Prologue

 

I use to think that nothing in the world was scarier than staring down the barrel of a gun. But that feeling doesn’t hold a candle to the feeling I have now. I landed at Antigua International a few hours ago and after finding my bags and making my way to a payphone, I called Johnny’s friend. All I knew about Christian Church was that his name was quite weird and that he was an acquaintance of Johnny and lived down here in the islands. I guess it is all luck or something that Christian is here and so am I and everything seems to be working out like it is. I honestly thought this was a lost cause. But I’ve been proved wrong before.

 

The nerves didn’t hit me until the island of Barbuda, a dependency of Antigua, came into view in the late Caribbean afternoon. The ferry was rather steady, but I still felt quite sea sick and it wasn’t because of the rough waters. I got this feeling when I received a letter a week ago with a check for fifty thousand dollars. It was signed by her and dated a few days earlier than when I received it. I wouldn’t have known where she was and I wouldn’t have taken it as a sign, only a promise fulfilled ten years later. But there was one thing about the check that made me take notice and that was the one word question, “Ready?” written in the Memo line.

 

I told her not to worry about the money but she had insisted that I be repaid.

 

I had left her on that private jet tarmac in Orlando, alone, broken and confused about her life and her existence. It terrified me to see her leave with a one way ticket to somewhere in the Caribbean. I felt like I needed to protect her for the rest of her life. I needed to show her that it was ok, that she would be ok and that she’d always have me there to support her when she fell. Ten years later I think I finally realize that she needed to learn to protect herself and learn that she’d be ok, even without me, without him, without anyone but herself.

 

A return address on the back of the envelope told me what I needed to know.

 

After making a few calls and flying Trace out to Memphis to help me make the right decision, I found myself back at that old tarmac in Orlando, but this time I wasn’t saying goodbye. This time I was going to go a long damn way just to say hello.

 

As Christian walked with me off the ferry, he helped me flag a local cab, and asked me for the address. I reached into the pocket of my shorts and pulled out the envelope I had kept with me every day since I received it. I showed it to the cabby and he smiled at me.

 

“Ahh, Sarah’s place,” He said in a thick Caribbean accent.

 

I took a deep breath and realized this was really happening.

 

Before I could get my head around everything, and before I could even think to take in the scenery of where she’d been the past ten years, the door was opened and I stepped out in front of a small wooden beach house painted bright blue with a wrap around porch.

 

And now I’m standing here, unsure of what to do or say or think. Wind chimes hang all over the porch and a small boat lies turned upside down by the side of the house. A bike rests against the front steps with a basket and I smile. I wonder what she looks like, what she sounds like, God, what she acts like now. I wonder if she still has that shy smile and I hope to God it’s brighter. I hope she found what she was looking for here.

 

I hope she found herself.

 

I pay and thank the cabby and pick up my luggage at my feet. I watch him drive off and embrace the strange feeling of fear and excitement rushing through me simultaneously. I take a deep breath and step forward.

 

“But when will I know?”

“Know what?”

“Know that you’re ready?”

“You will. You just will.”

I sigh. It’s been ten years and all I know about her is from the random postcards she’d send me a few times a year. I don’t know what to expect and I don’t know if she’s changed her mind.

 

God, I hope she’s ready.

 

 Africa is a palate of colors. Greens and yellows cover most the area but then an orange part of the soil will emerge or a striking red bird will fly by.  The lakes and rivers are the deepest blue I’ve seen, more so than the ocean.  It’s a great place to visit, everything is so different than America, everything.  But don’t come with a cold. 

 I was a little congested when we left LAX and as soon as we landed I knew I would be in trouble.  Don’t get me wrong I’ve enjoyed it.  Being here with Cam has been fun, but then again, we aren’t here on vacation.  She’s got this new show for MTV coming out and we’re filming it.  Well, the filming is done, now we’re just hanging out for a few days and relaxing. 

 It's so nice to be in a place where nobody cares who I am or what I do.  They know we are American but that’s it and that’s all that really matters.  They have no idea that I’ve sold millions of records or that Cameron is one of the highest paid actresses.  None of that matters.  I’ve caught my self glancing over my shoulder, looking for guys with cameras, but so far the only cameras have been for MTV during the taping and our own. 

 It’s such a liberating feeling.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt freer in my life.  Even when I was in Germany with the guys I had to watch what I did because there was security and my mom was around.  And in Millington when me and Trace would run off and get into shit I always knew that somehow someone would see us and gossip would spread.

 There’s none of that here.

 Maybe I should move here.  No, it’s too far from everything else.

 It was great to have Trace and Elisha meet up with us in Pretoria for these last few days.   The four of us always have a killer time with each other.  Cam and I were in Tanzania for the show but flew down into South Africa for a little more civilized travel.  The girls are shopping today and even though I really just wanted to sleep, Trace drug my stuffy ass out of bed and told me we were going on a safari in the Rustenburg National Reserve.  We’ve been on several of those since we arrived and I didn’t want to sound like a whiney ten year old, but I really didn’t want to go.

 But here we are, about an hour or two drive away from our hotel that’s actually this big ranch style house between Johannesburg and Pretoria.  All we’ve seen are flies and a few antelope, but to me they just look like your regular overpopulated deer from the states.  I feel really bad for Trace, when we were doing the show in Tanzania we saw zebras and hippos and giraffes and chimps and all sorts of cool animals.  Of course the reserves were a lot bigger there and the area was really wild, like, REALLY wild.  I mean there were little tribal kids running around at this stop we made at this village and at night we heard a lion roar and then got to go fucking touch one. It was insane shit.  The animals are a lot shyer here it seems, or perhaps, non existent, and people in Johannesburg don’t walk around half naked with long hiking sticks. Trace keeps getting excited at birds and it’s really pathetic.  I wish he could see something cool to tell his folks back home.

 The driver tells us that they are going to drive a few miles off the path and that maybe the reason no animals are around is because someone drove down the path in the last few hours and scared all the wildlife away.  I sigh and Trace sits down beside me and puts his binoculars in his lap.  “Sorry there’s not much to see today.”

 “Are you kidding me?  This place is great!”  He looks like he did back in the day when momma would take us to the zoo.  Man, he would have shit himself if he had been with us earlier in the week.  “How are you feeling?” He asks me.

 “I’m ok.” I shrug.  “Still wish I could breathe out of my nose.”

 “You sound like you’re getting better.”

 I laugh sarcastically, “Knowing my luck I’ll feel great once we land back home.”

 Trace stretches and looks around with a chuckle, “You think they got a shitter somewhere around here?”

 “I doubt it.”  I rub the sweat off my forehead.  The heat is really starting to get to me. It’s different than LA heat and Memphis heat.  Memphis heat is sticky like you’re taking a hot bath, but its not relaxing.  LA heat is dry, like this kind of heat, but not nearly as hot.  I feel like I’m right there on the surface of the sun. It’s like when you put your back to a fireplace for too long but it’s constant.  Funny thing is, it’s kind of a cloudy day.

 “I gotta take a piss.”

 One of our guides must have heard us talking because he bangs on the top of the cabin of the truck and the truck comes to a halt from its slow crawl. “We can stop here,” Mitch says.  He’s an American environmentalist and one of the rangers at this reserve.  He’s lived here for about five years and is a nice guy, but definitely a dork when it comes to this nature shit.  “It’s a safe area.  There’s some brush right over there…” He points over to an area of shrubs and bushes about 300 feet away.  “But be careful and don’t go beyond the fence.”

 “What fence?” I ask, squinting to see as I take off my sunglasses.  I don’t really need them on a day like today.  All around us is flat and there are no trees in the area.  In fact, it looks like there might be a little gorge or drop off about half a mile away.  It’s a pretty grassy area, too and I wonder if there are snakes and things.  Suddenly I don’t feel so good about going out there to piss by ourselves.

 “There’s a fence over there.  It’s private property and we can’t see you that far.”

 “Kay, we’ll be back.” Trace says, jumping off the boarded in bed of the truck.  We were in a Land Rover in Tanzania and the seats were much more comfortable.  I follow him and feel a little better when one of the African guys come with us a little bit of the way.  We walk for a while and when we get close to the brush the guy leaves us alone and we go behind the bushy area to do our business.  I didn’t realize how much I had been holding it and needed to pee until now.

 It feels damn good to let it out, too.  If only I could get this snot out of my nose.

 I sigh and hear Trace say, “Can you believe we’re in fucking Africa?”

 “I know.”

 Apparently I didn’t say it enthusiastically enough because the next thing I know Trace is on my case again.  “Man, you need to fucking buck up.  I’m sorry you’re feeling shitty, but come on man.  You never know when you’re gonna be able to come back to this place.”

