Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 20

  “You look pretty,” Jocelyn says when she sees me.

  I look away, feeling self-conscious that she noticed.

  “I know you don’t have much to wear and I promise we’re going to take care of that soon. My friend Greta is organizing a clothing drive for you and she dropped this off for you earlier today.” She hands me a dress on a hanger. It’s a cotton dress with a floral print. There’s a soft white sweater to wear over it. “What size shoes do you wear?”

  My cheeks flush with heat. “I don’t know.”

  I haven’t worn a pair of shoes in years.

  “Well, why don’t you put the dress on and I’ll go dig around in my closet to see what I can find?”

  I step out of my jeans and t-shirt after she leaves and slip the dress over my head. I slide the sweater on and breathe a sigh of relief that it reaches my wrists so it hides my scars but the dress only reaches mid-thigh and there’s no way to hide the ones on my legs. I put my jeans on underneath the dress.

  Jocelyn returns and looks at me oddly when she sees the jeans. “Honey, why don’t you take the jeans off? I think it will look better that way.”

  Ella hates it when she calls her anything sweet. She yells at her every time she does, but I don’t mind. I like it. It makes me feel special.

  I hang my head. “I don’t want people to see my scars.”

  The color drains from her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What did he do to you?” She clamps her hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I asked you that. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. Really, it just popped out. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I don’t like seeing her so uncomfortable. I push the sleeves of the sweater up and hold my arms out to her. She fingers the scars as her face crinkles in sadness.

  “He is such a monster.” She sucks in her breath.

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t him.”

  She looks at me in bewilderment.

  “My dad was the one. He... he...” I clear my throat. I’ve never told anyone what he did to me. “He liked to torture me when he was high. His favorite game was to hold cigarettes next to my skin and see how long I could last. I got really good at it.”

  Tears drip down her face. She pulls me close to her, hugging me tightly against her body. She kisses the top of my head and rubs my back. I let her safety envelop me and sink into it. Too soon, she pulls away and kisses me on the forehead.

  “Let me see if I can find you something else,” she says, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

  She scurries out of the room and comes back with a yellow blouse. “Here. I think this will look pretty with your jeans and the sweater.”

  She turns around while I change and hands me a pair of black flats when I finish. I slide my feet into them. They’re a little big, but they’ll work.

  “You look pretty,” she says.

  I don’t feel pretty. I feel like I’m wearing a costume. The clothes are tight and they itch, but I try to hide my discomfort because I don’t want Jocelyn to feel bad.

  We head downstairs. Blake and Phil are waiting for us, but Ella still isn’t ready. She doesn’t want to come but Jocelyn insisted. She finally appears and Jocelyn rushes to the end of the stairs to meet her.

  “You look beautiful,” she gushes.

  Unlike me, she can’t hide her scars. Her bruises have gone from purple and red to greens and yellows. The greens and yellows look even more hideous. She hasn’t shaved her head since the first time she did it and it looks like she has a buzz cut now. Short stubble all over her head. She’s wearing a long skirt since jeans don’t fit over her bandages. It will be another two weeks before her staples get taken out. She glares at Jocelyn and I want to shake her. She could at least try to be nice to her mom. She doesn’t even try.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Jocelyn says.

  Phil and Blake surround us as we walk out the door just in case any media is around. They camp out during the day, but they clear out as soon as the sun sets. We pile into the same black SUV that we rode from the airport. We even have the same driver. This time he doesn’t make the mistake of turning on the radio.

  Jocelyn chatters away, filling up the silence but I’m not listening. I stare out the windows trying to catch a glimpse of where we’re at. I felt so sick on the drive here, I wasn’t able to pay much attention. The tree-lined streets are filled with a jumble of different style houses ranging from bungalows to modern mountain homes. The yards are neatly manicured and most of the homes have two cars in the driveway. The streets are nestled between mountains lining all sides, their tips covered in snow. All of it looks like it belongs on a postcard. It doesn’t take long until we reach the main streets where the residential areas give way to mom-and-pop restaurants and specialty shops. We pass a large fountain as we round a corner before coming to a stop at a red light.

  Jocelyn leans forward and squeezes my knee. “This is the only light in town. It was a big deal when they put it up.”

  I smile back at her as we pull into the parking lot of a large, brick church. The sign in front reads: Christ Community Church. The only time I’ve ever been to church was when we would go to the one on 42nd street for the free meals, but they never let anyone inside the church. They had tables and food set up in the parking lot and we filed through. There were always fights over who took too much and somebody getting seconds when others didn’t. The parking lot is filled with cars. How do they know so many people?

  Ella hesitates before getting out of the car and Jocelyn nudges her. She looks dazed. Her eyes are glassed over. She’s not handling any of this very well. Phil and Blake don’t join us. They’re going to be outside standing guard, but they escort us to the front door like our own private security.

  “You ready for this, girls?” Jocelyn asks as she pushes through the heavy wooden doors.

  She leads the way. I hang back with Ella.

  “How are you doing?” I whisper to her.

