Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 16
“Just get rid of all of it,” he said.
I want to throw out everything in that room. The bed. The mattress. Even the carpet. I want to strip everything bare. I understand why she lays there like she’s dead. I wouldn’t be able to be in that room either. I keep wondering. Did the baby die in the bed? In the bathtub? Or did it come out in pieces? Some of it left there and some of it left in the drain?
Everything feels contaminated now and it’s still there no matter how much I clean. Nothing bad happens in the house. It’s why the girls never come upstairs until we can be sure they won’t do anything. He never gets rid of the girls here either. All the killing happens outside. That’s how it works. Upstairs is clean.
Now it’s everywhere. I breathe it in. I feel like I’ll choke on it.
I can’t even sleep. All I do is dream about dead babies. They scream at me like they’re being tortured. They won’t leave me alone.
It’s not like I killed the baby. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have anything to do with it, but it still feels like my fault somehow.
Everything is falling apart and slipping away. I feel fractured. I’m trying to follow my routines, but nothing feels right. It’s all slightly off like I’m tilted one degree to the right of my equilibrium spot.
John isn’t any help. I’ve never seen him like this before. He hasn’t said anything about what happened. Nothing. He doesn’t ask about her or me. He hasn’t brought up Paige. He might have even forgotten she’s down there. The poor girl. It’s been over a week since she’s been upstairs. What’s he going to do with her? He never keeps them this long after he’s done with them and she’s been expired for a long time.
None of this makes sense. I don’t know what to do. How can I make things right again?
ELLA
(NOW)
We’re finally leaving. I’m going home. It’s still hard to believe. They gave me a weird boot to help me walk so I don’t have to use my crutches anymore. I keep waiting for someone to come in the room and tell us plans have changed.
Mom spent all morning scurrying around and delivering my flowers to other rooms in the hospital. She doesn’t want to throw them away. She’s taken the cards down from the elaborate collage of well wishes that she taped on the walls and put them in a box to take with us. She’s only halfway through her thank you cards and hasn’t wavered in her commitment to responding to every one. The walls look barren without them. The balloons have all been deflated and carried out with the trash. Our bags are packed. We’re just waiting for Phil to show up because he’s going to escort us home.
Sarah walks in with Randy. I haven’t seen her in a few days. She looks nervous as she stands clutching a small bag close to her. It’s weird to see her dressed in regular clothes. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that are two sizes too big and a pair of flip flops with a big flower on the toe that must be from the gift shop on the second floor. Her t-shirt hugs her small frame. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hi,” she says cautiously.
“Hi,” I respond.
I still can’t believe we’re going to live together. Mom’s talking about enrolling her at my school. She’s been out of school since sixth grade so she’s going to be in special classes and working with a tutor to get her caught up. Mom talks like I’m just supposed to step back into my old life like nothing’s happened. She says the sooner I get back to normal activities; the sooner I’ll start feeling normal again.
Mom arrives within a few minutes. She throws her arms around Sarah and gives her a squeeze. Sarah puts her arms around her like she’s not quite sure what to do with her hands and pats her awkwardly on the back. It’s weird to see them together.
The nurses and doctors all gather for our send off and clap as we walk down the hallway. Mom nestles herself between Sarah and I. FBI agents surround us with one leading the way and others trailing behind. They’re taking us through the back way to an exit in the rear of the hospital, hoping to avoid the media which has kept a dedicated camp outside the hospital along with hundreds of other people obsessed with our story and getting a look at us.
They push open the heavy doors and within seconds, we’re swarmed by microphones, flashing lights, and voices. They stand waving their cameras and microphones in the air like an angry mob at a rock concert. The officers form a protective circle around us, pushing them backward as they press in on us.
“Ella! Ella! Can you tell us where he held you?
“Do you have any suspects in custody?”
“How many girls?”
“How’d you escape?”