 “Fuck off all right, Trace?” I give him a pissed off look and tuck everything back in and zip up my jeans.  He rolls his eyes at me and walks over.

 “Is something going on?  You’re usually grumpy when you’re sick but this is weirder than normal.”

 “I don’t know.” I shrug.  I don’t know what my problem has been.  I’ve been blaming it on my cold, but honestly ever since we left LA I’ve been in such a pissy mood.  And it hasn’t just been here either.  For about a month I’ve been in a funk and I don’t know what it is. Cam says that it’s because none of my movies have been picked up, but I kind of think it’s the fact that I haven’t written anything musically in the past few months. 

 It’s starting to really piss me off.

 “I’m sorry man,” I say, “I don’t know what my problem is.”

 “Maybe you need some ass.”  Trace clamps his hand on my shoulder and we start to make our way from behind the brush area back to the guy so we can walk to the truck.

 “What?”

 “‘Lish told me it’s been awhile for you and Cameron.”

 “Well, yeah…”  I’m kind of annoyed she would tell Elisha about our lack of sex lately and then of course ‘lish tells Trace and he has to talk about it.  It’s not that I mind him knowing, it’s just something I didn’t think would bother her that much.  I mean, I’ve wanted to. I’ve got a hot ass girlfriend and I’m twenty three, hell fucking yeah I’ve wanted to.  But whenever I do she’s tired or she doesn’t feel good.

 That shit can do a number to a man’s ego.  “I’m sure that’s it.”

 “You see that?” Trace is suddenly looking in the direction opposite of the truck.  I can now make out a wooden fence with barb wire a little bit away from where we are standing.

 “See what?”

 “That bird…”

 I laugh and he starts walking towards the fence. “What?”

 "Dude, I just saw this cool ass bird..."

 "Man,” I laugh, not really enjoying Trace’s curious personality at this point.  We’re not in the backyard in Millington.  We’re in Africa and I’m pretty sure I just saw something slither against the ground near my foot. “It'll probably fucking eat you,” I say, keeping my eyes on my feet.

 "Shh, it’s over here..."

 "Trace, what the fuck?  We got birds in America, lots of them.  They shit on my car all the time."

 "Yeah but not cool ass birds like that one." He says, promptly tripping over a stump. 

 "I got a bird for you..." He looks at me and I flip him off.  He does it back to me and rolls his eyes.  Well, I thought it was a pretty funny.  

 "Funny asshole,” He says sarcastically.  “Come on..."

 "Trace, were in fucking Africa! And you've got me chasing a damn crow..."

 “It's not a crow..." His tone is defensive and by now I realize I’ve been following him this whole time.  There’s this bird sitting on the barbed fence that’s about fifteen feet in front of us.  It’s a small bird but it is a pretty cool mix of greens and pinks.  I think it’s a parrot. 

 It’s nice to look at but I’m starting to get a weird feeling about being out in the wild like this.  Call me a city boy, wait…I’m not a city boy at all. I’m mostly a country boy and I spent my childhood running in woods and making forts and pouring water into ant hills and salt on slugs in the driveway.  I know the difference between a coral snake and a king snake, but I’m not in the Mississippi river valley.  I’m in Africa and I’m not quite sure I can tell you the deference between a harmless little green snake and an African viper.

 “Trace I think we should head back.”  At the sound of my voice the bird flaps away.

 “Shit, he flew over to that thing in the ground.”

 I laugh.  This miraculous thing on the other side of the wire and wood fence is a dead tree which has fallen and one of its old branches is sticking up in the air, the color of it is parched and grey. “You mean the dead tree?”

 “Yeah that.” He says, not commenting on my sarcasm.  “Come on…”  I watch in amazement as Trace careful maneuvers himself to hop over the wire fence.  He puts his hands on the wooden post for balance and hops himself over, quickly swinging his legs so he doesn’t get caught on the wire.  “He’s not looking.” He says in a hushed tone.

 “I don’t know man.”  I look back at our guide and he’s busy looking out at the horizon in the other way.  I can’t even see the truck anymore because the grass is so high and the ground has begun to slope down and our guide’s body is only visible from the chest up.  “They said for us to not go over here.”

 “You’ve always been the pussy of the group.” Trace laughs.  He starts walking slowly towards the tree and I know that this is a bad idea.  It’s not even the fear of being unprotected in the wild knowing snakes and lions and shit can eat me but I just don’t have a good feeling.  It’s the same feeling when Britney came to visit me during the Celebrity tour and I knew something had gone down, or when Lance got sick and we still had to perform, or when Momma and Daddy started acting weird way back in the day.  I knew some shit was about to go down.  I knew things weren’t settled correctly and that only bad things were coming my way.

 It was a gut reaction and right now my gut is telling me to turn around, go straight to the damned truck and look for some more African Bambi.  Fuck the parrot.

 I hop over the fence and the bird flies away again and I roll my eyes as Trace keeps chasing it.  It’s like he’s a damn kitten chasing a freaking butterfly.  It’s hopeless but sadly this isn’t adorable at all.  This is annoying.  We pass the dead tree, walk for a little bit and then I see him stop abruptly.  I can’t see his legs over the high grass.  Suddenly his arms wave like he’s balancing himself and then I see him disappear.

 “Shit…” I mouth and tread faster to see where the hell he went. He probably fell and broke his leg and I’m gonna have to go get help and the guide is gonna be pissed that we went past the fence.  I stop myself suddenly and see that there’s a little ledge that I’m on and that the grass had stopped growing tall.  He’s a few feet below me on a rocky drop-off that juts out over a bit of a canyon.  It’s small, but there’s a swift wide creek underneath us a good twenty feet and a small waterfall is a few hundred feet to our right.  I’m so surprised we couldn’t hear it sooner but it’s not that powerful of a waterfall. Still, it’s kinda loud.

 I jump down with him and catch myself as the soles of my sneakers do little to grip the rocky terrain below.  I know I shouldn’t have worn my new Nikes.  They’re all dusty and shit now. God, and there’s a grass stain, too.  That sucks.

 “Now where did your damn little bird go?” I ask. “I can’t believe you’ve got me chasing a bird.”

 Trace shrugs and doesn’t say anything.  And slowly, I understand why. It’s a nice setting and a beautiful river.  The mist from the falls hits my face every now and then and it feels good against my hot skin.  I got a little burnt when we were in Tanzania.  I look out over the falls and the river and see that there’s a wooded area on the other side.  I nudge Trace and say, “Pretty damn cool.” 

He nods and I’m suddenly hit with the feeling of complete serenity.  No one in the world knows where I am.  There’s no one around but me and Trace.  No photographers, no fans, no body’s screaming my name.  When I look up in the sky there aren’t helicopters surrounding like there are when I got play golf.  There’s not a guy hiding in a van somewhere.  It’s just us and it’s a damn good feeling.

 It’s freedom.

 Bang… 

 “Holy hell, what was that?” I hear him say and I’m confused just as much as he is as we frantically search the scenery.

 The noise echoes a bit in the canyon and we look around and I slap his shoulder and point down below.  Off on the other side of the river to our left are two trucks, much like the style of the one we’ve been riding.  They’re camouflaged and there are African men and a few white men standing there in a semi-circle in front of the trucks.

 Then we notice it.  There’s a man on his knees, blind folded and bound on the ground.  Beside him is another man, an African man, but he’s not on his knees, he’s laying back and I think I can see a little pool of dark liquid underneath him.

 I shake my head roughly, hoping to God that what I've just seen has simply been a mirage...that the heat is beginning to play tricks on me.  But then I look over at Trace and see the shocked expression on his face.  I realize this is no mirage.  I look on with shock and horror, kind of like when I was thirteen and Trace and I stayed up late to watch Jason III even though momma said we wouldn't be able to sleep.  It's like that moment, when the pretty girl with the big ass titties got chopped with an axe.  We both cried 'look out!' but then it was too late.  But this...this isn’t a movie.  It's hitting me now, like an anvil.  This is really happening. Somebody just got shot...murdered

 Holy shit, this is really fucking happening.

 A guy in white suit comes out from somewhere under a shade tree wearing a straw hat that looks like one of the Greg Norman Shark hats I got my dad when we went golfing the other weekend.  He walks up to the guy that’s kneeling there.  He squats down beside him and I watch as two other guys pick up the limp, dead body and shuffle over to heave him into the river. I watch as his body is tossed and tumbled, tortured by the rough current.  His body slides down and flips over on its back and floats right beneath us.  The blindfold comes off and his eyes are wide open, white and staring up at us.  I swallow back the urge to puke when I see a hole in his head and force myself to look back at man in white.  I can’t see his face because of his hat but apparently he’s talking to the guy.  It’s weird but I feel myself get angry.  We don’t have a description and when we get back to the truck, I doubt they will believe us and if they do, how will anyone get caught? We’re fucking helpless.

