Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 18

  I shrug.

  “Did you sleep okay?” she asks.

  “I guess,” I say.

  I wouldn’t call what I did sleeping. Half the time I couldn’t tell if I was asleep or awake. Every sound sent me into a panic. I don’t remember our house being so noisy but it creaked all night long. I heard every car driving down our road and the slightest rustle outside of my window sent me into a frenzied search for something out there. I must’ve looked out the window at least five times.

  “Blake and Phil are on their way,” Mom says.

  As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door.

  I jump.

  Mom lets them in. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  They each hold up travel mugs from Starbucks. Mom ushers them into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything to eat?”

  They decline. Mom bustles around the kitchen, wiping off the counters and putting the dishes away from whatever food people ate last night. Sarah jumps up to help. She walks over to the sink and grabs the towel draped over the stove. She picks up a dish and starts drying it.

  Mom grabs the towel from her hand. “Oh sweetie, thanks for your help, but that’s fine. It’s okay. I’ve got this. Why don’t you take a seat? The detectives want to talk to you girls.”

  The kitchen is cramped with too many people, but its where we’ve always had our important conversations. Randy gets up, giving her seat at the table to Phil. Blake motions to Randy and they step into the living room and speak to each other in hushed whispers.

  All I could think about in the basement was going back home and getting back to my life like the basement was a bad dream and I’d wake up from it like you wake up from all your bad dreams, especially the really bad ones—sweaty, heart pounding, breathing hard, and scanning the room to see if the bad guy is still there. You breathe a sigh of relief and slowly relax once you realize the nightmare is over. But this nightmare is never going to be over.

  Phil wastes no time getting down to business. “We have some news on the case.” He gives all of us a moment to prepare ourselves before continuing. Mom grips the countertop. “The remains found at the crime scene have been positively identified as Paige. Her family was notified last night. It won’t be long until the media gets wind of it and we wanted you to hear it from us first.”

  “No!” Sarah cries.

  I whip my head to face her. “Why do you even care?”

  “Because...” she stammers. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Because I do.”

  “Ella, that’s not nice,” Mom says to me in the same voice she used when I was a little girl and didn’t want to share my toys with someone I was playing with.

  “Nice? I’m not nice?” I point to Sarah. “Do you know how mean she was to us?”

  Randy interjects, “When young girls are victimized, they often do whatever they need to in order to survive the situation. It doesn’t always make sense, but whatever Sarah did, she did it to survive.”

  “Seriously? She helped him. For years. She never stopped him.”

  I want to slap the tears off her face. How dare she cry for Paige now?

  Mom rushes to her side and puts her arms around her. Sarah buries her face in her shoulder. I jump up and slam my chair into the table. The coffee mugs shake. I turn to Phil. He hasn’t moved. He’s watching the events unfold around him, observing us like a scientist.

  “Did she burn?” I ask.

  “We’re unsure how she died, but yes, her body was burned. We don’t know if she was dead prior to the fire or if it was the fire that killed her.” He struggles to keep the emotion out of his voice.

  I’m sick to my stomach. This is all my fault. Blame washes over me. I did this. All of it.

  SARAH

  (THEN)

  6:57

  He’s not back. He’s supposed to be back and he’s not back. I have to do it. I don’t want to do it, but I promised him I would. I promised him if it ever came down to this, I’d do it.

  I walk slowly into his office. I open his laptop on his desk as if I’m in a trance. I log in with the password he gave me years ago. For a while, he quizzed me on it every night. I watch as my fingers type it in. I go to the folder and open the program. The display opens up. All I have to do is push the button now.

  My heart is pounding. Images of Paige lying downstairs on her cot flash through my mind uninvited. She’s probably curled up reading a book. Something she’s already read three times. She has no idea what’s happening up here or what’s about to happen to her.

  I couldn’t save Tiffany. It had to be done. But I can save Paige. I can.

  I race back out of the office and down the hallway to the basement. I tug on the door. It’s locked tight. Of course it’s locked. He never leaves it open and I don’t have the access code. It’s the one thing he never gave me. He always refused. She can’t even hear me if I called out to her and gave her some kind of warning. I could press the intercom, but what would I say? Paige, you’re about to die. And then what? Maybe it’s better that I can’t warn her.

  I slide down on the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Where is he? Why isn’t he coming? None of this makes sense. The alarm wails. I stare at the front door, gaping open. I could just follow Ella. I could try to run too. But there’s no place for me to run. I have nowhere to go. I shake off the thoughts, beating myself up for being weak. He chose me because I’m strong. I can do things other people can’t. I have to be strong and if I don’t follow through, he won’t take me with him when he comes back. He’ll never trust me again.

  I walk slowly back to the office. The system is still blinking at me, asking me the question. All I have to do is click yes and it’ll be done. Over the years, the girls have always argued over stories they’ve heard about the walls being wired with bombs. I would never give them a definite answer, but the truth is—yes, they’re wired. They’re programmed to explode.

  I click yes.

  Instantly, a loud boom like a firecracker goes off downstairs. I run for the door and race down the stairs to the driveway.

