by Mary Stone
She closed her eyes, anger rising, a wave of panic threatening to consume her.
Breathe.
Deep breath in. Out, and steady.
Repeating the exercise, she forced herself to calm down, to not give in to the pressure of the walls that closed in on her a little more every day. She had to survive. She had to make him believe she was content here. It was the only way.
Forcing herself to focus on the bathtub rather than the timer, she ran a bath of warm water and sank into the fragrant bubbles. Her stomach turned over, and she wondered if she would ever like the scent of plumeria again.
No.
Not plumeria, not the color pink, and certainly not the brilliant pink polish on her toes that had once been her favorite summer staple. If she ever got away, she would never use them again.
When, she corrected herself as she went to work scrubbing from head to toe while she whispered her name through trembling lips. “Valerie Price. Valerie Price. You are Valerie Price.”
It was a mantra that pulled her from the abyss of insanity. The only thing left in the world that was still hers. She wouldn’t let him take her name away from her, no matter what.
Sixty-five weeks and five days. She’d lived in a full-sized dollhouse under his constant gaze for more than a year. But this wasn’t the first place she’d been since she and Ben were kidnapped late New Year’s Day. And by far, it wasn’t the worst, but she’d been here the longest. Living each and every day just like the one before, her face passive, façade impenetrable. While inside, a piece of her sanity chipped away, stripping away what was left of the woman she used to be.
Her eyes flicked to the timer as if it were magnetized. Fifteen minutes.
She sighed, her muscles tensing despite the hot water. Reluctant to start the day, Valerie waited another whole minute before she finally dragged herself from the tub, scowling at the spot where a showerhead would normally be on the wall.
Girls only take baths. His voice had been whiny and high-pitched, grating on her last nerve. Even though he only communicated through the intercom, and she’d never seen him, she imagined him stomping his foot to punctuate the statement. Spoiled little boy that he was.
He couldn’t be a real man. A real man wouldn’t hide behind a speaker in the ceiling. A real man wouldn’t buy a woman to lock into his demented dollhouse like a live toy.
Enraged, she grabbed the heavy shampoo bottle from the tub’s ledge, lifting it over her head, poised to throw it at the mirror. Would the shattering glass bring him running? Or would the room fill with the thin white smoke that smelled strangely of oranges, after which she’d wake up tucked into bed with a mint on her pillow as an offering. Just like before. He was a coward who drugged her then ran before she woke up, making sure he was safe behind a bolted steel door.
Chest heaving, she stared at her reflection and wondered about the woman staring back at her.
How much of me is left in there?
Valerie took in the wild-eyed woman with her nostrils flared and face red with a fury born of fear and hatred.
Slowly, she set the bottle down on the counter. Forcing her hands to move slowly, she finished her morning routine calmly, as if she hadn’t just thought of destroying the mirror and herself.
Your name is Valerie Price, and you will get out of this alive.
The mantra had always soothed her, quieting her rage until she could breathe again.
Ten minutes to go. How had an hour gone by so fast?
Backing against the wall, she slid down it until she was sitting on one of three white bathmats with fake fur so long she could comb it between her fingers. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head on them. Tears spilled over her cheeks, wetting her bare skin.
The image of Ben’s face through the chain-link fence flashed through her mind, and a sob tore from her chest. So cold he was shivering, he’d worked his jacket through the fence until it was on her side, then he’d gotten as close to her as he could so she felt safe enough to sleep.
An angry laugh caught in her throat. Safe. Even if she escaped, she would never feel safe again.
When, the small, determined voice in her head corrected, when I escape.
She nodded, wiped away the tears, and stood up. Washing her face with cool water until the red blotches faded and there was no evidence of her meltdown, she glanced at the red numbers on the timer, the hot sting of tears threatening again. It was almost time, and she wasn’t ready.
How could anyone ever be ready for this hell?
She only had five minutes left when she closed her eyes and steeled herself for the last task before she left the sanctuary of the private bathroom. Of all the things she did every morning, this was the worst.
She went to the corner of the generously sized room, to a small dresser painted a nauseating shade of peachy pink. There were three drawers.
Shaking with rage now instead of fear, she opened the top drawer and selected the panties on the top of three neat stacks. Each pair was identical: frilly, light pink with a brighter pink bow in the center, and white lace around the edges.
She gagged as the scratchy fabric raked over her skin as she pulled them on and over her hips. Like every pair before, they fit her like a glove.
The second drawer held three rows of fitted t-shirts in the same pale pink, folded and stacked on top of one another. She took the first one her hand touched, pulling it over her head and tugging at the fabric until the hem of the shirt was as low as it would go. But no matter what she did, her belly button was still exposed.
The third drawer was filled to the top with brilliant white ankle socks folded neatly in pairs. Those went on last, the bulky cotton stretching around her toes as she wondered again why he wanted her toenails painted. The only time he saw her toes was when she went to bed. Even in this orchestrated world of madness, it didn’t make sense.
