Still Missing (5 page)

Yesterday, I sat in a church for a while. Not to pray--I'm not religious--but just to sit in the quiet. Before the abduction I'd probably passed that church a thousand times without noticing it. We're not exactly a churchgoing family, my mom and stepdad were usually too busy sleeping their "religion" off on a Sunday morning. But I've gone a couple of times over the last few months. It's an old church and smells like a museum--in a good way, a survived-lots-of-shit-and-still-standing kind of way. Something about the stained-glass windows works for me too. If I were to get all deep on you, I could say the idea of all those broken pieces being made into something so damn pretty appeals to me. Good thing I'm not that profound.

The church is usually empty, thank you, God, but even if there is someone else inside, nobody ever talks to me or even looks at me. Not that I would make eye contact.

When I first came to after The Freak beat me unconscious, my whole body hurt, and it took a long time for me to lift my head enough to look around. Waves of nausea passed through me. The right side of my chest burned every time I took a breath. One eye was closed up pretty good and the other one made things fuzzy, but I could see outlines. He was nowhere in sight. Either he was sleeping on the floor or he was outside. I lay still.

The bathroom was calling, but I didn't know if I could move that far, plus I dreaded his catching me going for an unscheduled pee. I must have passed out again, because I don't remember anything until I woke from a dream in which I was running on the beach with Luke and our dogs. When I remembered where I really was, I cried.

My bladder burned--if I waited much longer I was going to pee in the bed. God only knew which offense would piss him off the most. There was no way I was putting that dress back on, so I crawled naked to the bathroom. Every few seconds I paused, waited for the black dots in my vision to go away, then crawled another few inches, whimpering the whole time. He would have loved it.

Petrified to use the toilet in case he came in, I squatted over the drain in the bathtub. Leaning my head on the side wall, I tried to breathe in the perfect amount of air that wouldn't hurt and prayed I didn't die in there. Eventually I crawled back into bed and passed out again.

My head ached, but it was a distant throbbing, like background noise. I still didn't know where The Freak was, and terrifying images of his abducting Christina raged through my mind. I prayed that my attempts to manipulate him hadn't just sent him straight to her.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, but I thought it had been at least a day. When I got back some strength, I made my way to the door. It was still locked. Shit. I hung my head under the tap, washed the stickiness I assumed was blood off my face, and drank my fill. As soon as the cold water hit my stomach, I clung to the sink and puked.

When I was finally able to move without getting dizzy, I searched the place again. My fingers explored every crack and bolt. Standing on the kitchen counter, I kicked the shutter so hard I thought I'd torn the muscles in my leg. My feet didn't even leave a mark. I was hurt bad and couldn't remember the last time I'd had any food, but I still would've taken my chances on the mountain, except there was no way out of the damn cabin.

To keep track of how many days I'd been missing, I pulled the bed away from the wall and pressed my fingernail into the wood until it left faint marks. If there was light through the little hole in the bathroom wall, I figured it was morning, and if it was still dark I waited until it brightened up, then made another mark. Two marks since he'd left me alone. To keep myself on some sort of schedule resembling The Freak's, I peed when I couldn't hold it any longer, and then only in the bathtub with my ears peeled for any sound. Too scared to have a shower or bath in case he came home and caught me, I avoided both, and whenever the hunger pangs got too bad, I filled myself up with water. I pictured everyone back home at candlelight vigils and imagined all my friends holding meetings, or handing out flyers with my smiling face on them. My mom must have been going crazy. I could see her at home, crying, probably looking beautiful--tragedy agreed with her. Neighbors would be bringing over casseroles, Aunt Val would be fielding calls, and my stepdad would be holding her hand, telling her it was going to be all right. I wished I had someone telling me that. Why hadn't anybody found me? Had they given up? I'd never heard of anyone going missing and being found weeks later. Unless the missing person was a corpse.

Maybe Luke was on TV pleading for my return. Or would the cops question him? Wasn't it always the boyfriend they suspected first? They were probably wasting time on him when they should be looking for The Freak.

I worried about Emma and who was taking care of her. Were they feeding her the right food for her sensitive tummy? Were they walking her? Mostly I just wondered if she thought I'd abandoned her, and that always made me cry.

To comfort myself I played memories of Luke, Emma, and Christina like home movies in my head: pause, rewind, and repeat. One of my favorites of Christina was the two of us on our candy bender. She came over to play Scrabble last Halloween and we decided to break open one of the bags I'd bought for trick-or-treaters. One bag turned to two, then three and four. We were both so stoned on sugar our Scrabble game just dissolved into a mess of dirty words and hysterical laughter. Then we ran out of candy for the kids, so we had to turn off all the lights. We hid in the dark and listened to fireworks, giggling our asses off.

But then my thoughts always turned to The Freak and what he might be doing to her now. I'd imagine her at the office, maybe working late, and then I pictured The Freak waiting outside in the van. My powerlessness enraged me.

As another day went by and I put a new mark on the wall, I stopped feeling any cravings for food, but the feeling that The Freak was coming back continued. And if I wanted to survive, I needed to be ready. My previous attempt at seduction had nearly gotten me killed, so I had to figure out why he flipped out when I pretended to be turned on.

