Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 17

  A large flat screen TV hangs above the fireplace and it feels surreal as she flips through the channels. I eye her cautiously. Why is she doing this? I stare at the blinking light directly above the TV. It’s like he’s staring right at us. What’s he going to say when he finds out she let me out of the room to watch TV with her? Maybe he told her to do it. I scan the room to make sure we’re alone.

  “What do you like to watch?” she asks.

  It takes me by surprise. I haven’t thought of TV in months. I can’t think of a single show. I used to watch TV, but all my memories have vaporized.

  “Um, we can just watch whatever you want to watch,” I say.

  She flicks through some more channels before settling on Gilmore Girls.

  “I know it’s old, but I just love this show,” she says.

  “That’s cool,” I respond like what’s happening is perfectly normal.

  What’s Paige doing downstairs? Is there somebody else down there with her now? Does she know I’m still up here? Is she okay? Does she think I’m dead?

  “How’s Paige?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I brought her down her food this morning. She’s pretty bored.”

  I take a chance. I might not have another one.

  “Can I talk to her?” I ask.

  She crinkles her face. “Why?”

  “I just want to let her know I’m okay.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I don’t push. I settle back on the couch, but I can’t get comfortable. I can’t ever get comfortable anymore. The only time I feel good is when I’m asleep. I think about the wine in the cupboard and how good it would taste. I miss the way it made me feel.

  “Do you think I could have something to drink?” I ask timidly.

  “No,” she snaps.

  I fold my hands in my lap, trying to look casual but something is wrong. They have to be planning something. I scan the room, searching for John or other signs of what’s to come.

  “He’s not here,” she says as if she can read my mind. “If he was, we wouldn’t be sitting here watching TV.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I study her face as she stares at the TV, trying to decide if she’s telling the truth or not. She looks dazed like she’s watching the screen without seeing anything happening. She looks unnerved. I’ve never seen her this way.

  And then it hits me—he’s not here. It’s just us.

  I don’t think. There’s no plan. No forethought. I just get up and start moving toward the glass door.

  “What are you doing?” She sits up straight.

  I don’t say anything. Just keep stepping toward the door, gauging her response.

  “Don’t even think about it.” She jumps up and runs to block the door. “There’s an alarm, you idiot.”

  I stop in front of her. “So what? I’ll be gone before he gets here.”

  She shakes her head. “No, you won’t. He’s five minutes away.”

  “I run fast.” I don’t know how I’ll run when it hurts to walk, but I have to try. I might never get another chance.

  Her eyes dare me to move. “Do you know how far the gate is?”

  “I can make it,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “Now move.” I try to move around her. She plants herself and stretches her arms out even more.

  “There’s dogs out there. He’s not lying. I’ve seen them.” Her eyes are wild.

  “You’ve been outside?” I can’t hide my shock or disdain. I thought she was locked in here with us, but she goes out into the world? Any hope I had that she might be a nice person evaporates. She’s just like him. She’s as evil as he is. Rage seethes through me.

  I shove her. She stumbles but stays rooted in front of the door.

  “Don’t. Don’t do it.” She shakes her head like a mad dog.

  My insides are on fire, but I ignore them and push past the pain. We wrestle in front of the door, vying for control of the handle. I take my elbow and slam it into her gut as hard as I can. She falls back and in that second, I grip the doorknob and twist. The alarm wails. I sprint like a gun has just gone off.

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything else?” Jocelyn asks. They have an old-fashioned wooden futon that she opened up and made into a bed for me. She keeps fluffing my pillows, bringing the blankets up, and tucking them underneath me. “I’m sorry you don’t have your own bedroom.”

  “It’s okay,” I assure her.

  Their house is small and only has three rooms. One is Ella’s and the other is hers. The third bedroom is a combination guest room, office, and storage space. There’s stuff everywhere. An entire wall is covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that are so full books are shoved on top of other books on the shelves. An old pine desk is wedged in one corner with stacks of paper on top and the other corner is filled with boxes marked Christmas decorations and Goodwill. Ella’s diplomas, stretching from kindergarten through middle school, are framed and fill the center wall. With the futon unfolded, the space is so tight, you can barely walk through to get to the door.

  “I didn’t know I’d be bringing anyone home with us or I would’ve cleaned up in here. I’m sorry it’s such a mess.” She wipes her hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

  “You don’t have to keep apologizing. It’s fine. Really.”

  She’s so nervous and jittery around me. She second-guesses everything she does. There’s been so many times today that she reached toward me like she wanted to touch me, but she didn’t know where to touch me or if I wanted it so she just let her hand drop.

  “Now, I’m in the room next to you and Ella is at the end of the hall if you need anything. Anything at all. Don’t worry about waking me up.” The crow’s feet deepen around her eyes when she smiles. “I probably won’t be sleeping anyway. I’ll be a nervous wreck checking on you girls all night long.” She points to the only window in the room, its blinds tightly drawn. “It doesn’t matter that they’re out there, I’m not going to feel safe until he’s behind bars.”