She spent the last two minutes on the timer braiding her long, straight hair that ran down her back. Two years since her last haircut, her typically just longer than shoulder-length hair was nearly to her waist now. Just another thing that he controlled.
Hatred for him burned inside her. A loud click brought her back to the present.
The timer had hit zero, the bathroom lock clicking open.
Taking a deep breath into her lungs, she held it and counted to three, mentally yelling Go! She exhaled and stepped through the doorway, her heart sinking as she let the door close behind her.
Her bed had been made while she was locked in the bathroom. The frilly pillows were fluffed and arranged neatly on the cloudy down comforter that billowed over the edges of the mattress and down to the thick carpet. A neutral mauve, the carpet was heavily padded so her every step was springy.
Behind her, the electric lock on the bathroom door gave another audible click, letting her know her sanctuary was off-limits until her next “potty break.” Like everything else, the time between her trips to the bathroom was carefully measured and closely monitored.
Inside her, another fragile piece snapped and fell into the abyss.
She walked through the bedroom and down the few steps of the hallway to the kitchen. Through the sparkling windowpanes, the tiny yard that wrapped around the house mocked her. The perfectly manicured grass was actually plastic, and the brilliant blue sky with picture-perfect clouds just a lifelike painting. Artificial trees provided “shade” and hid the recessed lighting that gave her a daily dose of UV rays to keep her body healthy.
Just outside the window hung a white porch swing, and beside it, a wooden rocking chair painted the same blinding shade of stark white—as if someone might come to visit. But though he’d managed to create a small yard that gave the illusion of being outside, Valerie’s brain wasn’t fooled. Outside meant freedom. In here, anywhere in here, she was far from free.
As she dragged her gaze away from the yard, her traitorous stomach grumbled, forcing her to hurry to the kitchen cabinet. Only one
cereal was available, a riot of bright colors and artificial “fruit” flavors that tasted like no fruit Valerie had ever encountered. It was a cereal she’d loved as a child, but as she poured a bowl, she gagged at the overly done sweet scent.
Closing her eyes, she forced the bile clogging her throat.
Keep it together, Valerie.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was losing bits and pieces of herself with each passing day.
Resolute and standing tall, she poured milk into a bowl, careful not to spill it. Returning the milk to the refrigerator and grabbing one of the bottles of orange juice from the row of identical drinks lining the breakfast shelf, she thought about dumping the cereal in the trash, instead of forcing it down just to please him. But her hunger won out. Plus, if she skipped breakfast, he would be angry.
So she walked down another hall, the cereal bowl in one hand and bottle of juice in the other, until she entered the living room. At the end of the large room was the fake front door that led out to the fake yard. She knew that from the front yard, the dividing wall was built to look exactly like the outside of the house, playing with her head and making reality that much harder to cling to. But recess wasn’t until after lunch, so for now, she could avoid the front door and pretend she wasn’t being held in an elaborate prison engineered to look like a life of freedom.
I just want to watch. The memory of his voice whispered in her mind. Has anyone ever told you how innocent you look?
She bit her tongue, the pain forcing her back to reality and away from the brink. She repeated her mantra in her mind. You’re Valerie Price. You don’t belong here, and you will escape someday.
The couch cushion sank beneath her as she sat down and tried to get comfortable. But there was no blanket to cover her bare legs and no throw pillows to stack around her.
Her eyes went to the camera above the television that was pointed at the spot where she sat. There were three cameras in the living room, two in the kitchen, one in the hallway, and three in her bedroom. Nine in all. She had no doubt there were more in the yard, but like the lights that drenched the “outdoors” in artificial sunlight, those cameras were tucked out of sight. They were never out of mind.
The remote was on the coffee table in front of the loveseat, arranged so the edges lined up perfectly with the table. She longed to flick it with her finger, send it spinning like she had as a child. But she’d done that one morning the year before and the next day woke up to find it glued to the table.
She pressed the power button and scrolled through the menu. Choosing what she wanted to watch each day was the only freedom he allowed her, if you could call having unlimited G- and PG-rated movies at her fingertips freedom. But she watched them, clinging to her only connection to the outside world.
She ignored the text prompt welcoming her. What do you want to watch today, Taryn? the streaming service asked.
Your name is Valerie Price.
She selected a movie and hit play, tucked her feet underneath her, and held the cereal bowl in one hand while she ate. She sat rigid, counting bites and chewing slowly, knowing that it was the fourth bite that would do it.
When she brought the fourth spoonful to her lips, the tiny hiss jolted her nerves as the intercom kicked on. It was all she could do to choke down the fruity morsels that stuck to her suddenly dry throat.
“Good morning, Taryn. I hope you slept well. I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”
12
Ellie left Fortis’s office, but instead of going back to evidence, she automatically turned down the other hallway, and her feet led her to Dr. Powell’s office door. Knocking, she waited for him to call out before she opened the door.
“Ellie, hi.” Dr. Powell set his reading glasses on his desk, sliding a stack of notes into the top drawer.