Was he a sadist? No, he wasn't sexually aroused by beating me. He was reenacting something. This guy had a pattern. It started with the bath--maybe his version of foreplay?--and then it got rough later. What the hell was his deal?

He said women don't want nice guys, we all want to be treated like garbage, and then, when I was too overt in my attempts at seduction, it enraged him and he called me a whore, said I should be fighting him. He must think a "nice" woman secretly wants an aggressive man who's rough with her and overpowers her, but in his mind only a "whore" would actually show she likes it--a nice woman would resist. So he probably didn't feel like a real man unless I
was
scared of him.

He was trying to please me--with fear and pain. And the more I didn't react, the more he thought he had to hurt me. Holy shit. He was a rapist who thought every woman had a rape fantasy. At last I knew what he wanted--I had to struggle and show him my pain and fear.

If there'd been anything in my stomach to vomit up, I would have. Somehow, the thought of allowing him to see my real feelings was worse than pretending I liked being raped.

On my fourth day alone it became harder to distinguish my dreams from my reality as I slept more and woke less. There were times I'm sure I was hallucinating, because I was wide awake yet I could hear Luke's voice and smell his cologne, but when I opened my eyes there was nothing but those damn cabin walls.

I realized I was so weak I might forget my plan, so I created a rhyme to help myself remember. I chanted it over and over as I slipped in and out of sleep.

The Freak is insane, he needs fear and pain. The Freak is insane, he needs fear and pain.

By the fifth day, I began to be afraid he wouldn't come back before I starved to death. I spent most of the day on the bed or sitting with my back to the corner, waiting for the door to open and chanting my rhyme, but I kept nodding off. I think it was early evening but I was so weak it felt later. Then the lock on the door clicked and he walked in.

I was actually glad to see him--I wouldn't starve. I was especially glad to see he was alone, then I wondered if Christina was unconscious and tied up in the van.

He closed the door and stood staring at me. His image swam in front of me.

The Freak is insane, he needs fear and pain....

Body and voice trembling, I said, "Thank God, I've been so scared. I--I thought I was going to die here all alone."

His eyebrows rose. "Would you rather die here with company?"

"No!" As I shook my head, the room spun. "I don't want
anyone
to die. I've been doing thinking..." My food-deprived brain struggled to remember words. "Doing
some
thinking about...things. Things I want to tell you, but I need to know..." My chest tightened. "Christina, is Christina okay?"

He sauntered over to one of the barstools, sat down, and rested his chin in his hand. "Don't you care how I am?"

"Yes, yes, of course, I just thought--just wanted to know..." The Freak blurred and came into focus, then blurred again. "I messed up. Messed up bad. Last time."

His eyes narrowed and he nodded.

"But I have a plan. See--"

"You have a plan?" He sat up straighter. What the hell was I saying?

I dug my fingernails into my hand. The room came back into focus.

"For how we can make things work."

"Interesting, but I've been doing a little thinking myself. It's become clear I have to make some decisions and I don't think you're going to like the options."

Time to roll the dice. I slowly got to my feet. The room began to spin again. I braced my hand on the wall, closed my eyes, took some deep breaths. When I opened my eyes back up, The Freak was staring at me. No expression.

Hand clutching my stomach, I staggered over to sit on the stool next to him.

"I guess I can understand that. You've gone to a lot of trouble and I've been a lot of trouble, right?" Eyelids at half-mast, he nodded his head slowly.

"The thing is, the last time we tried...some of the things I said? That wasn't really me. I just thought that's what you wanted, what would make you happy."

He still wasn't showing much expression, but he was looking intently into my eyes. The best liars stick close to the truth. I took another deep breath.

"I was
really
scared, of you and of the feelings you were bringing up in me, but I didn't know..." He lifted his chin from his hand and sat up straight. I was going to have to talk faster.

"I get it now, I just have to be honest with you, with
myself
, and I'm ready to do that." I prayed for the strength to say the next words. "So I'd like to try again. Please give me another chance,
please
." I waited through a long pause, then braced myself as he got up from the stool.

"Perhaps I should give this a little more time, Annie. I wouldn't want to make a hasty decision." He stood before me with his arms out and his head cocked to the side.

"How about a hug?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. I was being tested. I stepped into his arms and put mine around him. "Christina is fine," he said. "We spent a delightful afternoon looking at houses. She sure knows her real estate."

I finally exhaled.

"I can feel your heart beating against me." He squeezed me harder. Then he released me and said, "Let's get some food in you." He left the cabin but came back moments later carrying a brown paper bag.

"Lentil soup, freshly made at my favorite deli, and some organic apple juice. The protein and sugars will help."

After The Freak warmed up the fragrant soup, he brought a steaming bowl and a glass of juice over to me. My frantic hands reached for the soup, but he sat down beside me and placed the bowl on the table in front of him. Tears came to my eyes.

"Please, I have to eat, I'm so hungry."

In a kind voice he said, "I know."