 “Tr-Trace…”  I manage to say but before he is able to respond the guy in the suit stands up, wipes off his hands and walks to a truck, getting into the passenger seat.  Another man as black as coal is shirtless, dressed in camouflage pants.  He steps forward, raises his arm and I see he has a gun in his hand.  The sun comes out of the clouds and catches the silver.  It blinds me for a moment and then I hear…

 Bang…

 The guy on his knees crumbles and drops to the side.  I don’t even realize it when I yell, “Oh shit!”

 Suddenly everyone that is standing there looks up at us and the man with a gun aims it at us and fires repeatedly. 

 “Fuck man…” Trace yells and we both hit the ground and try to find ways to turn around and pull ourselves up off the ledge, into the grass, and run back to the truck to get the fuck out of there.  God, I don’t know what to do and I can’t help but stare at the guy that was just shot, lying there, dead, unmoving with a thickening puddle of blood consuming him.  I hear Trace moan behind me and hear feet shuffling against the dirt.

 I push myself off the ground and jump up to turn around, see what his problem is and get away.  I realize the shooting has stopped and I see that Trace is on the ground, in a fetal position.  At first I panic and think he is shot when a guy wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans and gelled hair steps into view and kicks him in the stomach.  He waves his gun over Trace’s body and I hear myself gasp.  Holy fucking hell, what is this?  I hope I’m dreaming.

 But for some reason I have a feeling this is all too real.  I blink and suddenly I’m confronted with the round mouth of a gun ready to throw up bullets.  I gulp and I seriously think my heart stops beating.  I raise my eyes to see an African man with a bright smile staring at me.

 He laughs a deep accented laugh and says, “‘Oh shit’ is right my friend..."

 I see his hand rise and I realize I’m about to die, he’s about to shoot me.  I can’t think of anything and stare at his sick smile.  Suddenly I feel something hard and strong knock me square on the top of my head.

 I lose feeling in my legs and quickly, everything turns black.

 

Chapter 2

 

I don’t know how long I’ve been knocked out, but I can still feel a throbbing ache on top of my head. I take in a deep breath, like I’ve been holding it for years but when I go to open my mouth I can’t move it to breathe. My eyes pop open and I make a move to tear at whatever this is that’s sticky and covering my face.

 

But I can’t move my hands.

 

I start to struggle, trying to free them from whatever is keeping them behind my back. I quickly realize that it’s no use and the events of the day slowly come back to me. The shitty safari, the bird, the fence, the fucking river, the shooting…

 

So far the only positive thing about this situation is the fact that I can now breathe through my nose. I can feel the snot running down under my nostrils and I feel like it’s all over my face. God this is disgusting. This whole damn thing is just disgusting.

 

I can’t believe I saw someone get shot, like really murdered.

 

I hear a groan and feel someone move underneath me. I look up and see that I’m heaped up in a pile on top of Trace. He’s got a black eye and squints it open. He’s got duct tape over his mouth. Shit, that must be why I can’t move my mouth.

 

I try to tell him something by only looking at him and all I can see is that he is in a lot of pain and really scared. Shit, I don’t know how we are going to get out of this. We are in Africa and some militant terrorist group probably kidnapped us and we’re gonna have our throats slashed like those Americans in Middle East did. Fuck, I bet momma is having a stroke right now.

 

Shit, shit, shit.

 

I look up and around and notice we are in the living room of some nice house. There’s a fireplace and we’re lying on a hard wood floor. Across from us is a man, I’m guessing he’s the man. He’s wearing the same white suit and there’s that damned hat resting beside him on a white, plush leather couch.

 

A dark marble coffee table separates him on the couch and us on the floor. A few of those guys in camouflage walk by behind the couch. They have guns, big rifles and they are talking as they walk through the room and disappear somewhere behind us. God, they’re fucking laughing. They’re laughing and we’re here practically dying on the floor. They’re voices fade away and I strain to pick up any sound I can. I can’t really hear anything except, except… Damn that hit on the head must have made me crazy because I think I can hear “The Circle of Life” from The Lion King coming from the floor. I’m fucking going insane.

 

Dammit, my head hurts.

 

It doesn’t help when a shrill of a cell phone sounds, but I perk up realizing there is a way for communication outside of this hell. The only problem is I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get to that phone. I won’t make it that far. I watch as the man on the couch picks up his hips, slides a small phone from his pocket and brings it to his ear. He doesn’t say anything for a minute and then starts to say “yes” then “no” then “yes” again twice. Then he says, “I don’t want to fuckin’ hear from you until it’s fixed.” And then flips his phone closed and sets it on the table in front of him, where it looks like he’s been counting money. A few packs of sugary substances are also on the table, but I’m sure they aren’t sugar. There’s also a red velvet bag and a gun.

 

He shakes his head and sighs, “Fuckin’ idiot.”

 

His accent isn’t foreign. I’m pretty damn sure he’s American. I see now that he’s got pale skin. There are freckles all over his hands as he speedily counts a stack of twenties. There are freckles all over his face, too and his head is orangy-red and looks like it might be graying. He looks fucking Irish.

 

His eyes land on me and instead of being green or blue, or even light brown, like most Irishmen, they’re almost black. He stops counting, sets down the money and smiles a purely evil smile. “Mmhmm, our little witnesses have awoken. Bernie!” He yells and then gets up from his seat and strolls over to us. He squats down and I feel now like I’m suddenly back in time, back at the gorge, but this time I’m the guy who’s about to be murdered. Is he going to taunt us? Fuck, this asshole really is going to taunt us. “You two start thinking about which of you want to go first. You need to understand I do not like people who enjoy my business’s waste management as a spectator sport. What were you two doing? Making bets on which one of those fuckers would die first? You won, didn’t you?” He smiles at me and then is interrupted when someone steps behind him.

 

The guy that was beating the shit out of Trace is there. He’s still got his damned gelled hair that looks like it could kill some one with how spiky it is. The black shirt he’s wearing has a little bit of dust and dirt on it and I notice how muscular he is. He looks like a damn bodybuilder. “Sorry boss, me ‘lil bro was on the ringer,” He says in a thick cockney English accent.

 

“Oh, it’s fine.” He stands up and pats the guy on the shoulder, “Get rid of those two will you?” He says walking back to the couch. “Make ‘em decide who goes first." The bastard winks at us.

 

This is just wrong. I gulp and watch him pick up the money again to start counting. God, I’ll fucking give him whatever he wants. If he’s so fucking concerned with cash he can have it. Just don’t kill us. What am I thinking? Fucking shit, nothing’s going to work.

 

Just give it up Justin, just give it up.

 

“Sure, boss...” Bernie shrugs and reaches down to pick me up and stand me on my feet. I feel tears come to my eyes as he pulls out a pair of handcuffs from behind him and moves his gun from the strap around his waist to where it’s tucked in the front of his jeans. God, this isn’t supposed to happen to me. I mean, it’s not supposed to happen to anyone, but, but…I feel like I’m five fucking years old but I’m so fucking mad that I didn’t bring Tiny with us. He would have saved us.

 

The Bernie guy stares at me for a while and I want to punch him for gloating at me while I’m crying. But then it happens. Something that makes me stop crying and makes me realize the sudden advantage of being who I am. I watch it happen slowly. I’ve seen it happen so many times in my life. It’s usually the male reaction. Girls seem to know me right off the bat and they clam up and just stare silently. Guys tend to look at me really, really hard, like they think they know who I am but don’t wanna ask. But then they always end up going “You’re that Justin guy?” and then inform me about how much his sister or girlfriend wants to do me. His eyes widen and a small smile comes onto his face. “Bloody 'ell...” He starts to laugh and looks over his shoulder at the Irish guy. “Do yew know who this is?"

 

"Should I?" The Irish asshole says uninterested, not looking up.

 

"Fuckin' Justin Timbalake!” The Irish glances up and shrugs and looks back down at his pad. Bernie turns back and smiles at me, patting me on the shoulder a bit. I find incredible odd that he’s acting almost like he’s a fan but has me fucking taped up and is about to shoot me. God, if only he’d take this tape off my mouth maybe I could negotiate something.

 

What the fuck am I talking about? Negotiate?! How the fuck would I know how to negotiate?

 

Bernie shakes his head at me and then says to his boss, “He’s a big pop star back in the UK and the states!"

 

I move my eyes form Bernie to the Irish guy. He drops his pad and stares at me for a while and then slowly says, “Really?”

