I went as far up the stairs as I could again and began to yell for help, hoping that maybe a mailman or some service person would hear me. I yelled until my throat was strained, and then I sat on the steps and cried for a while, before getting up and returning to the basement apartment, which was my prison now. There were books and an old tape recorder with music cassettes, furniture, food, and a clean bathroom, but to me it was the same as a dungeon in some medieval castle. Like a prisoner, I was chained to the wall.
Struggling to come up with a way to escape, I sat staring at the poster on the wall with the outline of a Valentine’s Day heart and the words Home is where the heart is inscribed inside it. I had never realized how precious my home was until now. How I longed to be there, safe and happy again. I regretted every moment I had wished I was free of it and away from Mother and Haylee. Every teenager has fantasies like that. Now I could tell them not to be so eager to be on their own, to leave the ones who loved them.
So much bothered me about my present situation—the chain, the loss of my clothes, the constant fear that he would come through that door and begin to demand more of me, that maybe tonight he would rape me—but what seemed most annoying now was my ignorance of time, not only what time it was but how much time had passed. I felt like that alone reduced my humanity and made me no better than Mr. Moccasin.
I rose slowly and began to clean up the breakfast dishes and the pans and coffeepot. I was afraid that if he returned and I hadn’t done so, he might get violent. But I also did it just to fill up time and not sit and worry and anticipate my rescue. Mother used to say, “A watched pot never boils.” Haylee and I laughed at her sayings and warnings, but how I wished I could hear them now.
I cleaned the kitchen area as well as I would at home, and when I was done, I made the bed. Every once in a while, I would pause and tell myself that this was insane. You’re making it seem like you’ve given in, agreeing and becoming what he wants you to be. But what choice did I have? Sitting and crying or screaming wasn’t helping me. I did return to the boarded window periodically and listened, hoping for some sound that might indicate someone close enough to hear a scream, but the silence was like a slap each time. I would come away gasping and starting to sob again and again. Finally, I lay down on the bed, and despite how much I wanted to be ready for any sort of possible rescue, I fell asleep.
I had no idea how long I had slept, but when I awoke, I saw that the little light that seeped through the boards on the window had diminished. It might mean clouds, or it might mean it was already late in the afternoon. Mr. Moccasin had come onto the bed and fallen asleep beside me. He lifted his head and looked at me when I sat up.
“Are you the prison guard?” I asked him.
He rose and leaped off the bed to wander over to his food. I watched him for a while and wondered if a cat felt locked away. Many were never permitted to leave the houses they were in but did sit by the windows and gaze out. Was it curiosity or longing? I had yet to hear Mr. Moccasin cry at the door. Maybe this was the only life he had ever known. What if it became the only life I would ever know, no matter how long or short that might be?
Thinking such maddening thoughts, I stood up and began to walk in a circle around the basement apartment like a patient in a mental clinic, mumbling to myself, pausing to swallow a sob, and then walking and walking in a circle again until I had to go to the bathroom. I felt very dirty, and despite my reluctance and the way it made me seem obedient, I took a shower. The towels did smell fresh and clean. After I dried my body, I realized there was no blow-dryer or hairbrush, but there wasn’t a mirror anyway. I did the best I could to feel human and reluctantly put on the nightgown again. It was all I had, and I wasn’t going to walk around naked.
I sat on the closed toilet lid and buried my face in my hands. My chest ached from all the sobbing I had done. I had been sobbing even while taking a shower, when my tears mixed with the water that streamed down my cheeks. My gaze between my fingers settled on the ankle bracelet. He had thought of everything, coating the inside of the metal cuff with a soft material so it wouldn’t chafe my skin and cause an infection. Nevertheless, the sight of it seemed to tighten it until it was down to my bones. It brought a sick, empty feeling to my stomach. Even if I could break a window or unlock a door, I couldn’t escape. I groaned and then lifted my head and looked through the bathroom doorway.
He was standing there clutching bags of groceries in his arms, smiling.
“I see you took a shower. That’s my girl,” he said. “As Ma always said, ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness.’?”
He continued to stand there, smiling madly, waiting for me to say something, urging me to finally talk and accept where I was and what I would be.
I laid my head back against my hunched shoulders and screamed with all the strength I had, “Mother! Help me!”
And then I think I just passed out and dropped like an empty suit to the floor.
3
Haylee
Neither Daddy nor I went to sleep until after two in the morning. After Mother had been settled down, we remained in the living room to wait for any news. Daddy sat in what was always his favorite chair when he lived with us, a soft leather recliner with a footrest and thick arms. Kaylee and I expected that Mother would donate it to the Angel View thrift store, one of her favorite charities, if not simply throw it out, after their divorce. She never sat in it after Daddy left us, and neither Kaylee nor I had the nerve to do so. We both knew that in Mother’s eyes, that would make it look like we missed him. Sometimes I teased Kaylee by pretending I would sit in it. Her eyes would nearly explode with fear. I wondered if I would miss teasing her if she never returned.
There was teasing out of love and affection, and there was teasing to drive little needles into someone you really didn’t like. As I lay there on the sofa, I wondered if I had ever done it for the first reason. Surely when we were young and we were forced to spend practically every waking moment, and, actually, every sleeping moment, in each other’s company, we loved each other as much as any two sisters could. I wondered when that had changed. When did I wake up and suddenly wish I had no sister? I never doubted that at one time or another, Kaylee had wished the same thing. She couldn’t be that perfectly goody-goody, even though she never showed it as clearly as I did.
If she had only hated me more, I might have hated her less.
I fell asleep. It was getting too hard to keep my eyes open and wait for the phone to ring or a knock on the door. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke someone. I didn’t know if Kaylee would be found running through some strange neighborhood after having escaped or maybe found harmed and crying on some street. We’d get a call from a hospital, perhaps.
Upstairs, Mother was drugged into silence. I was sure she was hoarse from all her shouting. I envisioned her chained inside her own head, screaming and pounding on four walls without any exit, at least until she woke. What would the next few days be like, or the next month, maybe the next few years living with her?
“Hey,” I heard Daddy say.
I opened my eyes. “Something happen?”
“No, no word yet. We might as well go up to bed, Haylee. We’ll both need our strength in the morning.”
I sat up slowly. “I’m afraid to go up to sleep knowing that Kaylee is not in her bed, too,” I said.
“I promise, if anyone comes to the house or calls, I’ll wake you right away. C’mon,” Daddy said, reaching for my hand.
He helped me to my feet and put his arm around me as we walked to the stairway. This was already something more between us. Whenever he had put his arm around one of us, especially if Mother was nearby, he had immediately reached for the other. It was impossible to feel special, no matter how Mother emphasized it and bragged about us. I always thought my girlfriends, especially those with no brothers or sisters, were more special, not only to their parents and grandparents but also to everyone else. They didn’t have to share love; they owned it al
l. There was no jealous sister hovering over them with eyes of envy whenever they received a compliment or a gift, no mother making sure one didn’t get more praise than the other.
We didn’t even have our own birthdays. I once proposed, half joking, that we alternate years. One year we’d celebrate mine, and the next year we’d celebrate Kaylee’s. I might as well have stabbed Mother in the ribs with a fork.