Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 6

  Despite all the security measures around me, I still don’t feel safe. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe again. They still haven’t found John. He’s out there somewhere and as long as he is, I’ll never be safe.

  I did my best describing him to Blake and Phil. That part was easy. His face is forever etched in my brain. Tomorrow they’re going to bring a sketch artist to the hospital and he’s going to draw his portrait. Sarah and I are going to work on it together. It will be the first time I’ve seen her since we got here.

  I feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a monster for a father. I hope she gets the help she needs now that we’re free. Maybe she’ll be nicer to me now.

  I can’t stop thinking about Paige. I’m not sure what scares me most—that she didn’t get out or that she’s with him. But why would he take her and not Sarah? He’d never leave her behind. She was his daughter. His favorite. He called her his treasure. But if she’s not with him, then where is she?

  I refuse to believe she died in the fire. She had to get out. There were so many places to hide on the land. She might have even gotten over the gate in the back. The back of the property was pushed up against the hills. She has to be hiding in the hills somewhere. Waiting. Wondering. Just like I was.

  They’ve already put together a team to canvass the area. Mom wanted to watch the news tonight, but Randy said it wasn’t a good idea. She said we should stay away from the TV and the media. The media is already set up outside the hospital and people have been doing all kinds of crazy things to get inside. She told us they’ve been posing as doctors and nurses to get in or pretending to be visiting someone else just for a chance to see us. They’ve had to secure our entire floor just to keep people away from us.

  Strangers have been dropping things off all day. They started coming this afternoon. My room is filled with flowers, balloons, and cards. It’s weird to get things from people I don’t even know. Mom goes through each card and she’s started keeping a list of everyone’s name and return address. She’s committed to writing everybody a thank you note. At least all the stuff cheers up the hospital room.

  I didn’t let her close the blinds even after it got dark because it felt too claustrophobic. I like being able to see out my window even if my only view is another ward on the other side of the hospital.

  The hospital is noisy even though it’s the middle of the night. Every sound makes me jump. I hate my blanket. It reminds me of my blanket in the basement. It’s thin and scratchy. There’s nothing comfortable about it. Maybe John got our blankets from a hospital. I keep kicking it off but then I get cold. It’s freezing in here. I should be used to it because John always kept the place cold, but I’m not. I’d give anything to be warm again.

  I can’t get comfortable no matter where I lay. My body aches from all of its wounds and the pain medication they gave me makes me itch. It feels like a thousand bugs are crawling all over my body.

  I’m tempted to sneak out of my bed and peek in on Sarah because I know she’s close. I just want to see what she’s doing. Can she sleep? I’d do it if I could walk on my own, but I can’t. They haven’t given me crutches yet, but even when they do, I don’t know how I’m going to walk with my leg in all these bulky bandages. The bites hurt worse than the break.

  He wasn’t kidding about the dogs. I always thought he just said it to scare us and keep us from trying to escape, but they were there just like he said and they were vicious. It’d taken sixty-two staples to put my calf back together. It’s going to leave a nasty scar. A forever reminder of what I’ve been through. Not that I’ll ever forget.

  Mom keeps going on and on about putting this behind us, but she doesn’t know what I’ve done or the things I’ve been through. There might come a day where my mind is able to forget, but not my body. My body will always remember.

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  I slept fitfully all night, moving between wake and sleep. I didn’t want to sleep but they shot me full of medicine and it made me feel just like I did in the ambulance. They gave it to me after I started screaming at everyone to get away from me. I don’t even know what happened or why I flipped out. I just did. Nobody was answering my questions and everyone kept getting in my space. They kept trying to touch me and I hate being touched.

  My breakfast tray sits in front of me untouched. It’s full of so much food and I never eat breakfast. I only eat at scheduled times and this isn’t one of them. I stay on my eating schedule even when John is away. I made it a practice when he started going on runs. In the beginning when he’d go on runs, I’d gobble up all the food he left me by the end of the first day. I wasn’t used to having food so I didn’t have any control, but the hunger that came from the long days of starvation forced me into control. Now I do it automatically. Just in case. You can never be too sure.

  Randy’s already been back, dressed in another flowing skirt just like yesterday. She looked rested and refreshed like she slept well. She’s going to be in the room with me and Ella when we work with the sketch artist. I’ve always been fascinated with people who can draw faces because they’re so hard to get right. I used to try to draw them in my sketchbooks but nobody ever looked like I wanted them to.

  I wish I had clothes to wear, but I don’t have any. They put all my clothes in a plastic bag and I’m stuck in this hospital gown. It comes unfolded every time I go to the bathroom and I have to cinch it together with my hands when I walk. The officers promised not to look but I don’t trust them. I hope they let me brush my teeth at some point today because it feels like fuzz is growing on them.

  There’s still no word about John. I’ve given them all the information I can. Now it’s up to them.