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  Part of me wants to stop because the pain is so intense. I can’t even tell where it’s coming from anymore. Everything hurts. I pause to catch my breath and then force myself to keep crawling. It feels like I’ve been crawling for hours in this ditch, but I can’t go on the road. It’s too risky.

  And then I see a gate. Another barricaded home. I can barely walk as I emerge from the side of the road, frantically searching and scanning for any headlights. There’s an intercom on the side of the gate. I press it. My fingers are caked with dirt.

  Nothing.

  I press it again.

  Nothing.

  Then, I start frantically pressing it over and over again so close together nobody has a chance to respond.

  “Help! Somebody help me! Help!” I scream so loudly it hurts my throat.

  Finally, there’s a voice. Not from the intercom but from behind the gate.

  “What’s going on?” a male voice demands.

  “Please, please, you have to help me.” I’m sobbing through my screams.

  “Miss, are you okay? What’s going on?” He still doesn’t open the gate.

  I pound on it with my fists. “Please! Hurry! He’s going to come. He’s going to find me! You have to let me in. Help me!”

  The gate slowly opens inward. I race inside. A tall man stands staring at me. He’s holding a flash light and stares at me in bewilderment.

  “Shut the gate! Shut it!”

  “Miss, what’s going on?” He moves toward me.

  I collapse in front of him.

  When I open my eyes, there’s a police officer shining a flashlight into my eyes. The man is off to the side talking to the man. I grab the police officer’s arm, clutching on to him. “Please, please help me. He’s coming. He’s coming.”

  “Who’s coming? What’s your name?” he asks.

&
nbsp; “Ella. I’m Ella Stevenson. He kidnapped me.”

  He stares at me for a moment. “Wait here.”

  He walks over to his partner. I curl myself into a ball. Sirens are in the distance. They’re getting closer. He walks back over with his partner.

  “Ella, the paramedics are on their way. You’re safe now. We’re going to help you,” he says. “I’m just going to put you in the back of my car until they get here.”

  ELLA

  (NOW)

  I am a murderer. I killed a baby and I killed Paige. It doesn’t matter how many times Mom comes in my room and tries to comfort me or Randy says none of this is my fault. Their words don’t reach me and even if they did, they don’t have any meaning. They don’t know the truth.

  Mom and everyone still thinks John butchered my insides to get rid of the baby. They don’t know it was me and for some reason, Sarah hasn’t told them. She’s keeping the secret too. And yes, I didn’t pull the trigger to blow up the basement, but I might as well. I knew that trying to escape put her in danger. It put all of us in danger. I hoped we’d all get out, but there was always the possibility they wouldn’t, and I chose myself. I killed Paige to save myself.

  They’re meeting downstairs again. Everyone split into different rooms. They’re on a rampage to find John since he’s moved from a kidnapper to a murderer. Blake’s got Sarah cornered in the living room unleashing rapid-fire questions like he does. Phil’s in the kitchen with Mom combing through my Facebook and Instagram accounts for what seems like the hundredth time. I can’t stand to look at those pictures anymore. The smiles. The brightness. The happiness. I look so innocent and pure. Untainted.

  People keep stopping by. I hear the knocks at the door continually and Mom’s voice greeting and inviting them inside. They keep bringing us food like she forgot how to cook.

  It’s been like this for the last three days. I haven’t gotten out of bed other than to use the bathroom since the news about Paige. I haven’t showered or eaten. I just lay here in nothingness, staring at my bedroom wall. I’ve unplugged my brain, detached it completely. I lay for hours drifting into sleep. I wake up crying just so I can cry myself back to sleep again.

  Mom keeps trying to get me up. Come downstairs. Eat. Do something. Anything.

  But I just can’t.

  It’s like when John first started raping me. I gave up. It wasn’t a decision or anything I thought about. It just sucked all the life out of me. It’s the same way now. There’s no reason to get up.

  Mom loves me and hates seeing me like this. I wish I could change it. At least for her sake, but I can’t. She touches me like I’m made of glass and if she pushes too hard, I’ll break. But I’m already broken. Irreparably broken. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes that.

  SARAH

  (THEN)

  I watch as the rest of the house goes up in flames. There’s so much smoke. Flames leap out every window. Every now and then, the firecracker sound. Something else exploding. The heat scorches my face. It’s so hot. The flames dance toward the sky. Billows of smoke.

  Still no John. Where is he? He’s supposed to be here by now. We’re supposed to be gone. On our way to a faraway country with new names and identities. That’s what he said. What he promised. I refuse to believe he’s not coming back to get me. Something just went wrong. He wouldn’t leave me. I’m too important to him. He needs me.

  The sirens are getting closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed the smoke no matter how faraway the neighbors might be. They’re outside the gates yelling at each other. More sirens. More voices. There’s a loud crash followed by others. I watch as the gate comes down. They bash it with huge clubs and axes. Once they have a small opening, they drive one of the fire trucks right through it, ripping the gate to shreds and scraping their truck as they plunge through.

  I can’t move. I stand watching them as they move into action. They’re scrambling around like ants, winding and unwinding, jumping, running. Everywhere. They’re everywhere.