 

“For sure! It’s a pity though,” He says and then roughly turns me around and I feel metal hooked around my wrist. I realize now I had tape of something around them before. I still do and the confinement of the tape and the handcuffs make me feel claustrophobic. I look down at Trace and he’s still curled on the floor, listening, just like I am, to every damn word they are saying. “Me ex gal loved your music." Bernie said and then I don’t believe my fucking ears when he sings, “I’m gonna rock your body” mocking me in a high pitched tone. He laughs. “That shit always got ‘er ‘lil muffin hot.”

 

I gulp down the vomit I feel pulling up in my throat. Fucking bastard is singing my damn song and then he’s going to kill me? I can’t even comprehend this situation. It’s beyond me. I would fucking pray but right now I have very little hope in God or even if there is one.

 

Fuck.

 

I take in a strong breath through my nose and stare straight ahead as he pulls out another set of cuffs and squats down. God, I’d love to kick the son of a bitch in the fucking mouth but I’m taped up around my ankles, too. I feel cold metal come around my ankles as he pushes up the end of my jeans. I look down at him and he looks up at me and smiles, pulling out a pocket knife and using his teeth to get the blade out. Great now he’s going to fucking cut my feet off.

 

I close my eyes and ball my hands into fists and squeeze. I hear the sound of fabric being cut and wait. Pain shoots through me but a different kind than what I was expecting. I moan as I feel all the hair around my left ankle come off. Shit, fucking shit! I don’t know why I was thinking that he was going to cut my feet and I have to wonder if it would be as painful as this.

 

He does it to the right. Why do I have to have such hairy legs? I wonder if something like pulling duct tape off your ankles that can mess up your tattoos. I wonder if that’s why it hurts so damn bad. Fuck Justin, what the hell are you thinking about? You’re about to fucking die!

 

I look down at Trace. Shit, I think he’s crying. He looks up at me. It’s ok man. It’s…fuck…

 

I feel myself start to get watery eyes again.

 

This is not fucking ok.

 

I’m turned around again and the only positive thing I can think is that I can actually move my feet a little in a shuffling movement. At least I’ll get to walk to my death like a man instead of being carried like a baby. He lets me go for a minute and I watch him reach down to pull Trace up, but before he is able to, the asshole says, "Bernie, wait just a minute..."

 

Bernie drops Trace from where he’s a little off the ground and looks at the Irish man who is smiling. "Let’s see if we can get a mil or two out of him before we do ‘em off...” He waves his hand in the air. “Go lock ‘em up..."

 

Bernie asks, "You want them out in the cage?"

 

"Yeah...” He thinks for a second and rubs his chin. “Wait, no…” He smiles a bit, looks up at me and narrows his eyes. God, whatever he has in store for us I know, I just know it’s not good. He wants to fucking torture us, torture me, until he gets every fucking dime he wants.

 

Then he’s gonna put a bullet in my brain. I just know it.

 

He laughs and says in a smooth, calm voice, “Put ‘em down with Sarah."

 

"With Sarah?” Bernie asks shocked and if I wasn’t scared before, I’m fucking shaking now. Whoever Sarah is, she’s not good. I wonder if she’s like code name for a torture chamber or a creature like Sloth from The Goonies. But Sloth was a good guy.

 

I have a gut feeling that Sarah is not.

 

“Are you sure, Boss?" Bernie says skeptically.

 

"I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure!" The Irishman replies in a bitter tone. He stands up promptly and walks out of the room. I try my best to figure out how this house works and look around, noticing a few windows with the blinds drawn and what looks like late afternoon light coming through. If we ever get loose we’ll need to know where to go. I don’t know what is making me think about things like this. I don’t know how I’m staying even halfway calm. I look down at Trace again. His eyes are wide but he’s obviously not as calm as I am. I wonder how I look. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

 

God, I know I’ve put him through some shit in my life time but he’s doesn’t deserve this.

 

Suddenly Bernie is in front of us again. “Sorry mates. Time for the shroud.” He wiggles a black cloth in front of me and his smile is overly excited. It’s like he’s getting pleasure out of kidnapping us. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, all I can see is darkness. I listen...I can hear Trace moaning as something is being ripped. God, he has hairier legs than I do. As I stand there and wait for them to ready us to go be tortured by whoever or whatever Sarah is, I wonder why they even put the hood over us. They’re gonna kill us after they get some money.

 

I realize, he must have noticed me looking around. They know what I was thinking. The shroud is there to blind us to every way, every move, and every sight we see. It’s to keep us from thinking about an escape.

 

It hits me slowly and hard and I feel the fresh tears start to fall and the snot build back up in my nose. There is no way out.

 

There is no escape.

Chapter 3

 

I don’t know how long it took for them to move us, but it felt like an eternity. They walked us a few feet, sat us down on something and then picked us up again a few minutes later and pushed us to shuffle forward. At one point I ran into someone. I think it was Trace ‘cause he made a little moaning noise. God, I hope he’s ok. I still have a headache, and my ankles are really sensitive where the metal rubs against the part that was waxed by duct tape. But Trace, Trace got beat up, not just knocked out. He was beaten until he passed out, at least I think. I’m assuming they made sure he was knocked out before they brought him to the house. But, holy shit, if he wasn’t, maybe he’ll know where we are and how to get us out. No, no, he’s too terrified.

 

He’s just as clueless as I am. It’d at least be nice to have him to talk to. Even for five minutes. I don’t know what I’d say though.

 

I really, really hope this fucking tape over my mouth comes off soon.

 

We are carried down what I assume is a big flight of stairs over someone’s shoulder. I can hear a squeaky door slam behind us and with each trotting step I hear the sound of a light feminine singing, which was oddly childlike and yet still grown. Whoever it is, they are singing along to “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King” from The Lion King.

 

Good fuckin’ God, this is some sick joke, isn’t it?

 

I’d almost pay for Ashton or someone to pop out and say “You just got punk’d” but I have a good idea this is a little too sick, even for him.

 

Suddenly the singing and the sound of the movie goes off with the “boing” sound that happens when you turn off a TV. They got a TV down here? I wonder if it’s all over the news that I’m missing. Shit, I’m a cocky ass bastard even when I’m fucking kidnapped. But still, I wonder if they’re looking for us. I hope so.

 

God, I can’t believe how sharp my hearing is. It’s like once your ability to talk and ability to see are taken from you, everything is heightened. I wonder what it smells like. I’d know if the thick wooly smell of this hood thing wasn’t so powering.

 

Footsteps on cement are heard as I bounce over this guys shoulder. The blood is rushing to my head and I have to wonder if its snot that’s coming from my nose or blood.

 

The guy’s footsteps are quieted but we’re still moving. We must be on carpet. God, if I wasn’t in this situation I’d be very proud of myself for being so observant. Suddenly I’m whipped around and I’m sitting on a carpeted floor. Or maybe it’s a rug, I don’t know. I feel someone fiddling behind me and hear a clicking sound. My hands feel around as much as possible and I feel a hook and a key lock holding in the chains of my handcuffs. The hook is bolted into a cemented wall, like the wall of an unfinished basement.

 

Shit, that’s where we are. They put us in the basement with a Lion King freak.

 

The hood is suddenly pulled off me and Bernie is squatting there. Another big goon, who looks a little less friendly but just as big as Bernie, is taking off Trace’s hood thing. I can’t see anything beyond their massive forms and I’m not sure if I want to.

 

“Eh, this is gonna ‘urt,” Bernie says and the next thing I know I feel like my lips are being ripped off my face.

 

The first thing I do is turn my head and face down to my shoulder to try and wipe some of the blood or whatever from my face. I look at my shoulder and don’t see blood, but disgusting yellow mucus. At least my nose isn’t bleeding. I turn my head and do it to the other side of my face as I hear Trace’s tape be ripped off.

 

I look over and he takes a deep breath.

 

“You ok?” I whisper. He looks at me with wide eyes and the next thing I feel is a slap of a backhand across my face. I look at Bernie. Wow, I mean I thought he was a prick, but he seemed a lot nicer than to slap me for asking my best friend if he’s ok.

 

What the hell am I talking about? This guy’s a kidnapper.

 

“Be quiet awlright? Listen to me. Yew two behave yaself. No fuckin’ monkey business.” He turns to look over his shoulder and I look with him, trying to get a feel for what’s around us. I can’t see anything but a small bed with a cover that has pictures of Jasmine from Aladdin all over it. There are a couple stuff animals and a small TV on a stand on the opposite wall in front of the bed. VHS are stack up along the wall beside the TV and I wonder, did the asshole put us down with his fucking kid?

 

“Sarah will be lookin’ after yew. If yew try to mess with ‘er, if yew even THINK about messin’ with ‘er, Boss’ll fuckin’ cut yew into peices and feed yew to the otha one. Understand?”

