until she heard his tread on the hall above did Jen relax her grip on Dan. “Please,” she repeated.

  Dan walked her to the basement door, pulling her by the upper arm, and turned the dead bolt. It was a good lock, and Jen recalled how she’d had the lock replaced when Teddy started walking. The man at Calumet Hardware told her it was the finest available. A small price to pay for the sense of security she had whenever she turned the key that Teddy couldn’t reach.

  Dan opened the door but didn’t release her. “Five seconds,” he said. “Just to look.”

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. But there they were—Teddy was watching the washing machine again, a mesh bug net dangling from one hand. Ted sat on the sofa, holding Livvy in his arms. They stared up at her, the two of them, as if they didn’t recognize her. It looked like Livvy had been crying.

  “See, they’re fine. Everything’s fine,” Dan said, pulling Jen back into the hall and closing the door, sliding the lock into place.

  He looked at her appraisingly. “You look nice, by the way.”

  Chapter Ten

  They were barely out of the cul-de-sac when Dan told her.

  “We’re going to the bank. It’s payday and you’re paying.”

  The bank. So it was just money, nothing more. Jen closed her eyes with relief, said a silent prayer. Thank you. Thank you.