  There’s a squad car parked in front of the house. There’s going to be someone there 24/7. Randy is staying in a hotel room close by and Blake is in the living room. Jocelyn made a bed up for him on the couch, but I’m not sure he plans on sleeping.

  She pats the blankets again. “Oh, and I set a glass of water on the desk for you too. Just in case.” She anxiously looks around the room.

  “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Thank you for being so nice to me.”

  She’s the kindest person I’ve ever met. Her eyes are so soft and warm she reminds me of an innocent puppy. Her friends were as nice as she is. After Ella went upstairs, they approached me one by one and introduced themselves. I let them hug me even though they’re strangers because they seemed like they really wanted to. Some of them cried. All of them told me they wanted to help me in any way they could and said they’d be praying for me. It feels nice to have people care about me.

  After telling me about the nightlights in the hallway and that she had a sleeping pill for me if I couldn’t sleep for the third time, Jocelyn tiptoed out of the room and shut the door softly behind her. I listen to the sound of her footsteps down the hallway.

  “Ella? Ella? Can I come in?” She’s whispering but I can still hear her because our rooms are so close together.

  Ella never came back downstairs. She stayed in her room for the rest of the night, refusing to see anyone. Not even her friends. I remember hearing about Jaycee. She used to talk to Paige about her all the time. I thought her friends would leave when she did, but they stayed close to me.

  “Is it really weird for you to be here?” Parker, the one with the freckles sprinkled across her face, asked. She reminded me of a Strawberry Shortcake doll with her matching red hair and round face.

  Jaycee slapped her arm playfully. “Of course it is.”

  She blushe
d. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”

  I smiled. “No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. And yes, everything about this is weird.”

  They all giggled nervously.

  Parker tried again. “Are you going to go to our school?”

  “I think so.”

  “We’ll help you at school if you need it. Some of the girls can be kind of mean,” Jaycee said.

  Everyone had been so kind and it didn’t seem like they were faking it. I hated all the questions in the hospital, but I answered theirs all night long. It was much easier. They seemed genuinely interested in me and besides, their questions weren’t about what happened at John’s house. They wanted to know what I liked—food, music, movies, and books.

  It was hard to know what to say because I don’t know what I like. I’m not sure I even know who I am. Maybe I’ve never known. I like what John says I like. I do what John says is acceptable for me. And before that? I never had a choice either.

  SARAH

  (THEN)

  She opens the door and runs, hurtling herself down the stairs and into the vast darkness. I slam the door, locking it tightly. I’m frozen to my spot. The alarms scream. They’re so loud. I cover my ears.

  “He’ll be here soon. He’ll be here soon,” I chant out loud.

  I imagine the dogs grabbing her, tearing apart her flesh with their sharp teeth. What will he do when he finds her running through the yard? She’s never going to make it. Not in the condition she’s in. It’s too far and there’s no way she’s getting over that gate.

  Sickening dread covers me. He’s going to blame this on me because I let her out of the room and it’s against the rules. In all of our years together, I’ve never broken the rules. I can’t see outside. It’s too dark. There’s no lights. I strain to hear the sounds of the dogs, his voice, or hers, but all I hear is the alarms screeching.

  How long do I wait? How long has it been? We’ve been through this scenario before, but only in practice. He’s told me what to do. We rehearsed it. How much time?

  I race into the kitchen. I stare at the clock on the microwave: 6:47.

  He’ll be here. He’ll be here before I have to do it. I don’t want to do it.

  I love this house. It’s the only home I’ve ever had.

  And what about Paige?

  I can’t do it again. I still dream about Tiffany. Her screams jolt me awake. It doesn’t matter where I sleep, she comes to find me there. I’ve relived that moment over and over again. I can’t do it again.

  John, where are you?

  I stare at the digits: 6:47.

  They’re not moving. They’re laughing in my face. Mocking me.

  He’ll be here soon. He’s just outside taking care of Ella. Poor Ella. I feel sorry for her and the baby. Nobody should have to live through that. Nobody. I hope it’s painless for her. Quick. It will have to be because he has to move fast. Unless he brings her back into the house.

  He can’t bring her back into the house. She’ll tell him everything. She’ll tell him I was the one who let her out. He can’t know that. He can never know that. I’ll tell him I let her out to go to the bathroom and that’s when she did it, but he’s going to see I let her watch TV when he reviews the video. What am I going to say then? Is there any way to erase the video? Where is he?

  6:48

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  I don’t have time to think. I just run. I jump down the stairs, furtively looking around for the dogs. I don’t see them. My feet hit the pavement and I sprint faster than any race I’ve ever been in. I hear them first, before I see them, but I don’t waste time looking behind me. I just keep running.

  There’s a gate in front of me. My lungs are on fire. I ignore them. I look over my shoulder just as one of the dogs catches me and snags my sweatpants. I twist, leaving a piece of my sweatpants in his teeth. He whips it around like it’s alive. The other one is behind him, snarling, baring its teeth at me.

