by Amanda Adair
My voice is shaking. I try to suck it up but I’m more frightened than I want to admit. She should be aware of the fact that my parents have money. They’ll do anything do protect me, maybe even sew trackers into my clothes.
For a second I can see blind panic in her eyes. She puts a bottle of water onto the ground and turns around. She leaves me alone again. Even if she and her helpers believe me they could just hit me again and take me to another place without my clothes. And no one would ever find out where I am. I can just hope that Sofia and Sage, maybe our coach, will try to contact me. They know I wanted to come to their BBQ. They need to look for me, contact my parents and the police. Otherwise this is the end.
My story’s about to come true. Amaris is about to take me down.
chapter 38
This is what prison must feel like. The basement can’t compare to a real prison cell. I don’t have a bed or toilet, pillow or blanket, no desk or books, there is no television or photos on the wall. It’s just an empty, dark and cold basement. There are no roll-calls or morning exercises. There are no fixed times scheduled for meals. No one wakes me up at seven a.m. sharp and no one escorts me to the kitchen, so I can wash the dishes with the other inmates and earn some pocket money.
This is a whole different kind of prison.
I’ve never been held captive and I never knew how horrible it is. I want to move, run, talk to someone I know, drink something, eat something, but I can’t even move. Suddenly I value the freedom I took for granted. I remember those girls and young women who disappeared and never came back. What if I’m one of those? What if I have to live in a basement for months, years, decades? I’m glad it’s a woman and not a man that’s keeping me down here. A man would want to rape me. A woman can torture me but it’s less likely she’ll have sexual desire. This thought comforts me even though I have no clue if there’s a man in this house. She could be his assistant, preparing me for the torture to come.
I assume it’s night and dark outside because I can’t see much around me anymore. I thought it was dark before but now it’s black around me. I assume it’s the light that shines underneath the door upstairs. It is also getting colder down here. There is no heating and no air circulation. It’s sticky.
There’s no way to escape, no way to attract attention or call for help. There is nothing I can do but wait and see if I can convince them to let me go or at least to let me alive.
I lean on the wall and almost fall asleep when the door suddenly opens once again. A light appears and I see Gigi’s silhouette walking down the stairs. I guess she’s figured out that there is no tracker. That I’ve tried to buy time.
“There’s no tracker,” she says and sits down in front of me. “How do you like it down here?”
I remain silent.
“Aspen Varela,” she says and gets her phone out of her back pocket. “What would you rather listen to, music or the radio?”
None. I want silence.
“Do you like podcasts?,” she asks. “Nobody listens to the radio anymore. All those ads. Nah.”
I shake my head.
“Too bad,” she says. “I love podcasts. I’m a fan of true crime podcasts. Aren’t they interesting.”
She presses play and we start listening to the voice of a podcast host called Dana McKinty. I know her podcast. I’ve never listened to a single episode, but I’ve heard of it. My friends listen to her podcast. The episode we’re listening to is an older one. As soon as Dana introduces the case she’s talking about I begin to understand what Gigi wants from me. Maybe it is revenge, maybe it is justice, but she wants me to take the responsibility for what did years ago.
This week’s episode deals with one of my favorite cases. It’s about Spencer, an eleven-year-old girl who disappeared on June 17th last year. She attended Horace Blake Middle School in Seneca, Connecticut. It’s a prestigious school with lots of rich parents – lawyers, physicians and businessmen. A prestigious school in a quiet town with literally no crimes.
She lived together with her parents and her sister in a huge house with a garden and a nice pool. So, why did a girl like that disappear? Who could’ve taken her? Has she maybe been kidnapped? Questions that will probably never be answered.
Until today the police doesn’t have a clue where the girl could be. It’s one of those cases where everybody assumes – no, knows – the victim’s dead and buried. No one can disappear for such a long time, especially a young girl, a child, a teenager. She’d be fifteen now.
I can’t listen to her voice or her words. I just can’t. I tried avoiding those news articles, true crime podcasts and social media posts about her disappearance five years ago. I’ve managed to forget this and move on. I’ve told myself that nobody will ever find out, that there are no witnesses. Now that the podcast is playing all those memories come back. Memories that I’ve pushed into the furthest corner of my brain.
Even five years after, I’m not ready to deal with them.
In this very moment I feel like I’m eleven-year-old Aspen again, a little selfish only child. I should’ve left Seneca. Mom wanted us to leave Seneca after what had happened, but she thought it would seem suspicious, as if we had something to hide, which we did. Dad knows and he wanted to tell someone. He didn’t think it’s a good idea to keep quiet.
Mom’s the lawyer and Dad’s just an architect. She convinced him that it’s better to hide the evidence and pretend like nothing has happened. I trusted her, but I didn’t expect this incident to cause that much drama, trauma and pain. I just wanted to have my childhood back. It took me several hours of talking to Mom (who’s really not a psychologist or therapist) to start believing that I’m safe and no one would ever expect me to be involved in this.
