Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 3

  When I wake she’s still in the bed next to me and for a moment, it all feels like a bad dream. But then I look at the new lines in her face, the haunted look that’s never been in her eyes before, and it all comes flooding back. It wasn’t a dream.

  The FBI officers are standing at attention in their respective spots in the room. The female officer, Melanie, is sitting in a chair by the door, flipping through a People magazine. There’s another police officer outside my door.

  Mom strokes my hair. “How are you, baby?”

  I don’t know how to tell her how I am because I don’t know who I am anymore or what’s become of the me I used to be. I’m afraid to tell her the things I’ve done. What’s been done to me. Afraid of what she’ll say if she knows. She might not love me anymore.

  “I’m okay,” I say even though I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again.

  “You were so brave to escape the way you did.” Her chest puffs with pride.

  I force a smile, but I know the truth. I wasn’t brave. I was terrified.

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  I don’t like the medicine they keep pumping into me. It makes my thinking cloudy and hard for me to stay awake. I need to stay awake. I can’t keep falling asleep. It’s too dangerous. I wish they’d stop giving it to me.

  Officer Malone hasn’t left my side. Every time I open my eyes, he’s still here. He jumps up from his chair at my slightest movement, asking if I need anything. He has linebacker shoulders and looks like a man who once had a lot of muscles, but the years have taken their toll on his body and they sag in places they used to bulge. He doesn’t smile very often with his lips, but his eyes do all the time and the eyes never lie.

  I’m sure he’s a great father. His daughters are lucky. He helped the nurse prop me up in the bed and told me there are officers from the FBI coming to talk to me about what happened, but even with his forewarning, I’m not prepared when they stride into my room.

  They aren’t dressed like any police officers I’ve ever seen. They look like they belong in an office with their collared shirts and dress pants. FBI badges hang from the lanyards around their necks. They have the same matching short haircut as if they’re in the army. Both of them are built like they spend hours in the gym.

  “Sarah, I’m Agent Blake Erickson. This is my partner Phil. We’re with the FBI kidnapping unit and we’re here to ask you some questions. Are you up to answering some of our questions?” I can hear the military in his voice.

  I nod, too intimidated to speak. Their presence takes over the room.

  Blake reeks of authority and he motions for Phil to take a seat in the chair in the corner while he remains standing. Phil sits on the edge of the seat, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. Blake sets his briefcase on my bed and opens it. He pulls out a small notebook and a pen.

  “Mind if I take some notes?” he asks in a tone that indicates I don’t really have a choice in the matter.

  I nod again.

  He fires his questions quickly.

  “Can you tell us your full name?”

  “Sarah Smith.”

  “Middle name?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “No middle name? Are you sure?”

  Of course I’m sure. It’s my name.

  “Yes. Just Sarah Smith.”

  “Can you tell us the date he took you?”

  This is a hard one.

  I shrug my shoulders. “It’s kind of hard to remember.”

  “Try. Do you remember the day? The month?”

  “I remember the year.”

  It was 2012. I’d just turned twelve.

  He nods. “That’s something. A good place to start. What was the year you were taken?”

  “2012.”

  Four years ago. It feels like four centuries.

  “Do you remember the month?”

  “It was fall, I think.”

  Or was it winter? There were so many dead leaves in the park that day. It could’ve been either.

  “We’re going to take it slow with the questions. If you start to get overwhelmed, just let us know and we’ll stop.”

  I nod. So far, Phil hasn’t spoken. He just keeps staring at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

  “Where were you when he took you?”

  “In the park.”

  “Which park?”

  “I can’t remember what it was called. The one by my house.”

  “Do you remember your address?”

  I shake my head. I willed myself to forget everything from before. Deleted the memories. It was easier that way.

  “Where are you from?” His gaze pierces me.

  “California.”

  “Sarah, if you could be as specific as possible that would be really helpful. Try to give us as much detail as you can about things.”

  “You’re doing great, kiddo. I know this is hard,” Officer Malone pipes up.

  I’m glad Officer Malone is still here. I don’t like these men.

  “I used to live in Redlands. Before... before...”

  I don’t know how to finish the sentence. For so long, I’ve told myself there wasn’t a before. Don’t think about your past—it’s what I tell the girls. I drill it into their heads right away.

  “What are your parents’ names?”

  I freeze. I can’t talk about my parents. These are the questions I can’t answer. The world tilts and then stills. My heartbeat explodes in my ears. It doesn’t take long for the silence to grow uncomfortable.

  His forehead wrinkles. “Sarah, what are your parents’ names?”

  “My mom’s name was Destiny.” My voice sounds strange to me. I haven’t spoken her name in years. The word doesn’t feel right in my mouth.

  “Was?” Blake cocks his head to the side.

  “Yes. She’s dead.”

  Blake and Phil exchange a look. Phil has leaned back in the chair and spread his arms out behind him trying to be casual, but there’s nothing casual about this conversation.

  “When did she die?”

  “Two days after I was born.”