“If this is a bad time, I can come back.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” His smile was warm and welcoming. “I was just annotating some notes from another session, and lost in thought, but I’m glad you stopped by.”
“Thank you.” She walked into the room and sat across from him on the sofa.
“Are you here because you’ve remembered things?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “Little snippets here and there. Mostly I’m here because I have some time to kill, and I can’t do anything else on the cases I’m working right now.”
“Ah, I see. Well, if you’re at a standstill, I guess there’s no better time than the present, right?”
“That’s what I was thinking.” She drew in a deep breath through her nose before she continued. “I think I’m ready to do hypnosis again.”
“You think?”
She straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I’m ready.”
“That’s better. The more certain you are, the better hypnosis will work.” He gestured at the sofa. “Would you like to lie down?” She did as he asked as Powell lowered the lights and flipped the switch on the wall beside the dimmer switch. When he noticed her watching him with open interest, he gave her a nod. “I’m sure you know that for legal purposes, I’m not allowed to lock the door. That switch turns on the ‘In Session’ light so no one knocks and yanks you out of your memories.”
“That makes sense.” She folded her hands over her upper abdomen, lacing her fingers together. “I’m ready.”
He took a seat at the leather chair in front of his desk. “I’m within reach if you get scared.”
“Thank you. I know.”
“Good. Then, let’s begin.” His voice was mellow, soothing, and almost without inflection. She clung to it, her body sinking into the sofa cushions as each of her muscles relaxed, and she allowed him to lead her back in time to that night twelve years ago. “We’ll start with what you know. You were alone, it was dark and had just rained. What do you hear?”
Ellie concentrated on listening, and a swishing sound filled the air. “My footsteps echoing around me. It’s creepy, and I feel so alone.”
“Do you smell anything?”
“The rain and something…” She wrinkled her nose as she sniffed. “It’s old garbage.”
“Where is it coming from?”
Ellie turned her head to the right without opening her eyes. The smell grew stronger. “It’s a rolling garbage can at someone’s curb. The lid blew open, and it’s filled with water.”
“Lean into the memory. Focus on the water. What color is it? Is there trash floating on the top?”
“I know what happens next.” Her voice caught, fraught with tension.
“Don’t fixate on that. Look at the garbage can, smell the rain in the air. Feel the breeze. Let your mind linger here for a moment without worrying about what’s next.”
“You sound so far away,” she whispered, trying to keep the whimper out of her voice.
“Good. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
“Need a ride?” The man’s voice startled her.
She turned from the garbage can and glared at the dark car that had rolled up quietly behind her. There were two people in the car, but it was the man in the passenger seat who had rolled down the window to address her.
Her heart rate quickened. She turned, walking away before she answered. “I’m fine.”
“You seem a little young to be out this late. Are you sure you’re all right?” His face was obscured by deep shadows. She squinted into the darkness, but only his mouth was visible.
The car stayed beside her as she walked, its rolling tires peeling over the wet asphalt at a slow, unhurried pace.
Ellie walked faster, fighting the urge to run. If he knew she was scared, he was more likely to attack. Wasn’t that what her parents always told her?
“I’m fine,” she repeated firmly.
“You can use my phone to call your parents if you need to.” He held a cell phone out the window. “Just slide it to unlock.”
“I don’t need to.”
“I can give you a ride. It looks like rain again. You don’
t want to be caught out in this weather.”
“Leave me alone.” Her voice was louder than before. She kept her face forward, her loose curls hiding her face as her eyes darted around, searching for a way out. There had to be somewhere she could run to, where he and the car couldn’t follow.
But as the car stayed beside her, there was nowhere for her to go except for an alley wide enough to let the car follow. Washed clean by the violent storm that had just blown through, the streets were completely empty. She was alone, and every fiber of her being told her she was in trouble.
“It’s cold. Why don’t you get in the car?” He was insistent, but his words held no urgency. It was his calmness that sent shivers up her spine. Was there such a thing as too calm?
“No, thank you.” She quickened her steps.
The warmth and placidity in his voice were gone when he spoke again. “I can take you right here. There’s no one to stop me.”
She stiffened, the promise in his words sending terror through her like an electric shock.
In the next breath, she took off at a run.
The engine revved behind her. Her body pitched forward before she realized that the car had struck her, though she knew intuitively that the driver had been careful to not cause her any harm. The force was still enough to knock her to the ground.
A car door clicked open, and a pair of shiny black shoes appeared beside her. One sharp-edged shoe pressed into the center of her back, shoving her down against the asphalt. Then he was on her before she could even try to struggle up on her hands and knees.
His hands were on her shoulder as she screamed. But her cry for help echoed into the night and faded.
She broke free of his grasp and spun around on the ground with her legs pulled up, ready to kick him.
When their eyes met, she sucked in a panicked breath and let out a quiet moan at the sight before her. Where Dr. Powell’s face had once been, the man’s skin was smooth, devoid of any features at all. Even without lips, he still spoke, wrangling her toward the waiting car and dragging her into the back seat with him.