  There’s a knock at my door. Everyone always knocks before they come in. I turn my head, expecting it to be a nurse bringing in more flowers since they’ve been bringing them in all morning, but it’s Officer Malone. He’s holding a Starbucks cup. Unlike Randy, he looks tired. There’s bags under his eyes that weren’t there yesterday and he’s in the same clothes.

  “Hey kiddo,” he says with a smile. “How are you doing today?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Better than yesterday, I guess.”

  He tousles my hair. “Good, that’s real good. We’re going to have you back to normal in no time.”

  I wish I believed him.

  “How do you feel about taking a little walk with me?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The sketch artist is here. You girls are going to meet with him in Ella’s room.”

  My stomach clenches. I thought I was going to have longer to prepare. I’m nervous about seeing Ella. I hope they haven’t told her I’ve been freaking out. Officer Malone holds out his arm for me to take as I move off the bed. My knees are weak and my head spins when I stand up. It must be from the medication.

  “Just take it easy,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

  I lean against him for support. His chest is wide. His shoulders broad. I can feel his muscles around me. We step through our door and all of the nurses pretend not to stare but I feel their eyes on us as we shuffle down the hallway. We don’t have to go far before he stops in front of another door. There’s a uniformed officer standing outside her door just like the one who doesn’t leave mine. He nods at Officer Malone before opening the door and letting us through.

  Ella’s room is packed with people and gifts. There’s a woman standing next to her bed who must be her mom because she looks like an older version of Ella. They have the same facial structure with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. Rosy lips complement their thick chestnut-brown hair. Her mom’s is streaked with gray and cut shoulder length unlike Ella’s long, flowing locks. She even holds herself like Ella.

  Randy’s sitting in a chair in the corner with bright balloons floating over her head saying things like welcome home and get well soon. Blake and Phil stand next to her. Blake’s arms are folded across his chest and Phil is tapping away on hi
s phone. Both wear serious expressions on their faces.

  I turn my attention to Ella and can’t help but gasp. The entire right side of her face is covered in angry purple welts and bruises. Her right eye is swollen shut like she’s been punched. Her hair is haphazardly sticking up all over her head making her look wild. Her left arm is in a purple cast and her other arm is lined with stitches creating a jagged ladder up her arm. Her eyes meet mine. She looks shell-shocked.

  I finally speak, “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  Her mom rushes toward me and surprises me by throwing her arms around me and squeezing tightly. “I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

  She says it over and over again as I’m awkwardly smashed against her. Her body is frail. I can feel her bones on my cheek. When she finally pulls away, there are tears streaming down her face. Why is she crying for me? She doesn’t even know me.

  She leads me over to Ella’s bed and pulls out the stool the doctors use for their examinations. Everyone is staring at us. I don’t know who to look at or where to place my eyes so I stare at the linoleum floor. It’s dirty and stained.

  “It’s supposed to rain today. I sure hope it does because my garden could use the water,” Randy pipes up from the corner of the room.

  “Yes, that’s what I hear,” Officer Malone says. “This drought just seems to be never ending. Can’t wait for the day when I have grass again. I’m tired of getting my feet cut up if I walk outside barefoot.”

  Everyone laughs even though it’s not funny except Ella and me. Neither of us are smiling. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel. Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long until the sketch artist joins us. He looks like all of the other FBI agents. They’re all in perfect shape and wear the same uniform—dress shirts tucked into pants so straight they have to iron them. None of them smile and they all have piercing eyes. You can’t help but feel like you’re under a microscope.

  “Where should I set up shop?” he asks.

  Blake steps forward. He’s the person in charge. Everyone looks toward him for orders and direction. “I’d like to clear everyone who isn’t essential out of the room. Randy and I will stay. I’d like to ask the rest of you to wait outside.”

  Ella’s mom grabs her hand. “I’d really like to stay.”

  “I understand your fear of leaving her alone, but you’ll be right outside the door if she needs you. It might be easier for them to work if there’s not so many people staring at them. It puts a lot of pressure on them and we want them to be as relaxed as possible,” Randy explains.

  Ella’s mom doesn’t look convinced, but she follows the others out the door. It clicks shut behind them.

  “This is Steve. He’s going to be working with you girls on a creating a sketch of John,” Blake says as Steve pulls a large sketch pad out of his briefcase. “We might be taking notes while you talk, but I want you to ignore us as best you can. Just pretend we’re not even here.”

  “But if you feel uncomfortable or overwhelmed at any time, you just let us know and we’ll stop,” Randy says.

  Blake shoots her a disapproving look.

  I expected it to be lots of questions like yesterday, but for the most part, he just lets us talk. Before long, Ella and I are talking over each other, describing John’s different features. He scribbles away while we talk, barely looking up. Every now and then, he flips the book around and asks us to comment on what he’s done. By the time he’s finished, he’s come up with a penciled version of John. I’m stunned at how much it actually looks like him.

  “Wow,” I say, turning to look at Ella. “That’s really good.”

  She’s staring at the paper and into his face. She can’t look away.

  “It’s him,” she whispers. “That’s him.”