 

I nod but can’t help but think that this is weird. This is really fucking weird. I look over at Trace and see him looking around as well. The big guy that was carrying him has stood up and Trace is staring at the walls.

 

I see it.

 

There are paintings everywhere. The walls are covered with taped up paintings and drawings. Some are done in what look like finger paints, other in pencil, but all of them, all of them are fucking fantastic.

 

Most of them are paintings or drawings of the name “Sarah” over and over again in all different artistic stylings. Others are recreations of scenes from Disney movies and cartoons, mainly Aladdin. It’s incredible.

 

It’s creepy.

 

We can’t stay down here with a psycho child who only paints her name If Sarah ends up being like the exorcist chick, I’ll fucking shoot myself in the brain. I lick my dry lips and taste blood but don’t think about that at that moment. I gotta think about getting out of here. “Bernie, right?” I ask.

 

He narrows his eyes at me and grits out. “Eh, don’t get smart.”

 

“I just want to know what you want? How much? You’ll get it, just let us go.” I plead with him. I don’t know what else to do, and I know I’m being naïve and pathetic at the moment, but I can’t just sit here and let them boss us around. I mean, I have to because they have guns. But sitting here and taking it without trying something is going to kill me.

 

Or get me killed.

 

“It don’t work like that superstar.” He smiles and stands up. “I just do whut I do. Boss’ll discuss those things with yew later. We’ll be checkin’ in.” I watch as they both walk off to the side and up the steps, looking back over their shoulders to check on us. “Be nice to ‘er,” Bernie says when he gets to the top of the wooden stairs. Yea, we are definitely in a basement. You can see the pipes and shit that run in the house all along the ceiling. There’s a small keypad by the doorway and he pokes in some numbers and then opens the door. It slams shut. I stare at the little keypad. It looks like the same one I have in my house for my alarm system.

 

I realize right then and there if we get out of this, that’s our ticket. We’ll have to figure that sucker out. Shit…this isn’t good.

 

“Holy fuck Justin…” I hear Trace say in a trembling voice.

 

I look over and he’s staring at me. It’s weird. For most of my life I’ve put him through the shit and he’s pulled us both out of it. Now, now he’s looking at me for directions. Fuck, you think I know what the hell to do?! “Let’s just not panic, ok?”

 

“Not fucking panic!?” He says and I know it was a horrible thing to say, but what do you expect? What am I supposed to say? “What the hell Justin…”

 

“Just shut up Trace!” I yell. I can’t do this right now. We can’t fucking get in an argument about panicking, cause then we’d panic. I take a few calming breaths and lean my head against the cool cement. It feels nice on my throbbing head and I ask him, “Are…are you ok?”

 

I look down at him and he nods. “My side is fucking killing me, but I think I’m ok. What about you?”

 

“They knocked me with a gun, so I just have a headache.” He looks at me and I see finally that his right eye is horrible. It’s puffy and a deep purple color. “Shit man, your eye looks bad.” I sigh and for some reason I feel like this is all my fault. “God, I’m so fucking sorry Trace.”

 

“It’s not your fault.” He says.

 

“Yes it is.” I reply, “If I hadn’t of yelled ‘oh shit’.”

 

He gets angry and narrows his eyes, well, eye at me. “If I hadn’t been chasing a fucking parrot we wouldn’t be here ok? So just shut up.”

 

“Well, shit man, what do want me to do? What am I supposed to do? I mean fuck were in-” But I stop when I hear a squeak. Trace’s eyes widen and we both slowly turn our heads. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but right there in front of us on the opposite wall is a door. It’s cracked open with dull light pouring from it, but brighter than the light in this room. Fingers grip the opened end and I see a slither of a human form, well I guess it’s human, peeking out at us through the crack.

 

Fuck.

 

I take a deep breath and stare at the door, not even realizing that I’m talking when I say to Trace, “Whatever it is man, I’m sorry. I...I love you, you know that right?”

 

“God…” I hear his voice and he’s panicking. God, I am too but we gotta stay calm. For all we know it’s just a normal child, scared of two people in her room “It’s gonna be some freak, isn’t it? I mean look at this room.” He doesn’t know that. I mean, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna be a demon but, I mean, there’s a chance she’s just a poor girl who’s got a fucked up dad.

 

Or maybe, maybe he’s not her father. Maybe…

 

Maybe she’s kidnapped, too. No, no he wouldn’t keep a kidnapped child in a room with a nice bed and toys and things. At least I don’t think so.

 

Trace is rambling in a whispered tone and I tell him to “Shh…” He just looks at me and suddenly the door swings open.

 

I think I gasp, but I’m not sure. I stare hard and try to fully understand the sight before me. I glance at Trace and then back, back at the girl in front of me.

 

But, she’s not a girl.

 

She looks like she might be around eighteen, maybe a little older, maybe not. Her hair is a little messy and she’s wearing a plain white shirt, which I hate to say is a little see-through. I’m not trying to stare at her nipples but the shirt is not very thick. She’s got on jean shorts and she’s thin, but not unhealthy looking.

 

And her skin….her skin is so odd. She has dark features, dark eyes, dark hair but…but her skin is like porcelain. It’s white and gleaming.

 

Like she hasn’t seen the sun in years.

 

She’s still standing in the doorway, with a scared little look on her face. She seems curious as well and isn’t making a move to step out of the room, which I see is a bathroom. She keeps her hand on the opened door and another on the doorway.

 

I glance at Trace again. God, I think he’s shaking. She doesn’t, she doesn’t seem too bad.

 

I clear my throat and say softly, “Hey…”

 

She darts her eyes from where she’s been staring at Trace to me. She bites her lip.

 

I try again, “Hey, Sarah?” She stands up straight and looks at me weird, like she’s wondering who I am or how I know her name. Oh my God, does she know who I am? I take a deep breath and ask, “That’s your name, right?”

 

She doesn’t say anything but suddenly and quickly moves forward, running over to the other side of her bed. I watch her and she peaks over and then goes back doing whatever it is on the other side.

 

“D-don't talk to her.” Trace grits out angrily.

 

“Why not?” I ask him.

 

“She’s probably getting a gun ready over there or something.” He says a little louder this time.

 

“Please…” I roll my eyes and look around at the room, staring at the artwork and the bed. I notice now there seems to be a refrigerator on the other side of the bed from where we are. God, I could kill for a drink of something right now. “Look at this room, look at how she’s acting. I don’t think she that’s harmful.”

 

“She’s crazy.” Trace says as she walks over and throws down a Tupperware box a couple feet in front of us. She runs back to the other side of the bed and Trace whispers, “You can see it in her eyes.”

 

“No she’s not.” I say, feeling like I need to defend her. She looks pretty normal, besides the no bra thing, but she probably doesn’t realize that because I don’t see any mirrors anywhere. She runs back with a big pad of paper. It’s that tan paper that kids use to color and draw on. She rips off the top of the Tupperware container and sits in front of us about three feet. She’s Indian style and now that’s she closer I can see how light her skin is.

 

God, maybe she is kidnapped. She reaches in the box and pulls out a handful of colored pencils, laying them beside her and then putting the pad in her lap. She stares at us hard for a moment and then grabs a pencil and starts making on the paper.

 

She’s drawing something.

 

A few minutes go by where she concentrates on drawing, occasionally looking up at us and then back down. She’s gnawing on her lips like crazy and I find it exceptionally odd that she must have the same oral fixation that I do.

 

Trace is leaned up against the wall with his eyes closed. He really needs to calm down. I mean, I know that we’re in deep fucking shit right now, but doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he realize? We’re not alone anymore. We’re not by ourselves. And most importantly, our new company is not chained to the wall.

 

Forget the alarm pad by the doorway, Sarah’s our ticket out of here.

 

I just wonder what it is about her that makes the “boss” fucker think we’re secure with her running around free as a bird. “Hey Sarah?” I ask trying to become friends with her, “What cha doin’?”

 

“Maybe she doesn’t know English.” Trace whispers.

 

I look back at her and she’s still drawing, not answering us, and not giving any notion that she’s understanding us. I think Trace is right.

 

I shift my shoulders forward a bit so I can scoot my back fully against the wall instead of just my head. I’ve been slouching the whole time and it’s starting to make my shoulders ache.

 

When I do she shakes her head and finally, shit, finally she says something. “Don’t move!" She says and keeps drawing. I freeze. Ok, maybe she is a little psychotic. She looks back up at us and squints. Her face gets an eerie look on it like she’s trying to see through us or figure us out.

 

I can’t breathe and I gulp when Trace stutters, “D-don’t hit us okay?”