Dana ends the episode with what she thinks happened to Spencer. Speculations I’ve heard on the news, in forums and on social media many times before. People think she’s been kidnapped by a neighbor or uncle. People assume she ran away with a guy, which is the most awful theory since she was an eleven-year-old girl. They think she was kidnapped and became a victim of human trafficking. People believe she was raped, killed and buried. There are so many theories I’ve stopped listening to them, counting them. Dana mentions all of them.
She says, I’m sure it was someone she knew.
It was someone she knew. Me.
I didn’t realize someone else came downstairs. Another girl. When I look up I look straight into her face. I now understand what’s going on. I wonder if they’ll kill me since I’ve seen their faces. Why else would they show me their faces? But as I mentioned I’m not a random victim. This is something personal between her and me.
As soon as I listen to her voice I know what she knows, and I know what she wants. I look down because I can’t bear looking at her.
At my best friend. Sage.
“Gigi didn’t just get rid of two bullies with the help of Amaris,” Sage shouts. “Thanks to the game she got to know something.” Tears gather in her eyes. “Something you should’ve told me. You should be in jail right now, Aspen.”
chapter 39
5 Years ago
The least popular girl in school is Masha. Not only is she the most annoying girl I’ve ever met, she also looks like the daughter of a proboscis monkey and a blobfish. She really doesn’t deserve to be called a girl. Mom always tells me that talking bad about people makes people ugly but I’m not stupid. Looking ugly makes you ugly. Cris and I aren’t allowed to put on makeup yet (except for events but then our Moms sign off on our looks), but as soon as we are fifteen we want to go to the MAC store in New York. Cristina isn’t as much into girly makeup as me. She doesn’t like glittery eye lids and pink blush but black lashes and red lips like Megan Fox is wearing it sometimes. Cris told me that her mom doesn’t agree with her idea of the perfect makeup. Her mom thinks wearing red lipstick makes you look cheap.
The second least popular girl is Sage. Cris and I agree that she could be averagely pretty with the help of a talented su
rgeon. I can’t tell what exactly is wrong with her. Maybe it’s her wallflower look, maybe it’s her shy nature, maybe her big eyes or her wide clothes. It’s her whole appearance and attitude.
Whenever one of us has to work with Masha or Sage in a group we keep our distance. Masha smells bad and should really use some deodorant. Cris finds it inappropriate to give her deodorant for her birthday. Kaleb and I meant it as a joke, we’d never actually give her a birthday present. And Sage, well, it doesn’t make much sense talking to her. She’s too shy to say anything. She’s either shy or she doesn’t have a functioning voice. But I’ve heard her talking to some unpopular guys before. Nerds.
I rarely have to deal with Masha or Sage but when I walk home from school today Sage’s sister Penny waves at me. Her name’s not Penny and I don’t know why people call her that. It’s Spencer. My mom is a close friend of her mom’s. I also don’t know how this happened. They met each other at a pregnancy yoga session. She keeps trying to make me befriend with one of Mrs. Holland’s daughters. I’ve decided to go for Spencer since she’s less awkward. Sometimes we meet at my house and play or watch TV. I’ve been to her house once but I didn’t want Sage to think we’re friends. I don’t want her to think she can approach me at school. She’s friends with most guys in my year even though she’s younger.
Spencer’s on the other side of the road, but as soon as she spots me she crosses the street.
“Hey Penny,” I greet her and continue walking. I’m usually not supposed to take the road next to the woods.
“Aspen,” she says. “I saw you and Malcolm in the cafeteria. Are you in love?” Her face looks like she’s about to burst into loud laughter and can barely hold it.
“He asked me if I’m going to Cecilia’s birthday party,” I say because I know she’s not invited. “The party’s on Saturday.”
“Okay,” she says and stops looking like a clown with her wide smile and narrow eyes. There’s nothing left to laugh at now.
Her house is further from Horace Blake Middle School away than mine. I’ll be at home in fifteen minutes and she’ll have to walk another ten minutes without me.
“I have some new games for my Switch,” she says. “We can play one if you want to.”
I’m normally not into video games that much but there are a few games Spencer owns that I like to play. And since Mom doesn’t allow me to buy a Switch or get it as a birthday or Christmas present I have to rely on other people.
“Sure,” I say and try to seem unfazed. It’s a hot summer day and I want to eat my sandwich before I go home. Mom hates it when I come home with her homemade tomatoes and mozzarella sandwich still in my backpack. She knows that I buy a chocolate bar or croissant instead. “Let’s go sit next to the river.”
The river here in Seneca leads along the garden behind our house. Only close to the city center people use to sit in the park and have a picnic. No one ever swims in this anything but fresh and crystalline water.
When I see the river I turn right and walk towards the water. Mom won’t be mad if I come home a few minutes later. While I get my sandwich out of my backpack Spencer disassembles her console and hands me one of the tiny controllers. She tells me all about the game and why she bought it but I don’t listen. We play one round after another. I start to actually like this game but Spencer suddenly takes my controller away and puts everything back into her backpack.
“What’s that?,” she asks and points at my backpack.
