I heard him moving around, and at one point, I was able to catch a glimpse of him. He had some of the clothing he had bought me in his arms.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You don’t need any of this anymore, and I can’t give it to her.”
“Who?”
“My next girlfriend,” he said. “Just like you, she deserves her own things.”
“Who’s telling you to do this? That’s your mother upstairs in the wheelchair, isn’t it? You never told me she was still alive. You made it sound like she was dead. Why?”
“It’s none of your business now. You don’t exist anymore,” he said.
He continued to gather things. I heard him leave the basement apartment and didn’t hear him return for some time. When he did, I heard him packing the things he had gathered.
“Are you going to let me go?” I called. “Anthony, are you letting me go?”
He didn’t respond. He continued what he was doing. I dozed off again, and this time, I was able to draw my legs up into a crouch. I couldn’t turn, not with my wrists bound to the bed frame.
Every once in a while, I called out to him and asked again and again, “Are you going to let me go?”
Finally, I heard him approach the bed. He came around on my right and looked down at me.
“You’re going to go,” he said. “Yes.”
Then he walked away. I heard him leave. My mind was racing with possibilities. He was gone a long while. And then it came to me in a resounding clap, a realization that was like a stake driven through my heart.
He was outside.
He was digging my grave.
It was a fear I’d had from the moment he had abducted me. I would die, and no one would know. Forever and ever, no one could be sure. Maybe that was good. I would be alive in their memories from time to time. People would see someone similar and think, That might be Kaylee Blossom Fitzgerald. Should I tell someone?
You’re alive in a little way, then, aren’t you? I thought. When he returns, I’m not going to beg for my life.
I didn’t want to say anything more to him or hear his voice. I wanted to think only of people I loved who loved me, of friends, of music. I didn’t want the last thing I ever heard to be the sound of this horrible man’s voice. At least I could choose that. I closed my eyes and tried to think of all the best times of my life.
I could hear footsteps above me. Maybe his mother was just senile. How could she approve of what her son was doing? She looked ancient.
/>
Suddenly, I heard more footsteps and then some shouting. The footsteps grew louder. They were coming from the stairway.
Someone screamed, “She’s here!”
I heard more people and then I saw the blue uniform and looked up at a policewoman. She was ecstatic and hurriedly untied my wrists. When I turned, I saw two paramedics come charging through the doorway and rush over to me. I couldn’t speak. Was I dreaming? They were working on me quickly, checking my blood pressure, looking for injuries, and discovering the blow I had taken to my lower back when I’d fallen on the stairway. Another pair of paramedics arrived with more police and a young man in a jacket and tie. He stood by while the paramedics took my vitals.
The look on my face convinced them that I was in a state of shock.
“You’re okay now, Kaylee,” the policewoman said. “You’re going to be all right.”
I looked at her, and then, to be sure I wasn’t dreaming, I reached out to touch her. She smiled and grasped my hand gently.
Maybe I was in shock. I started to laugh, and I laughed so hard that I started to cry, uncontrollably, enough to warrant one of the paramedics giving me a shot of something. Almost immediately, I calmed and closed my eyes.
I felt myself being lifted from the bed and gently placed on a stretcher. They started to take me out of the basement apartment. I was still awake enough to remember.
“Wait!” I cried.