  A man runs up to me. He says nothing, just grabs my arms and throws me over his shoulders like I weigh nothing. He carries me down the driveway and sets me down.

  “Is anyone else inside?” he asks.

  I shake my head, too afraid to speak.

  “Do you live here?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Who lives here with you?”

  “Just me and my dad,” I respond exactly like he told me to.

  “And your dad isn’t in the house? Are you sure?” His walkie-talkie cackles.

  “Yes, I’m sure. He’s at work. He should be here soon.”

  He has to be here soon. He promised. The ambulance arrives and the paramedics rush to surround me. They strap an oxygen mask on my face, but I swat it off. I don’t need oxygen. They start trying to put me on a stretcher.

  “Wait, what are you doing? Where are we going?” My voice is frantic.

  The EMT responds. “We’re taking you to the hospital. It’s standard procedure. We need to get you checked out.”

  “No. I don’t want to go. Please, I have to wait here for my dad.” I swing my legs over the stretcher about to jump down. He stops me and pushes me back on the stretcher.

  “Your dad can meet us at the hospital. You need to come with us. We have to get you out of here. It’s not safe.”

  “No!” I’m yelling now. I can’t help myself. They can’t take me with them. This isn’t part of the plan. I’m supposed to wait. He’s supposed to come get me. “No! John!” I scream louder each time I say his name.

  They start putting straps around me. Just like the basement. I’m trapped. Everything is moving so fast. They can’t take me away. They can’t. They lift and slide me into the back of the ambulance. The doors slams shut behind us.

  “Just try to calm down. Everything is going to be okay,” he says.

  “John!”

  ELLA

  (NOW)

  Mom and Randy are outside my door again. They think I can’t hear them, but I can even though they’re trying to whisper.

  “If you rush her, it will only hurt her. It might make her withdraw even more into herself,” Randy whispers. “We might not be able to pull her back. We don’t want that to happen. Just go downstairs. Let me check on her.”

  I can’t hear Mom’s response. In a few seconds, I hear footsteps walking away. Then, a knock at the door. It’s Randy’s voice.

  “Ella? Is it okay if I come in?”

  I say nothing.

  She comes in anyway. She walks over to the space between my bed and the wall. She plops down on the floor so she’s eye level with me. Her breath in my face smells like hamburger and cheese. I want to gag.

  “I just wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”

  I stare at her without really seeing her and don’t bother to respond. I wish they’d all quit asking me how I’m doing.

  “I’m worried about you.” Her face tenses, drawing wrinkles in her forehead. “I know you’re going through a lot right now and it’s probably difficult to share with your mom what it’s like because I know how much you love her and want to protect her, but you can tell me. There’s nothing you can say to me that would surprise or shock me. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”

  My pain is too big for words. Silence stretches out between us. Mom can’t handle it when I don’t say anything and eventually, she just starts rambling. But not Randy. She sits patiently, waiting for me to talk, but I can’t.

  “I imagine you feel very alone right now and I just want to be here for you in whatever way I can.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Why don’t we try something small?” She puts her arm on the bed next to me and sticks out her pinkie. “How about you see if you can just hold my pinky?”

  I don’t move.

  She wiggles it in front of me. “Come on. It’s just a pinky. You can hold a pinky.”

  I stick out my hand and link my pinky with hers. The human cont
act makes me start to cry. She doesn’t move to hug me or tell me it’s going to be okay like Mom does. She’s just there while I weep quietly.

  “I know it’s tough having Sarah here,” Randy says softly, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t want you to think I’m saying anything bad about your mom because she’s a great person and has a huge heart. She loves you so much and when she looks at Sarah, all she can think about is how much she would want someone to help you if the situation was reversed. I understand why she feels that way. She comes from a sweet place and just wants to help, but remember how I advised against this in the hospital?”

  I nod.

  She continues. “This is why. I was afraid having Sarah in your home would affect you like this. It must feel like you’re being violated all over again and in the space that was the most sacred to you.”

  “I hate it.” I almost choke on the words. “I hate it so much. I can’t stand that she’s here. I can’t get away from her. She’s everywhere. Sitting on my stuff. Eating our food. Having coffee with my mom. Seeing the way she acts with my mom is the worst.”

  Randy’s eyes fill with compassion. “Sarah is a victim too and needs help as much as you do, but it doesn’t mean putting the two of you together is the best solution.”

  “Everyone looks at her like she’s this sweet innocent victim, but she isn’t. She chose to be there. Chose it.” I don’t know why it’s so hard for everyone to see that.

  “I don’t expect Sarah’s behavior to make sense to you, but it’s very common for girls like her who are abducted so young to act the way she did. To help their captors. Even love them. However, I want you to know that it’s okay to feel whatever you need to feel about her right now, even hate her if you need to. There’s nothing wrong with your feelings.” She lays her chin on the bed. “Are you hearing what I’m saying?”

  “I am.” I force a smile.

  “Good.” She looks pleased. “I’m sorry that she’s here and that your mom didn’t listen to you about it or respect your wishes.”