I’ve taken my jewelry box to school (it’s kind of filled with some of my mom’s jewelry since I don’t own that much) because of an art assignment. Our art teacher Mrs. Giolito obviously doesn’t consider fashion as art and she wasn’t too happy when I showed her the photographs of the earrings and necklaces. I thought I was being creative. I gave Cris one earring and one of the guys another, which he then held in front of his ear since his ears aren’t pierced. I then took a photo of the two standing next to each other, ear to ear. Why does Mrs. Giolito give us such an assignment when she can’t let us be creative and develop our own ideas? This could actually be my first grade that’s below a B, which is completely unfair.
chapter 40
After I told Spencer about the art assignment she says, “can I see it?”
Spencer’s one of the curious girls. I’m one myself but I don’t care about the content of backpacks that don’t belong to me.
“Okay,” I agree but roll my eyes as she gets up and grabs the box.
“The box is pretty,” she says and lets it rotate in her hands before she opens it.
Some of Mom’s jewelry costs a lot. I don’t know how much but she told me the necklace with the wave pendant costs more than my MacBook.
“Careful,” I say and put the empty lunch box back into my backpack.
“Can you help me close it?,” I hear her asks. But when I turn around it’s already too late. As she was trying to close the ball clasp of one of my Mom’s necklaces she dropped it. She’s put the box on the ground.
“What’s wrong?,” I ask but I already know. She’s bend over the water, trying to look for the golden necklace. “Spencer, what did you do?”
My cheeks heat up and I’m sure they’ve reddened.
“I can’t see anything,” she says and reaches out for the water.
“Where’s the necklace,” I shout. “Get it out of the water.” I step behind her and scan the river for a shiny golden object. She’s right, it’s not there.
After a minute or so she gets up and says, “I don’t think we’ll find it.”
How stupid can one be? She’s the dumbest bitch I’ve ever come across. “Keep searching for it,” I command.
“It’s not there,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
When she tries to walk past me I raise my arms and push her.
“Stop,” I say and push her again. How dare she leave me here? She has to go find the necklace, even if she has to swim and dive in the lake in order to get it out of the water. I don’t care. I just need it back.
“Hey,” she complaints. “Aspen.”
“Go get it,” I say. “NOW.”
“It’s not there,” she says and tries to break loose from my grip. “Sorry. You can take a look yourself.”
I’m holding her tight, so that she can’t just leave me here. I’m not going to tell Mom that her necklace is gone. This is not my fault.
“Let go of me,” she says but instead I tighten my grip.
She breaks loose and plods towards the road. The rage takes control of me, so I grab the jewelry box and throw it at her. It just happens in the heat of the moment. I don’t mean to hurt her that much but I can’t stop. I think she deserves it. But as soon as I see her collapsing I realize I’ve done something I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t stop because I felt relief. Instead of shame or shock about my own actions I felt liberated.
I stare at her body and at the blood that leaves the wound on her head. Her brown hair turns red, the grass turns red, her clothes turn red, and the stones around her turn red. Blood red. One of the sharp corners must have hit her head. I didn’t throw it too hard, did I? I don’t have that much strength.
All I see is red.
Shit, I mumble. I’m not supposed to swear. Mom would freak out. But Mom would freak out anyway. I’ve hurt a girl. Instead of calling 9-1-1 I call her. Mom. My hands are shaking when I tap on her number. This must be the adrenaline. It takes a while for her to answer my call and it takes a while to find the right words. I tell her she needs to come here. That I need help and that there’s been an accident.
Accident.
The only reason I called Mom is because she’s a lawyer. I don’t know much about laws and crimes but I know that when there’s this huge amount of blood and the girl isn’t moving anymore there’s a problem. Especially when you were the one who hit her with one of your belongings. My Mom is specialized on divorce law. There are so many moms and dads who get divorced in Seneca but there are only few murders.
No, a
ccidents.
I don’t dare to touch Spencer. I’m unable to move. I want to call her name but I’m afraid. I keep thinking that there’s someone behind me. A monster. A murderer. But truth is I’m the murderer. I should be afraid of myself and others should be, too.
I will probably never forget Mom’s face when she arrived at the river and saw Spencer lying on the ground.
She doesn’t recognize her, so she asks, “who is this girl?”
“Spencer Holland,” I say.
The daughter of one of her friends. I then have to tell her what happened. I think she is afraid, too, but she doesn’t want me to know. She’s wearing her professional mask. It’s her lawyer face. She never looks like this outside of work. But it’s slightly different from her normal expression. This is a face that doesn’t say you’re about to lose some money due to your divorce, instead it says you’re in big trouble and I don’t know if I can fix this.
Spencer Holland, 11-year-old Seneca girl, still missing
SENECA, CONNECTICUT
BY MADISON WALKER | STAFF WRITER
Published: 1:24 PM EST 13 March | Updated: 9:11 AM EST 15 March
Spencer Holland, 11, was last seen on June 17 at Horace Blake Middle School. Police say this has been an active investigation since Spencer was reported missing and detectives have no reason to believe this was a stranger abduction. Even nine months after her disappearance her whereabouts after she left school, the Horace Blake Middle School, are unknown.
“She would never run away,” Mrs. Holland told us in an interview. “She must be somewhere out there, maybe held captive.”
She is 5 foot 2 inches and weighs 105 pounds with short brown hair. On the day of her disappearance she wore blue jeans, a white shirt and red backpack.