  I stop.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster. I’m inching backward now. Slowly. Step by painful step. Everything hurts. I ignore the pain. The first one tosses my pant leg aside, bored with it. He’s realized there’s no flesh. They’re both walking toward me now, eyes glowing yellow in the dark and teeth bared.

  I will myself to stay calm and rational. Think. Breathe. They’re only dogs. Just dogs. They’re not monsters.

  “Hi, I’m Ella.” I keep my eyes focused on them. They’re eyeing me cautiously. I smack into metal. I’m pinned against a wall. “Shh, shhh. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.”

  It’s just like other runs. I’ve had dogs chase me before. It’s just like other runs.

  The other one hears something and takes off barking and running in the opposite direction. I breathe a sigh of relief at my good fortune. I finger the material behind me. It’s smooth. Flat. Cold and hard. I’ve made it to the gate. I frantically feel for anything I can grab or step on. I need something to help me scale the wall. There’s nothing. It’s slippery smooth.

  I don’t dare sneak a look behind me. I crouch down slightly, forcing myself to be still even though my muscles are straining to run. I stick out my hand only through the greatest exertion of will. “Shh... Shh... it’s okay. It’s okay.”

  He steps cautiously toward me and sniffs my hand. I hold my breath. He’s got to smell the fear oozing out of me. He moves past my hand and begins circling me, sniffing all over. I start edging my way along the wall. I stay flat, only taking small shuffling sideways steps, holding back the urge to sprint. It’s only a matter of time before the other one returns, or worse—John.

  We move around the gate, the huge house always in front of us, the focal point of our circle. This place is huge. I keep moving. Step. Shuffle. Step. Shuffle.

  “Easy boy, easy,” I say with each movement.

  He’s following me cautiously, still not sure what he wants to do with me.

  I spot a tree. It’s not next to the gate, but it’s close enough that some of the branches tower over the gate. I edge my way toward it. I don’t take my eyes off the dog as I slowly wrap my arms around the base of the trunk. It’s so wide, they can’t encircle it. He growls. I start to hoist myself up.

  I look away for a second and that’s when he pounces. His teeth sink into my calf. Searing pain shoots through my body. I scream. I twist. He holds on. He’s not letting go. I scream again. I scramble up the tree, kicking my leg. It does no good. My muscles rip and tear apart. I clench my teeth, forcing myself to stay conscious. The weight of him is so heavy.

  I grab onto the branch above me and tear off a long stick. I strike him on the top of his head. It doesn’t faze him. I scream and try to stab his eyes. I stab again and again. Finally, I connect. He yelps and lets go.

  I scramble up the tree, ignoring the blinding pain in my leg. I climb higher and higher. He’s at the base yelping and barking. The other dog joins him. I keep going, crawling out on one of the large branches extending toward the gate. I shimmy along carefully. It’s high. I don’t look down. I focus on getting closer to the gate. Nothing else. Soon, I’m above the gate. The edge is skinny. It’s too narrow to jump on. I pull myself to crouching position, steadying myself. If I fall backward, I’m dead in the yard.

  I take one last look behind me and then pitch myself forward. My wrist snaps as I hit the ground. I hear the bone break. Mind-numbing pain. White spots flash on and off in front of me. Hard concrete underneath me.

  I’m over the wall. I’m the over the wall.

  I force myself to stand, holding my wrist against my side limply. I clench my teeth together and move, hobbling down the street. There’s headlights in the distance. I run to the side of the road and throw myself into the ditch. I tumble down. The road is too dangerous. He might be up there. I start to crawl. I have to keep moving. Just keep moving.

  ELLA

  (NOW)

  They refuse to leave me alone. They�
�ve been coming up to my room all morning. Mom twice. Randy once. I don’t want to, but I force myself to get out of bed. Last night, I got to sleep in my own clothes. My favorite pajamas hung on me, I’ve lost so much weight. I had to flip over the elastic waist to keep them from sliding down. I slip on my track hoodie and pull it up over my head, stuff my hands in the front pocket, and shuffle down the stairs.

  Mom, Randy, and Sarah are already in the kitchen. It’s disorienting to see them in my house. Randy and Mom look up at me. Sarah stares into her mug.

  “Finally, sleepyhead,” Mom exclaims. “Are you hungry?”

  I shake my head.

  “But you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. I can make oatmeal.”

  I turn up my nose.

  “Or toast with peanut butter? Cereal?”

  “I said I’m not hungry.” It comes out sounding angry even though I didn’t want it to.

  I walk to the coffee maker and pour myself a cup. I join them at the table, staring at the refrigerator. My report card from last semester is still hanging there with my cross country schedule next to it. Both are hung with the magnets I made in elementary school with polymer clay. One says Home Sweet Home. The other is supposed to be a flower but looks more like a dilapidated windmill. Mom’s had them for so long the colors are fading.

  “How are you feeling?” Randy asks.