  She turns her head to look at me. It takes a while for her eyes to catch up.

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  She doesn’t look fine. I know that look. I’ve seen it on her face before. She’s drunk.

  ELLA

  (NOW)

  Vodka is a lot stronger than wine. I didn’t know that before I drank it. I only took a few drinks while I was getting ready, but it’s hard to keep my feet moving in the same direction. The world tilts if I move my head too fast. My throat still burns and I can taste the vodka in the back of my throat. My tongue feels swollen and it’s hard to speak around. So far, Mom hasn’t noticed. She’s too busy making sure we get inside without anyone taking our pictures. Sarah grabs my elbow and keeps me from falling when I trip on the step in the doorway. I don’t want her touching me, but I’m grateful she doesn’t let me fall and make a fool of myself.

  Mom leads us to the social hall. It’s where they have all the big receptions—funerals, weddings, baby showers, important meetings. I’ve decorated the place numerous times because Mom always volunteered to help with the major events. It was one of her favorite things to do, especially weddings.

  “I just love how happy people are at weddings,” she’d always say.

  Everyone is already there when we enter. The room buzzes with excitement and chatter. Children are running through the tables chasing after each other just like I used to do when I was younger. Soft music plays in the background. Streamers loop from one side of the room to the next, meeting together in the center. Long fold-out tables fill the room and are covered with matching tablecloths and elaborate centerpieces. The women from the auxiliary club are already lined up behind the counter with their spoons, ready to serve us our food.

  My grandparents are the first to greet us. My grandma smothers my face with kisses. I hope she can’t smell the vodka. Grandpa stands off to the side, unsure what to do. He’s wearing the same suit he wears to church every Sunday.


  “Oh, our little Ella Bear, you’re home.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “And you must be Sarah.” She doesn’t wait for Sarah to respond. She scoops her up in one of her big bear hugs, smashing her against her large chest. Whereas Mom is wiry and thin, Grandma is just the opposite. She’s round and short. Her chin rests almost on her chest, obscuring her neck with its rolls.

  “Let’s hope you didn’t get the fat gene,” she’s joked since I was a little girl.

  But her size never seems to really bother her. She’s been that way since I can remember. Never even tried to lose weight. Her personality is as big as she is.

  “Come. Come.” She fits herself between the two of us, taking one of us in each hand. “The entire family is here.”

  She drags us into the crowd. We move from one person to the next. Everyone touching, hugging, and saying the same things:

  “We missed you so much.”

  “We’re so glad you’re home.”

  “You look great.”

  “I never stopped praying for you.”

  “We love you so much.”

  I feel like a ping-pong ball, bouncing off people and smashing into the next in line. Their faces blur in front of me. All distorted. It makes me dizzy.

  “Grandma, I need to sit down,” I blurt out.

  “Certainly, sweetie. Let’s find you a chair.”

  I don’t bother to tell her not to call me sweetie.

  I take a seat on one of the aluminum chairs. Sarah plops down in the one next to me.

  “Are they always this friendly?” she asks.

  I can’t help but smile. “Yep. Always.”

  My family has always been close since it’s so small. Mom only has one sibling, Jack, and I spent just as much time at their house growing up as I did my own. I’m not sure how Mom would’ve managed raising me without them. Jack has two boys and we were as close as siblings. They are a few years older than me and off at college but they’d made it tonight.

  Aurora is a tight-knit community where everyone knows everyone. Small communities rally together whenever there’s any kind of a need so it’s no surprise that half the town is crowded into the room. It doesn’t take long for Jaycee and our friends to rush over to the table and join us.

  Jaycee points to the ones who weren’t at the house and introduces them to Sarah. “This is Jade, Rachel, and Morgan.”

  “Hi,” they sing out.

  “Hey,” Sarah says.

  The vodka is starting to wear off. My head is beginning to hurt. The room is so loud and bright.

  “You look great,” Morgan says.

  I wish everyone would stop lying.

  We’ve huddled together at tables like this so many times over the years. They’re the kind of friends who know everything about me. What I was like in preschool. My phase of only wearing purple in second grade. How much I hate scary movies. The things that make me cry and the stuff that makes me laugh. We used to be able to finish each other’s sentences and had all kinds of private jokes we shared.

  They talk and laugh together like we’ve always done—interrupting, talking over, and finishing each other’s sentences. There was a big football game on Friday and a school dance afterward. They launch into detailed descriptions of what everyone was wearing and who danced with who. Rachel’s ecstatic because the guy she’s been crushing on since last summer broke up with his girlfriend and he danced with her twice. Jade’s bummed she had her period because she swears she looked awful in her dress.

  “I was totally bloated and gross,” she says.

  Everyone laughs and assures her she looked great. They all slept over at Jaycee’s house afterward since Jaycee’s house is the perfect spot for sleepovers. In eighth grade, her parents let her move into the attic so she basically has her own little private suite. She even put a mini-fridge in there. It’s been our favorite spot forever.