The questions surround us, one on top of the other. They fire their questions at us like bullets. I look down, covering my face with my arms. Sarah waves at the crowds, flashing smiles like we’re celebrities on the red carpet. The officers usher us into a large black SUV with tinted windows. I’m breathing hard and my pulse pounds. They swarm the car like bugs, banging on the windows. It’s so loud. There’s arms everywhere. Sarah starts to roll down one of the windows on her side.
“What are you doing?” I yell.
Blake leans over and rolls the window up. The windows and doors lock. I jump at the sound. “Not a good idea,” he says to her.
There’s so many of them. They’re everywhere. The car can’t go anywhere without driving over them. And then I hear it. The sirens. I cover my ears and rock. Randy places her hand on me from the seat behind us.
“Just breathe,” she reminds me. “It’s just the police coming to break up the crowds and escort us out of here.”
I can’t breathe. There’s too many people. Too many lights.
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath. Before long, we’re moving, edging our way through the sea of reporters and people. It takes ten more minutes until my breathing returns to normal and my heart stills. I don’t open my eyes again until we’ve picked up speed and are cruising down the highway. I stare out the windows at rolling canyons and bright red rock formations jutting into the sky. Sweeping views of Simi Valley get further and further behind us as we speed down an expansive five-lane highway.
We’re headed to Los Angeles because we’re flying out of LAX. I always wanted to visit Los Angeles. It was on our list of places to visit, but this isn’t how I imagined doing it. Sarah is staring out the window too, her eyes wide, taking it all in. The driver upfront turns on the radio as we turn onto the next freeway and classical music fills the car.
I freeze.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Sarah screams.
The driver fumbles to turn off the radio.
Mom places her hand on top of mine.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says. “We’ll get through this.”
SARAH
(NOW)
The drive is long and makes me feel sick. Disoriented. There’s too many people in one car. I don’t like it. Ella doesn’t either. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel. She’s been leaning into Jocelyn with her eyes closed for the last hour but I don’t think she’s sleeping. Her body is too stiff.
I watch as we pass through terminals. I’ve never been on a plane before and it makes me nervous. All of this makes me nervous. We drive around lots of loops, each loop making my head spin even more. Finally, the car stops.
Blake comes around and opens all our doors for us. We’re standing on a wide runway with the airport behind us. Planes roar over our head. I cringe. It’s so loud. Everything is so loud. Ella’s covering her ears. Jocelyn holds her up.
There’s a small plane in front of us. We’ve got our own private plane because they didn’t want to put us on a plane with so many people. They’re still trying to keep us a secret, but I’m pretty sure our cover’s blown. I hope the reporters got my picture and flash it on the news. I want John to see where I am. He needs to know I’m still with them. He knows where Ella lives. I wonder how long it will take for him to come get me. I still don’t understand why he didn’t follow through with the plan. I did my part and I have
to trust him to do his. He knows what’s best. He’ll figure this out. He always does. I just have to be patient and stay strong.
A small door opens on the plane and stairs fold down. We trudge up the stairs in a single file line. There’s twelve seats on each side and a tiny aisle down the center. Ella settles in next to Jocelyn. Some of the officers take seats behind her. Everyone is so much nicer to her than they are to me.
“How about here?” Randy points to the seats across from them.
I slide into the cramped space, taking a seat next to the window. The windows are a tiny hole and I can barely see out. Everyone is busy doing something, bustling around the plane. It’s taking forever. The air is stale. There’s a weird whirring fan above my head and I don’t like it. It tickles my neck. I adjust my seatbelt again. It feels too tight. The doors close and we’re sealed in. The plane begins to move. I grip my armrest.
“Are you okay?” Randy asks.
I nod my head, but I’m lying.
Ella begins to whimper. Jocelyn is holding her again, whispering things in her ear. As the plane moves faster and faster, Ella begins to cry harder and louder. The plane picks up even more speed and suddenly, we’re lifted off the ground. Ella starts screaming. I wish she’d shut up. It doesn’t help. Her screaming only makes it worse.
Randy leans over, trying to calm her down, but it’s like she can’t hear anyone. She’s trying to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out. Jocelyn holds her down, but she’s fighting against her. She’s totally losing it.