 

"Aallmmoosstt..." She drags out and looks back at her pad, shading something with a blue pencil. She chews on her lips some more and finally looks up at us with a smile. It’s the first kind smile I’ve seen in an hour. I feel at ease, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Oh...” She giggles in a girly tone and cocks her head to the side, picking up another pencil and doing some more shading. “I don't like to hit people. Big Bird says that’s not how you make a friend,” She says in a serious tone.

 

"Who’s Big Bird?" Trace asks, still in that terrified voice. I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not horrified, but I’m starting to try and wrap my head around this. If we can get Sarah on our side then she can get us out of here, and if not, maybe we can use her to at least give us something in that fridge over there.

 

Dammit, I’m not about to give up.

 

I attempt a chuckle and Trace glares at me, "Probably that fucking bird you were chasing...stupid ass. Look what happened."

 

“You’re making a fucking joke?”

 

I scoff a little and roll my eyes. I know this sucks. I know we are in trouble. I know there’s, there’s a damn good possibility that we might not make it out of this basement…ever. But, dammit, I can’t just give up.

 

I just can’t.

 

I can’t.

 

“I’m not just gonna give myself over to gloom.” I say to him.

 

His voice rises to a strange pitch, “Do you fucking see where we are?”

 

“I know where we are Trace, but God Dammit I know!” I yell. “I can’t-“

 

He cuts me off with a harsh yell, “Just shut the fuck up! I can’t have you trying to be all fucking positive-“

 

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” I yell back at him and I see he’s just about to yell back at me, and if we weren’t chained up we probably would have been pushing each other by this point.

 

But if we weren’t chained up we wouldn’t be fighting. We wouldn’t even be here.

 

“FUCK OFF JUSTIN!” He screams at me and just as I’m about to say something back a noise, a noise that I can’t handle and that rings in my ears, echoes in the basement.

 

"STOP IT!"

 

We both shut up and stare at her. She looks like she’s about to start bawling, but she never does. She pushes the pad off her legs and bends them up to her chest, hugging them and rocking herself back and forth. She sniffs and then leans her head down to herself mumbling something to herself about how screaming is bad.

 

I hear Trace let out a big breath and say, “Great...we're stuck in a room with a whacko."

 

"Whacko?” She sits up and suddenly I’m really terrified of her again. She’s back Indian style and staring at Trace with widened eyes. But then a bright, childlike smile spread on her face. “Wacko, Yakko and Dot!” She laughs and then says, “They're my FAVORITE! It's time for Animaniacs, and we're zany to the max, so just sit back and relax, You'll laugh 'til you collapse, We're Animaniacs…” I know it’s probably really stupid, but I start to sing along with her. She’s, she’s a grown woman, but she’s acting like she’s seven years old or, or something. Maybe, maybe something is really wrong with her. My brother Jon use to watch this show all the damn time when he was little. It was pretty good. I remember I’d watch it with him and I loved the Pinky and the Brain stuff. I know Trace is probably wondering why I’m doing this but, I mean, it’s kind of a fun song to sing and well, she’s smiling, really smiling.

"What the fuck are you doing man?!" He asks me but I ignore him.

She’s laughing and singing and dancing around the room in circles just like a little girl would. I keep singing with her and think about Jon, he use to love dancing around in circles until he got dizzy and would sit down and go “Whoa….that was fun.” And then I’d chase him up the stairs. He’s grown up so fast. He’s in fucking middle school now. Shit, what if I never see him again?

 

“Animaniacs…those are the facts!” She falls down on her bed and giggles while she wiggles her legs. I know this is weird, but I take a close look at them. It looks like she knows how to shave. I mean, it’s just strange. Here’s this girl, no this woman, but she has the mind of a child. But she looks and is developed into a young woman.

 

Something…something’s just not right. Like, it’s not just that she might be retarded or slow or that maybe she’s schizophrenic or something. Something…something else is just…

 

This situation is just freaky. And I’m still trying to figure out why they chained us up down here…with her.

 

“What the fuck was that?" He growls out and I watch as she dances over to the fridge and opens it up. God I need a drink.

 

“Look, I'd rather get along with her than have her pissed at us!"

 

"She's a fuckin’ loony!" He says.

 

"We're fucking kidnapped in Africa!" I reply and realize it’s the millionth time I’ve said or thought that in the past few hours. Not only are we kidnaps and chained to a basement, we’re in Africa. I mean, will the South African government care when they file a missing persons report? I wonder if they’ll have to send the FBI or something because were Americans.

 

Shit, momma’s gonna have to deal with the press. Usually Trace helps out with that kind of thing, but…but Trace isn’t available right now.

 

“Just fuck off...okay Jay?" Trace says and he pulls up his legs and leans his head down on his knees, looking away from me. Shit, I feel bad. I’m being the most dick headed friend right now but I don’t, I just…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say or act.

 

God, for the first time in my life I’m utterly clueless.

 

I stare at the back of his head for a while until I see movement in front of me and see her sitting down Indian style again. This time she has a Capri Sun with her, but it’s not Capri Sun brand, it’s some other brand I’ve never hear of. Probably African. She’s got a big can of those cheez puff balls. She sucks on the Capri Sun and squeezing the pouch and making that loud, crackling sucking noise. "What’s wrong?" she asks

 

I look at Trace and see that his shoulders are moving. Shit, he’s crying. Man, don’t cry. We’ll get out of this. We…will.

 

I hope.

 

I lean my head back and close my eyes. Don’t you fucking cry, too. Don’t fucking do it.

 

"Did I make you sad?” She asks and I look at her and she pops a cheese ball in her mouth and crunches down on the air filled carbs. I’m not hungry, not at all and just the thought of eating those is making me want to throw up. “I drew you a picture..." She says, and leans over to grab at her drawing pad, she rips off the page, tosses the pad on the floor and pushes the Tupperware box out of the way as she crawls over to us. She holds it up in front of our faces and I’m fucking blown away.

 

“Damn.” It’s like am mirror image of me and Trace propped up against this wall. Trace’s black eye and his slouch, me looking at him and him looking at the floor to the side. Trace is wearing shorts and she drew the hairs on his legs perfectly, and the lack of them around his ankles. It’s all real. The shading is perfect, the shadows, the look on Trace’s face, me looking annoyed with the situation and slouching. She’s a fucking genius.

 

“Trace look at this." I say to him. But he doesn’t move. He just slouches even more. “Trace…”

 

“I don’t wanna talk to you right now.” He mumbles and I ignore him. I need to get into this girl’s head and try to work her out a little bit. I’m good at that, ya know? I can make people think what I want them to. They’ll come to the table with an idea I hate and by the end of the meeting I’ll have them agreeing with me but also thinking that they’re the genius behind it all. I guess I’ve always been good like that to an extent. And ever since I’ve gone solo my confidence has increased and I know if I want something done I’ll get it done. It’s a long shot…but maybe, just maybe I can get something out of her.

 

What’s the worse that could happen? I’ve already got my death scheduled.

 

I look at her, and she’s got that look that Steven gives me when he draws pictures of me and him playing ball. It’s this eager, wide eyed look, searching for approval. “That’s really good, you know?” She erupts into a smile and I pry a little further, trying to get a feel for how old she is, and how far her mental abilities go. “You could...do something with that."

 

"Do what?" She asks and takes the picture back, looking over it and then setting it to the side.

 

“You know...like, go to school or do it to make money.” She gives me a confused look and I continue on. “Something other than working for that guy that has us kidnapped?” Her eyes widen and she gasps. God, ya know if she wasn’t crazy she’d be rather pretty. She needs a tan, too. “Ya know, that's not nice...kidnapping." She starts to frown and I realize I’m going to have to talk to her like a child. “He’s not a nice man.”

 

“Uncle is nice!” She says getting really defensive and I nod slowly. So, she’s his niece. I glance at Trace and he’s now looking at her, staring, interested in who she is and what she has to say. She really is a curious thing. "You’re not kidnapped." She giggles a little and then stops and looks at us hopefully. "You're my new friends."

 

“She's psycho." Trace says.

 

"What’s psycho?" She chews on her lip.

 

Trace leans over and whispers, “She’s probably got a knife over in her bed.”

 

I roll my eyes and then look back at her. She does have something there. It’s not a look of craziness, but it’s not normal and its fucking eating me up that I don’t know what it is. It’s kind of like when someone tells you they have a surprise for you and hangs it over you for a week. It’s almost annoying in a sense.

 

I don’t know why its bothering me so much but I guess it’s because I have a feeling that she can help us out. If we work together, Trace and I can get her to help us out of here. At least I hope so. She’s not a child, she’s not unable. She’s a woman who’s fucked up. But I’m good with women and I’m good with kids, and maybe, just maybe with the weird combination that she is, I can get us out of here.