  Officer Malone reaches out and takes hold of my hand again. I can feel his pity surrounding me, but it’s not that big of a deal. You can’t miss someone you never knew. I don’t know what she looked like. I’ve never even seen a picture.

  “How did she die?” It’s the first question from Phil.

  “She overdosed on heroin.”

  “And your dad?” Blake asks.

  “I don’t want to talk about my dad.”

  They exchange another look.

  “What does all of this have to do with finding John? I want to know where he is.”

  Phil leans forward in his chair. “You’re safe here. He can’t get to you. We have officers surrounding the hospital and outside your door at all times. Any information you give us is going to help find him. Is there anything you can think of that might help us?”

  They don’t need to worry about finding him because he’ll find me if they wait long enough and I can’t stay in this hospital forever. Eventually, they have to let me go and there’s no way he’s going to let me get away from him. He’d never let that happen. Not in a million years.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  I know every detail about him because I’ve studied him for years. I know how he moves when he’s upset and when he’s calm. I can read what kind of a day he’s had by the way he holds his silverware. I know how he takes his coffee and the foods he doesn’t like to eat. I can tell the difference between his fake laugh and the one that’s real. I know the shows he likes to watch on TV and how he likes his laundry folded.

  “Did you see him today?” Blake’s back to asking the questions.

  I nod.

  “Did he leave the house?”

  “Yes, he leaves for work at 7:30 every morning unless he’s traveling on a business trip.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “H
e was wearing a suit and tie. He wears a black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie every day. He wears Gucci leather loafers with silk knee-high socks.”

  And red silk boxers with white spotted print.

  “Do you know what kind of job he has?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure. He never told me. But he’s got to do something important and make a lot of money. Did you see how big his house is?”

  And then I remember, of course they haven’t seen his house. The house is gone.

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  Everything in the basement moves in slow motion. Time stands still. My body radiates with pain. The parts that aren’t on fire are tingling. My skin rubbed raw. I keep telling myself I’m having a nightmare and any minute, I’m going to open my eyes and wake up tucked under my pink comforter in my own bed at home. But it’s not a nightmare. This is real. It’s really happening. To me. My tears are hot against my skin.

  Nothing bad has ever happened to me. Not really. My dad left when I was a baby and I’ve never met him but lots of people are raised by single parents and I have the best mom anyone could ask for. She’s always been a morning person, up at five even on Saturdays when she didn’t need to. She was so happy and cheerful when she’d flick on my lights and pull up the blinds, flooding my room with light and making me squint in revulsion.

  “Rise and shine, sweetie,” she’d say.

  I’d groan and pull my pillow over my head. Now, I’d give anything just to hear her voice.

  She’s my best friend. Teenagers aren’t supposed to admit that, but it’s true. I trust her more than I trust anyone else. Maybe it’s because we’ve always been so close. When I was small, she couldn’t afford daycare while she worked, so she carried me in a Mobi wrap tucked close to her chest while she cleaned hotel rooms. As I got older, she switched to carrying me in a hiking backpack while she worked. I was rarely away from her. No matter how hard she worked she never complained. Ever. She went without just so I could have things and if there was ever a choice between her happiness or mine, she put me first.

  I loved her laughter. She had one of those contagious laughs and could brighten up a room with it. Everyone commented on it.

  “Your mom has the best laugh,” my teachers would always say.

  She always found the good in situations no matter how bad they looked, like the days when they scheduled her to work on Christmas or holidays and she refused to be sad about it. She just made Christmas a different day. When I was younger, I didn’t know the difference and it didn’t matter to me as long as I got to spend the day celebrating with her.

  It hurts to think about her in the past tense. Why am I already thinking of her in the past tense? She’s not dead and I’m not going to die. But what if I am? What if he’s going to come down here and kill me? But what about the other girls? He took Paige too and he hasn’t killed her. I don’t know if he kidnapped Sarah, but she’s still alive too. I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.

  My bladder is full. I’ve been holding it so long it hurts. I’m either going to wet myself or have to use the toilet. I can’t get to the toilet with my legs bound together at the ankles.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I announce.

  Paige jumps up from her bed, looking happy to have something to do.

  She pulls me up to a standing position. “I think you’re just going to have to hop over there.”

  She puts her arm around me like we’re about to do a three-legged race and I start hopping. I’m grateful for her body to lean against because my legs are so weak I feel like they won’t hold me. We hobble-hop over to the toilet. Paige giggles.

  I stare at her. “What are you laughing at?”

  “We just look so goofy.” She smiles.

  How can she laugh and smile about any of this? I’m mortified because I have to pee in front of her and I’m an incredibly shy person. I don’t like to be the center of attention for anything, especially not when I’m going to the bathroom, but I don’t have a choice because it’d be even more humiliating to pee on myself. I can’t get my shorts down by myself. Paige notices at the same moment I do and pulls them down in one swift movement.

  I take a seat on the toilet wanting to die of embarrassment but I have to go so bad I can’t hold it. The pee makes a weird sound as it fills the toilet. I quickly look down between my legs. There’s not water in the toilet. My pee is flowing into a large bucket. I look up at Paige. She reads the confusion in my eyes.