  Steve doesn’t look at us or say thank you before he packs up his stuff and leaves. What happens now that they know what he looks like? How does any of this work?

  “How are you girls doing?” Randy asks.

  “Excuse me, but I’m going to step away for second,” Blake interrupts before we have a chance to answer her question. “Thank you for your cooperation. You did a great job.” He shakes each of our hands.

  “Can I have a minute alone with them before you send anyone back in?” Randy asks.

  “Sure,” he says. “I’ll let them know you need a few more minutes with the girls.”

  “Thanks,” Randy says.

  She scoots her chair to the end of Ella’s bed. “Sarah, why don’t you slide your chair around this way? That way we can all see each other.”

  I move my chair so I’m on the other side of Ella’s bed rather than sitting next to her. I stare down at her legs covered by the blankets, wondering what they look like underneath.

  Randy leans forward, shifting her gaze back and forth between the two of us. “How does it feel to be in the same room with each other?”

  Ella looks toward me. I’m not sure how she expects us to find words to describe what any of this feels like.

  “It’s weird,” I say.

  Ella nods her head in agreement.

  “I know the two of you have been talking to a lot of people, but you haven’t had the chance to talk to each other. Is there anything you’d like to say to each other?”

  I want to tell her we’re not close. We don’t have conversations.

  “I do,” Ella pipes up.

  My stomach rises in my throat. Randy nods, giving her permission to speak.

  “Did you set the house on fire?” Her eyes flare with anger.

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  After my bath, he towels me dry and wraps me in a white, fluffy bathrobe. I tie it tightly around me. He asks me to sit down on the toilet and begins brushing the tangles out of my hair. I stiffen at his touch.

  “You have such thick, beautiful hair,” he says, desire heavy in his breath.

  Please, God, don’t let him rape me.

  “When someone pays you a compliment, you should always say thank you.” Tension curls his words.

  “Thank you,” I mumble quickly before he can get angry again.

  Once he’s satisfied that my hair is combed thoroughly, he leads me out of the bathroom, back down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the dining room. It’s an open layout so there’s no separation between the two. There’s a huge mahogany table large enough to fit at least ten people, but it’s only set for two. A table runner with an intricate geometric design runs down the center. Two tall candles burn in the center. Each place setting has matching folded napkins and polished silverware. Its spread with food in fancy covered trays. He leads me to the table and pulls out one of the tufted dining chairs for me.

  “Right here, my dear,” he says.

  He takes the seat across from me and stares into my eyes. The angry man from the bathroom is gone and has been replaced with a perfect gentleman.

  “You must be thirsty,” he says. He reaches into the bowl in the center of the table and pulls out a bottle of wine. He fills my wine glass first and then his with red liquid just like the wine I used to drink at communion. “Normally, I’m against underage drinking, but tonight is such a special night, we couldn’t let it pass us by without toasting the occasion.”

  He raises his glass. I raise mine with him.

  “To us,” he says.

  I clink his glass. He takes the glass and swirls the wine around first before raising it to his lips. He takes a sip like he’s taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before setting his glass back down. “Delicious. What do you think?”

  I’m still just holding my glass.

  “Go on,” he urges.

  I do as I’m told. The wine doesn’t taste anything like the communion wine. It’s bitter and sour. I glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the other side of the dining room, but we spent so long in the bathroom that it’s gotten dark outside so I can’t see anything.

  “The house is on a full acre of land. It’s quite the hike to make it to t
he gate. Did I tell you I have a security gate?” he asks, pointedly. “I had it specially built because I like my privacy. I don’t want to have people just coming and going. You know they build amazing security systems nowadays, but even with the best security systems, you can never be too careful.” He follows my gaze out the windows, squints his eyes. “If you look, you might be able to make out my two pit bulls, Rocky and Rambo. Not very creative names, I know, but I’ve never been good with names. They’re vicious. I trained them well so they only respond to me. There’s nothing I like more than taming a wild beast.” He throws his head back and laughs. “I can’t believe people actually keep them as pets. Mine aren’t pets. They’d rip anyone to shreds who stepped foot on the property who wasn’t me.” He returns to looking at me, making sure I’ve read the meaning in his words.

  I can’t focus on anything while he eats. I’m too afraid of what happens when dinner is finished. He keeps trying to get me to try the chicken, even offers to serve me, but I keep saying I’m not hungry. My throat is too tight to swallow. My stomach upset. He chatters on while he eats, wiping his mouth with every bite. When he’s finished, he drains the rest of his wine glass. I grip my chair tightly.

  “Sarah?” he calls.

  She appears like a ghost from somewhere else in the house and suddenly, she’s in front of the table.

  “Take Ella back downstairs.”

  I’m so relieved I almost start crying again. He calls me upstairs for the next three nights. Each night is the same as the first. He starts with a bath even though there’s no way for me to get dirty locked in the basement all day, then brushes my hair, and puts me in a bathrobe. Every night when he sends me back downstairs I change into the black sweatpants and white t-shirts the other girls wear.