  They’re excited to see me and want to catch me up on everything I’ve missed, but all I can do is watch them and wonder how I was ever a part of their circle. It feels so weird to be here. I want to be the person they remember. I want to return their smiles and laugh at their jokes, but I can’t even look at them. It hurts too much.

  Their movements are so fast and quick. I can’t keep up with their conversations like they’re running and I’m one step behind. Have they always been this loud? They talk around me, but not with me. When they do pause to try and include me, their eyes look around and over me, but never directly at me like I’m too painful to look at. It’s the only time their voices slow. They speak to me like they’re talking to a toddler.

  I listen to them talk about the things that used to ground me in the world—school, friends, and church—but it only magnifies the gap between who I am and who I used to be. They’re trying to put me back into my life, but I don’t fit. I’ve been disassembled and even though they think I’ve been put back together, I’m not. Parts are missing.

  It’s hard to sit still. My fingers twitch and my skin itches. I claw at my forearm, the one not in the cast. I can’t help it. I have all this energy humming through my body making it feel like bugs are crawling underneath my skin.

  Their cellphones keep buzzing and dinging. I jump every time. I have no control over it. My body remembers what alarms mean. It will never forget. They’re constantly going off.

  Ding.

  Look down.

  Buzz.

  Look down.

  I want to slap the phones out of their hands.

  I feel like I’ve aged twenty years but they all look the same with their long hair combed perfectly straight. We used to sit for hours in front of the mirror making sure there weren’t any kinks or stray hairs in the back. They flip their hair from side-to-side like the twitch of a horse’s tail as they talk. Every other word is like. Is that how I used to talk? I’m sure it was but I don’t remember.

  I’m exhausted by the time the party is over. People never stop swarming us. Sarah did better than me at making conversation, but she still looked uncomfortable. I’m totally sober by the time we get home.

  I race up to my room, tear off the clothes that had clung to me all night and change into my pajamas. I want a drink. I’m acutely aware of the wine underneath my bed but I can’t have it until Mom comes in. Thankfully, it doesn’t take her long.

  She plops down on the bed next to me. “Tonight was fun, huh? It was so good to see everyone.”

  “Yeah, it was,” I lie.

  She launches into a discussion about everyone that was there and the conversations they had. She explains what different people and organizations had done for me while I was away and all the things they’ve planned now that I’m back. She wants to know what I think we should do about the reward money that was raised during my disappearance.

  I interrupt her. “Mom, do you think we could talk about this tomorrow? I’m really tired.” I feign a yawn.

  She looks hurt. “Sure. Sure, of course.”

  She kisses me on my cheek. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  She turns around at the door. “See? I told you we could get through this.”

  She’s barely closed the door before I reach underneath the bed and grab the bottle.

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  I’ve never been in a police station before. It smells musty and dank. They separated us because they don’t want us to feed off each other. Ella went in first. She looked petrified. She had another panic attack yesterday when we got the call that they’d found John.

  I still can’t believe it. He’s here, in the same building as me right now, at least if they’ve got the right guy and they’re pretty sure they do. They tracked him down in Florida. He screwed up somehow trying to get a passport. Something flagged their people and they ambushed him in a small hotel in Titusville, Florida.

  I’m so nervous. I know he’ll be behind the glass and can’t see me, but I’ll be able to see him and he’ll sense my pr
esence. Even though we can’t talk, I’ll know what he wants me to do just by looking at him. Our connection doesn’t always require words.

  He’s claiming not to know us or have any idea what this is all about. He says he’s never lived in California or heard of Simi Valley. They want me to say it’s him. If I say no, does he go free? Do they leave him alone then? Let him go?

  The door opens and Blake leads out Ella. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her face is drained of all color. She always looks like she’s one step away from losing it completely. I don’t even like being in the same room with her. You can feel her crazy seeping through her pores. What did she think was going to happen if she ran away? Did she think this was going to be easy?

  They open the door on the opposite side of the room and Jocelyn and Randy are there to embrace her. Jocelyn gives me a nod and smile for encouragement. Blake returns for me. He sticks his arm out for me like he’s walking me down the aisle at my wedding. “You ready?”

  I take his arm and follow him into the room. The room is split evenly with one-sided glass. Blake motions to the uniformed officer standing inside. A door opens and men walk into the room in a single-file line. I recognize him immediately. He’s third. He walks with the same confident strut like this is just another day. They all turn to face me. He holds up his numbered sign just like the others.

  My pulse pounds. It’s so loud I can hear it. It’s strange to see him in an orange jumpsuit. He only wears black and white. There’s nothing with color even hanging in his closet. He stares intensely through the glass. The specks of silver in his crystal blue eyes shimmering.

  He sees me. I know he sees me. He’s looking right at me. He sees into my soul like he’s always done. I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized.

  “Sarah, I want you to take a good look at all the men and let me know if any of these men is the one who kidnapped Paige and Ella.”

  My name isn’t included on his list of victims. They are his real victims. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I don’t look at the other men even though I know I should. It’s what you’re supposed to do in situations like these.