 

I just have no earthly clue why that asshole put us down here with her. Doesn’t he know that’s dangerous? I mean, I guess he assumes since she’s family he trusts her. Or maybe, or maybe something else is going on.

 

"Wanna watch Looney Tunes?" I look up and she crawls over on her hands and feet and finally gets up and goes towards the TV. She doesn’t wait for an answer and is suddenly pressing power and inserting a tape into the VCR slot that’s built into the TV. God, I haven’t seen a VCR in ages.

 

“Trace…”

 

“What?” He groans.

 

“Don’t…” I look at him and sigh. He’s looking at me but, it’s like he’s not even there. He looks exhausted and upset and worse than I’ve ever seen him and I’ve seen him through some shit. “Don’t give up ok?”

 

“Shut up Justin.” He glares at me and then looks away when she comes back.

 

“This one has all of Roadrunner stuff on it.” She plops down with a blanket and a pillow and a handful of other stuff. “He’s so fast!”

 

She lies on her stomach in front of us and swings her little bare feet in the air. Her body is wrapped in a blanket, a stuffed animal of Abu from Aladdin is set beside her, and she’s eating those cheese ball things out of the big blue can in large handfuls, stuffing them into her mouth. She offers us some but Trace says no, mumbling something about being laced with crack. He could be right, but I decline the offer because I’m not hungry. I’ve been thirsty though, and I almost want to ask her if she has anything to drink, maybe another Capri Sun, but even if she does I don’t know how I’d drink it with my arms bound. She licks her lips and her fingers with a loud smacking sound and smiles a cheesy, literally cheesy smile at us as she giggles in fits at the coyote falling down a canyon and smashing through the river at the bottom.

 

Kind of looks like the little canyon Trace and I found, but without the trees and the wildlife and the shootings.

 

I shake my head. I don’t wanna think about that right now. I’m gonna wait as long as I can to let it finally sink in that I saw two people get murdered. I know when that happens, well…I just know I need to wait.

 

After a few episodes of the Roadrunner, I get wrapped up in it. It’s mindless and I’m taken away to rainy Saturday mornings at Grandma’s, waiting for the cobbler to be finished and occasionally having to get up and turn the rabbit ear antennae a little to get the reception to come clear. I know I should be thinking about a way out of here but, but it’s just so easy to get wrapped up in it and forget where I am and forget that my arms are asleep and that my back hurts and my ass is numb. I’m so wrapped in it I don’t notice she falls asleep until I hear her sigh and turn her head. She clutches the pillow and has orange crumbs all over her mouth. She licks her lips.

“Trace…” I whisper and he says, “Huh?” in return.

 

“What the hell do you think is wrong with her?” I ask him.

 

He rolls his eyes. “She’s a crazy.”

 

“No, like really.” I glance at her and she’s sound asleep, her face pressed against the pillow, smushing it a bit. “You think she’s retarded or something?”

 

“I don’t know…” He sighs. “But she freaks me out.”

 

“She’s harmless, look at her.”

 

I look at him and he stares at her. I’m happy he’s actually having a conversation now, instead of just telling me to shut up. Maybe he’s getting over the shock.

 

I wonder why the shock hasn’t hit me yet.

 

“It’s not like her that I’m freaked out about. It’s the way she acts and this room and this whole thing.”

 

“Why do you think he’d put us with his niece?”

 

He laughs. “Cause he’s just as fucking crazy.”

 

I shake my head and try to get around it. It makes no sense to me. It seems like it’s going to be too easy to get her to do what I want. But then again, I haven’t really tried yet. “There’s gotta be a reason. I mean you heard that guy, they have a cage or something they put people in usually.”

 

“I’m not really worried about that right now.” Trace stares at me and narrows his eyes. I know he’s wondering why I’m so concerned with Sarah but, I just...I just am. There’s something about her.

 

“But we should be Trace, we need to think how to get out of here.”

 

“When you come up with something, wake me.” He slouches a bit, leans his head on the wall and closes his eyes.

 

“Shit Trace!” I yell at him, fed up with his defeatist attitude. We can’t be like that.

 

He keeps his eyes closed and says, “We’re kidnapped Justin. We’re chained to the wall. We haven’t had anything to eat or drink. I know I’m about to piss my fucking pants,” He opens his eyes and stares at me. “And if I do and you laugh at me I can’t even threaten to beat your ass up about it later, because I’m not gonna be able to. God, Justin! Ya know, you’re all he wants. He’s gonna milk you out for money, but in the meantime, who the fuck cares if I die!”

 

“Don’t think like that.”

 

He closes his eyes again. “They’re not gonna wanna put up with two people, especially when one of them is the only one that matters.”

 

“Trace…”

 

“God Justin…” He looks at me again and shakes his head, saying in a bitter tone, “You know why he fucking put us down here with the psycho?”

 

I just blink at him. Should I know?

 

“To show us what we’re gonna be! Maybe she’s always been like this. But she’s a grown ass woman Justin! He put us down here to fucking make us just as crazy as little Miss Jasmine!”

 

I look at her, curled up to her Abu stuffed animal and realize he’s right. We’re here to be intimated into fear. He’s showing us what we will become and I know damn well that she hasn’t always been like this. Or maybe she has, but she wasn’t supposed to be.

 

She sighs a little in her sleep and curls up against the pillow and snuggles into the blanket more. She sleeps peacefully, like a child, like only a child can.

 

For the first time I realize what might happen to me, what I might become. If I wasn’t shocked before I sure am now.

 

Terror over comes me and I can’t take my eyes off her, chewing on my bottom lip until I taste blood.

Chapter 4

 

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep but when I wake up she’s still sleeping in front of me and cartoons are still running. It’s a Marvin the Martian episode. God, I do a great impression of Marvin. I remember my first pair of boxers were Marvin’s. I thought I was so cool. I went right over to Trace’s and pulled down my pants and showed them to him. I was ten and he was still embarrassed because he still wore little briefs. A few days later momma brought me another pair that were Spiderman. I gave them to him.

 

I think it was then when we realized that we were best friends and always would be. Before that we hung out together all the time, but I don’t think we realized how much we meant to one another until then.

 

I pull up a bit and stretch out my legs in front of me, pointing my toes in my now fucked up shoes and trying to pull my ass off the floor. It’s like, numb as hell. I can’t even feel it. It’s deep. I can feel the numbness all over my lower half. It’s in my arms, too. I roll my neck around and hear it pop five times. God, I need to go get a massage from Courtney at that spa place Cameron always goes to. She gives the best ones.

 

But no, there’s a damn good chance I’m never going to get a massage from Courtney again, or anyone for that matter. I’m still locked in a basement. Sarah the baby-woman freak is still lying in front of me, perfectly asleep. Its funny, every girlfriend I’ve ever had has always told me I look like a child when I sleep. It always made me self conscious but they said it was cute. I’ve heard people say it about other guys, too- and girls, that when you sleep you look younger.

 

But, she doesn’t. She sleeps with a womanly face, peaceful and young, but not childlike. When she first fell asleep she was clutching her Abu and covered in cheese crumbs. But now, she is holding the pillow just like Britney use to. Britney always slept on her stomach, or half on top of me. She said she loved holding things while she slept. Cameron sleeps on her side or on her back. She’s too long and lean to crouch up in a ball or cramp her body up. And whenever she’s sleeps on her stomach she always complains about her back hurting the next day. I have that problem, too. I like to stretch out in bed. God, I’d give anything for a bed, or damn, just to be able to stretch out.

 

I look over at Trace. He’s head is hanging down and I know that the poor guy is gonna have a hell of a neck ache when he wakes up. I almost want to wake him up now and tell him to lean back against the wall, but I know if I wake him up he’ll never get back to sleep.

 

I hope he’s dreaming of Elisha. I hope he’s happy wherever he’s at now and far, far away from here.

 

Suddenly, he jerks awake and I sit up as well. I was kind of just dazing around the room but now, now I’m staring at the door. The little light on the alarm keypad switches from red to green and the door slowly opens.

 

There’s the bastard.

 

He saunters down the steps coolly, followed by those two big goon guys, Bernie and the other. He smiles at us, still dressed in his white suit. I wonder how long we’ve been down here. I want to ask, but as his slick smile fades from us and travels down to her body, I’m too scared to ask. I’m too scared to breathe. It’s weird, too. He’s not that big of a man. He’s really not that intimidating. If we were back home I know me and Trace could put a beating on him.

 

But of course, we’re not home.

 

“Who wants to go first?” Bernie asks us, and I glance at Trace real quick. Oh God, it’s fucking over. They’re gonna make us choose who dies first. He stares at me and I know he’s about to cry. Shit man, don’t cry. I say it to myself as well.