I feel sick. Everything is moving so fast around me, but I’m still. The pressure of the plane is going to split my body in half. I’m so dizzy. I close my eyes, but it only makes it worse. Nausea assaults me, making me gag.
Randy reaches over and grabs a small brown bag in front of me. She hands it to me. “Are you going to be sick?”
I don’t speak. I’ll puke if I open my mouth. Each one of Ella’s screams makes my stomach heave and my head spin. There isn’t enough air in here. We’re going to run out of air. My stomach heaves again. This time I can’t keep the contents down and I put the bag over my mouth just in time. I wretch again and again. Suddenly, everyone is unclicking their seatbelts and moving fast around me. Some of them are attending to Ella.
“Give her this. Make her take this.”
There’s so many people around her I can’t see what they’re doing.
Randy hands me a pill. “This will help you relax.”
I’m afraid to put anything in my mouth because it might make me throw up again but I do it anyway. She hands me a bottle of water to wash it down. I only take a small sip. My stomach is so weak. I lay my hands on my stomach, trying to calm my twisted insides. I stare straight ahead at the seat in front of me, focusing only on the dirty spot, trying to disappear into it like it’s a black hole. My lids grow heavy. I don’t fight them. I let sleep come.
ELLA
(NOW)
We are finally home. I breathe a sigh of relief that there’s no reporters outside our house. I can’t help but wonder how long it will last. Mom opens the door for our entourage and we step through the door. It’s surreal, like stepping back in time.
The living room is filled with people who shout out, “Welcome home,” instead of Happy Birthday. It stops me in my tracks. There’s balloons and flowers everywhere just like in the hospital. A large banner hangs over the staircase and reads, “Welcome Home Ella and Sarah.”
This isn’t her home. It’s mine.
Everyone cheers and claps, patting each other on the back and hugging like we’re soldiers coming home from war. I scan their faces quickly. Half of my church is here. There’s my Sunday School teacher and the youth pastor from the camp I volunteered with last summer. Some of my teachers from school are huddled by the fireplace. My teammates from cross country are sprinkled throughout the room. Jaycee’s face breaks through the crowd and she runs toward me with her arms out wide. I step back before she can grab me. I don’t know why. I just do it.
She stops. Her face falls in disappointment, but she quickly erases it and replaces it with a smile. “Hi,” she says nervously. “I’m so glad you’re home and safe.” Her eyes fill with big tears as she stares at me.
“Thanks,” I say stiffly like she’s somebody I’m meeting for the first time instead of my best friend since second grade.
Mom moves into the crowd, engulfed by their outpouring of emotion. She’s all smiles, hugs, and tears as she’s passed from person to person. The bodies move together as they celebrate, breaking into groups to let Mom through.
I can’t move from my spot. I look toward Sarah whose taking it all in with me. She looks tired and pale. Her lips are pressed tightly together and she’s wringing her hands in front of her.
Jaycee glances back and forth between us. My eyes slide to the big clock above the fireplace to avoid meeting hers. Naomi and Parker emerge and come stand next to her, linking arms with her. I feel trapped and claustrophobic even though they’re my friends. Jaycee and I were the closest and spent the most time together, but we all ran cross country and took the same honors classes so we hung out a lot. Their faces are perfect, bright, and clean. I never noticed how clear their skin was before and I don’t remember them being so shiny, but they shine now, radiating their innocence. I don’t want them to get too close because if they do, they might catch the disease rotting away my insides.
I have no idea what to say. My mind draws a blank. They don’t know what to say to me either. Naomi coughs, Jaycee focuses intently on picking lint off her shirt, and Parker nervously chews on her fingernails. The silence stretches out between us. It’s so awkward you can feel it.
Sarah finally speaks, easing the tension. “Hi, I’m Sarah.”
“Hi,” they respond in almost perfect unison, eager to have broken the silence.
“How was the flight?” Jaycee asks with too much enthusiasm.
Sarah and I exchange a look.
I shrug. “It was okay.”