  “It’s not a real toilet. I mean, it’s a toilet, but it doesn’t have a pipe or whatever,” she says. “It’s an old person’s bedpan.”

  “What do we do with it?”

  She quickly rattles off the list of rules for the use of the toilet. First, we try to limit the amount of times we go to the bathroom each day. Second, only two sheets of toilet paper are used to wipe because the toilet paper fills up the bowl faster. Three, the lid on the toilet must be closed except when we are using it to try to keep the smell down. Fourth, since I am the new girl, cleaning the toilet is now my job.

  “But what am I supposed to do with it?” I ask.

  “Sarah empties it. She takes it upstairs to the real bathroom, but when she brings it back down, you’re the lucky one who gets to clean it each night.” A wide smile spreads across her face. “Sorry, I’m just so excited not to have to be the one to do it anymore.”

  As mortifying as it is to pee in front of someone else, I can’t believe I’m going to have to poop in front of them too. I don’t even poop outside of my own house unless it’s an emergency situation and there’s no way I can hold it.

  “Why can’t we just have a regular toilet?”

  She shrugs. “Who knows. I stopped trying to figure things out here a long time ago.”

  I don’t like how resigned she is to her fate. That is not going to happen to me. I won’t get used to this no matter how long I’m here.

  The day drags. I lay on my bed staring up at the padded ceiling. I imagine my mom out searching for me, walking the streets of Aurora and begging other people to help her. I’m sure she’s called the police by now. I can almost feel her desperation. I try to send her telepathic messages that I’m okay—I’m alive, I’m going to get through this. Thinking about my mom makes me cry on and off all day.

  Paige keeps trying to get me to eat. I don’t want food. I may never eat again.

  Sarah stays behind her sheet and I can’t help but wonder what she’s doing behind it. Why does she get a sheet? What makes her so different from us?

  Sometime during the day or maybe it’s the evening—I’m not sure, it’s impossible to tell when I can’t see outside—a loud buzzer goes off. The room becomes alive immediately. Paige sits straight up at a ninety-degree angle on her bed. For the first time since this morning, Sarah appears from behind her veil. She stands at attention at the end of the stairway.

  “Sarah, you may come upstairs now,” a loud booming male voice calls out from what sounds like an intercom. It’s like the intercoms they use at my school every morning when they make announcements.

  Sarah doesn’t turn around. She rushes up the stairs. I hear three short beeps and then a long beep, followed by the sound of a door opening. Then, the beeps again. Same pattern. I turn toward Paige.

  “What’s happening?”

  “This is how it works,” she says as if that’s supposed to explain anything.

  “How what works? I don’t understand. What’s happening? Is he going to come down here? What happens if he comes down here?” I can’t keep the hysteria out of my voice.

  “He doesn’t come down here unless it’s an emergency.” She quickly adds, “Or to bring a new girl.”

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  “Five months, I think? It might be a little longer. I’m not sure. I used to try to keep track of the days but I lost count after a while. All the days are the same so it doesn’t really matter.”

  There’s no wa
y it will take Mom five months to find me.

  “How about Sarah?”

  “She’s been here for years. Forever maybe.” She leans in closer. “She’s his daughter.”

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  Everything changed when I told the officers I was John’s daughter. They fingerprinted me and swabbed my cheek for DNA with a Q-tip like I’ve seen them do on TV. Officer Malone left the room for a few minutes. He was more shocked than all of them. It must be hard for him to imagine. He’s back now, but he just keeps staring at me like there’s clues hidden in my face somewhere.

  The FBI agents are gone. They promised to be back shortly and told me someone called a victim’s advocate is going to be here soon to talk to me. I don’t know what a victim’s advocate is, but I don’t need one. All I need to know is where John is.

  I did just like he taught me. We’d gone over the plans so many times I had each step memorized by heart, but this is the part we hadn’t planned on and now I don’t know what to do. I waited and waited for him, but he never showed and he was supposed to come for me. That was the plan. Instead, the police showed up. First, it was just one squad car, but as soon as they noticed the fire, things moved really fast, so quickly I had a hard time keeping up. But I kept my eyes peeled the entire time, always searching for him amid all of the emergency vehicles, trying to catch a glimpse of him. I waited for him to step out from the chaos and grab me when they weren’t looking.

  What is he going to do when he finds out I’m here? He isn’t going to be happy. That much I know. I hope he’s madder at Ella. She’s the one who did it. Not me. I told her it was a stupid idea. I warned her what would happen if any of us ran. She didn’t listen to me, but then again, she never listens to me.

  She was so stubborn from the minute he brought her home. She questioned everything we did. She was constantly drilling Paige with questions. Always asking about things. Any answers we gave her just led to more questions. It was exhausting.

  And she wouldn’t eat. She refused food for six days. I didn’t have the patience for it. Paige tried everything. Not that she had many options, but she tried every item we keep in the basement. She wouldn’t even open her mouth. She didn’t even try to make things easier for herself.