Randy said I had a panic attack on the flight. I don’t know what happened. All I know is I felt like I was going to die as soon as the doors closed. There wasn’t enough oxygen and I had the most primal urge to run, but I couldn’t which only increased my fear. Everything spun around me and I almost passed out. They had to give me drugs to make it stop.
“Everyone is so glad you’re back,” Jaycee says, tentatively. “Everyone keeps texting me and asking if you’re here yet.”
I force a smile. It doesn’t feel right on my face.
Mom comes up to us, her face flushed and cheeks wet with spent tears. She tries to scoop all of us up in an overgrown group hug. “Girls, why don’t you go into the kitchen and get something to eat?”
The thought of eating turns my stomach, but I follow everyone into the kitchen. It’s hard to walk with my boot, but at least it’s easier than the crutches. Our small kitchen is covered with food crammed in every possible space. The counters are lined with casseroles and salads. The table is littered with more desserts than you’d find at a buffet. Jaycee, Parker, and Naomi grab a paper plate and start working their way through the food, piling their plates high. They look grateful to have something to do.
Sarah’s eyeing the food. Mom told me she threw up on the plane and I can’t imagine she feels like eating any more than I do. I pick up a plate and hand her one. Her face pales. We follow the three girls, but only fill our plates enough to be polite.
There’s no room to sit at the kitchen table so we head back into the living room. Jaycee moves us through the crowd and I keep my head down. Everyone reaches out to touch me as I walk through and I cringe with each soft pat on the back or rub on my arm. It’s a sea of arms reaching out to me like zombies and I have to bite my cheek to keep from yelling at them not to touch me. Whoever was sitting on the couch, jumps up and makes room for us.
Sarah and I sit next to each other on the lumpy brown couch we’ve had since I was in fourth grade. We balance our plates on our laps. The ot
hers surround the old trunk we use as a coffee table and sit on the floor cross-legged. Jaycee, Parker, and Naomi dig into their food immediately. They giggle and laugh, talking about school and the upcoming student council elections. Everyone is staring at us but trying not to and they’re constantly moving like they’ve forgotten how to stand still. They extend smiles toward me with tearful faces. The room is filled with excited chatter, but it makes my head buzz.
All of it hurts. Their kindness. The voices. The laughter. The sounds of people chewing. I can hear them swallowing their food. The lights hurt my eyes. They’re too bright. My body is uncomfortable. It doesn’t fit on the couch. People are behind me and I can’t stand them behind me, breathing down my neck. My heart races and my palms sweat against the plate I’m trying to keep from falling off my lap. The air starts to leave like it did on the plane and I’m gripped with fear. I don’t want to lose it in front of them. I’m spinning again. I can’t take it. I set my plate on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I hear myself saying, not connected to my voice. I push my way through the crowd. I hit the stairs and grip the rail to keep from falling as I stumble up the stairs to get to my room and away from it all.
ELLA
(THEN)
Sarah peeks her head in my door.
“Do you want to come watch TV with me?” she asks.
I look at her in disbelief. She’s never asked me to do anything with her. She only lets me out of the room to go to the bathroom. Why is she being nice to me?
“Um, sure?” It comes out sounding like a question.
I get up slowly. It still hurts to stand. I shuffle into the bathroom to change my pad first. I don’t want to bleed on any of his things. I don’t think the bleeding is ever going to stop. I wash my hands when I’m finished, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror like I always do.
I walk over to join her in the living room. I’ve never been in the living room before. We only walk through it on the way to the bedroom. Like every other room in the house, it’s designed to perfection, like a staged home, and there’s nothing personal about it. Nothing sentimental. No pictures. Nothing on the walls. The only thing hinting at comfort is the white sheepskin rug on the floor, but it’s so clean it’s hard to imagine anyone has ever walked on it. I’m nervous to sit on any of the furniture in case my blood seeps through. I dismiss the two stiff-back upholstered chairs next to the fireplace and settle on the long L-shaped couch. It’s big enough to hold ten people. I sit at one end and Sarah sits at the other. It’s not a couch you can sink into. It’s stiff and doesn’t give in to my weight.