 

Bernie starts to laugh with the other guy, “Who wants to go take a piss first, mates? We gotta get some money before we kill ya!” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed in us. What the hell does the asshole expect? We’re fucking tied to a wall and he wants to make jokes. He’s such a fucking punk.

 

“I’ll go.” Trace says in a weak voice. I look at him and try to give him some encouragement as the other guy reaches behind him and unhooks him from the wall. The guy pulls Trace up to his feet and I see him wobble a little bit. His legs must be asleep, too. I glance at the wall and see the hook really is just a loop hoop bolted into the wall. God, I hope the bastard never hooked up that poor girl like he does us. Probably has though.

 

I watch as they take Trace into the bathroom, him shuffling with his feet still chained. They close the door. Bernie went in with him, a hand on his back and his other carrying a small paper bag. The other guy stays right by the door. He stares at me. He looks kinda like Mike or Tiny use to look, standing outside of doorways, preventing any harm that could come to me.

 

I wish they were here.

 

“You a sleepy girl?"

 

I look over and see the asshole kneeling in front of Sarah. She’s turned over on her back looking up at him. He looks at her sweetly, lovingly, but not like a relative would. He looks at her like…no, no, that’s just sick.

 

She rubs her eyes a little and then reaches up and latches her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He smiles. “Ok, let’s get you into your bed. Do you want to wear some pajamas?”

 

“No…” She whines and he laughs as he picks her up a bit and moves to her unmade bed and props her on it.

 

I watch them closely. I’ve always really enjoyed watching people. I think you can learn a lot about a person by just watching them interact with others. But this, this is puzzling. It’s just like when I’d help Lisa put one of the boys to bed. He treats her just like she acts, like a child. But there’s something else there.

 

“You’re a silly girl,” He coos and she giggles a bit. It’s really disturbing. “You gonna be a big girl and take your medicine for me?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

He pats her leg and leans in to kiss her cheek, pulling away very slowly. This is fucking weird. “Ok, let me go get it,” He whispers to her and flicks his pointer finger across her nose, getting another giggle. I look at her and she stares at the guy like he’s fucking Santa Claus. She has huge eyes, those huge brown eyes and a shy, excited smile.

 

The asshole has brainwashed her to think that he’s God on earth. I gulp down the uncomfortable feeling I feel when I realize I’ve seen that look many times before on my brother’s faces.

 

He goes into the bathroom for a second and I can hear him and Bernie talking in low voices but I can’t make out any words. He comes out a minute later with a small little bottle in his hand. It’s one of those orange medicine bottles, but I can’t see any label on it. I wonder what she’s taking. Maybe she’s like, got a sickness or something. Maybe that’s why she acts like she does.

 

That’s it. That’s why he keeps his niece down here. ‘Cause, she’s not all there, ya know? It makes sense now. She’s got some sickness. Poor girl.

 

He walks over and presses the power button the TV and an Elmer Fudd disappears without ever catching Bugs. The uncle guy then goes to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water and walking back over to her bed, sitting down on it where she’s already tucked herself in. God, I hope Trace is ok. He’s been in there for a while. I hope they’re not…doing anything to him.

 

"Are the boys being nice to you?"

 

I turn my attention from the bathroom door and the big black guy to the bed again. "Yes…” She smiles and then it falls. “But one of them called me a psycho...” I turn away when the Irish guy’s head whips to me and his eyes narrow. I wanna scream out that it was Trace, that I didn’t call her anything but her name. But I don’t speak. “What’s a psycho?" She asks in an innocent and unknowing way.

 

He smiles at her and tickles her sides a bit, making her laugh. “Psycho is the name for the most beautiful girl in the world..." His hands move over to her stomach and he tickles her there. It’s kind of weird. I mean, I know he knows that this girl isn’t five years old anymore. I mean, if she was I guess it would be ok. But she’s not. She’s a grown woman and even though she might act like she’s five, that’s no excuse to tickle her like…

 

Holy shit.

 

That mother fucking sicko. I don’t want to watch. I don’t want to see him…touch her, but I’m pretty sure that’s why his hand is in between her legs and he’s leaning down on top of her, his face against her neck. Fucking disgusting sicko. I try to look away. I try my best, but I can’t help it and I stare at them. His other hand slides up over her stomach and up over her breast, touching her there. Oh god, what the fuck is this? Now he’s treating her like she’s his girlfriend. But she’s not. She’s his fucking niece. His fucking fucked up niece that doesn’t realize she’s a twenty year old. And it’s not like he’s fucking alone with her. Why don’t Bernie and that guy stop him? Don’t they see this is…this is…

 

I think I’m going to throw up.

 

I close my eyes and try to think of someplace else. I try to think of anything else but what’s happening less than ten feet to my left. I stare at the door, wondering what Trace is doing in there. But it’s no use. My ears deceive me and I hear him whisper, “If you’re a good girl, maybe tomorrow night you can sleep in Uncle’s room.”

 

She squeals and giggles. “Really?”

 

I cringe.

 

She doesn’t even know, does she? She doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to her. The door opens to the bathroom and I glance over to see him kiss her briefly before I turn my attention back to the bathroom door. This is not right. This is just not right.

 

God, if you have any mercy for me please, show it now. Get me out of here, just go ahead and fucking take me and kill me, but do not make me have to sit here and witness this fucking sick bastard molest this poor innocent…woman.

 

Trace is plopped down next to me and as he’s secured back in I notice they don’t lock him up like they did before. They actually start to unlock him. Bernie holds him while the other guy works. Part of me prays that this moment of freedom will send some adrenaline through him and he’ll kick both of their asses and get us out of here. But he doesn’t move. He lets them unlock him and move his hands back to his front. I stare at his face. He’s looking at the floor. I wonder what he’s thinking about.

 

“You ok?” I whisper to him, knowing they can still all hear me. I glance over at the bed and I’m disgusted when I see him still kissing and disturbing her, despite the fact that she keeps giggling. I look back at Trace and he stares at me.

 

“I’m ok.” He says, having to clear his throat. “They let me pee and eat something.”

 

“Ok.” I say and they push him back down against the wall.

 

“Be good kid.” Bernie says to him. Trace’s hands are in his lap and the cuffs look a little looser than before. I watch as they put cuffs on his ankles, too. They look a lot like the cuffs that you see people in prison movies wear. They’re cuffs with about a six inch chain in between. Enough to allow movement but restricted so no danger can happen.

 

I wonder why they are doing this. Trace can probably figure out a way to stand up on his own now, maybe. Are they just being nice and letting us be more comfortable?

 

Oh, I get it. They are getting us more comfortable…cause, well, we’re gonna be here a while.

 

Shit.

 

“You ready popstar?” Bernie asks me and then I can feel the black guy’s breath on my neck as he works to get the handcuffs unhooked from the wall.

 

I’m grateful for the fact I’m about to get to pee and eat something. It’s probably something gross like a dirt sandwich but I don’t give a shit. I take back my statement from earlier. I can go without water. I just need something to eat. They stand me up pretty forcefully and I see now that I’m about as tall as them. God, maybe I could take them. They’re a lot bigger than me, but I use to not be so far behind them.

 

I’ve gotten a lot skinnier recently. I’ve been sick a lot, like with sore throats and colds and it puts a damper on my appetite. Plus, Cameron has me into all this new organic health crap.

 

God, I could kill for a steak.

 

I don’t know what my problem is. I’m so fucking hungry right now. I’m craving some protein and some carbs, too. A baked potato, damn, with all that melted cheese and butter and those little bacon bits would be heaven. I could kill for that.

 

Why the hell don’t I?

 

I feel my wrists come free of metal. This is my chance. It might be a huge risk, but this is the chance.

 

I don’t think and I let my hand fly. I’m almost surprised when I feel my fist connect with the guy’s jaw. I feel Bernie jumping on me, putting his arms around me, trying to pull me off, but I manage to elbow him and I swing again, coming into contact with anything in my way. I hear Trace say, “Stop, fucking stop!”

 

But I don’t stop. I swing and I swing, connecting with bone and flesh and muscle and maybe even the wall or the floor. I don’t know. I have my eyes closed and I don’t even realize this until I hear a yell, a dark, rumbling yell and then a gunshot.

 

Everyone stops and I hear, “pick him up.”

 

I don’t feel anything at first and I assume I’m dead. Then my eyes open and I think, oh God, they shot Trace. I whip around but he’s still there, eyes opened, staring at me in shock, his face is white. Almost like hers.

 

Irish bastard is standing nearer now with a gun in his hand and a fierce look in his eyes. He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “I’m not ready to use this on you yet.” He shakes his head again and walks past me and up the stairs a little bit. I feel metal back around my wrist again, this time tight, biting into my skin. I taste blood in my mouth, its bitter metallic taste makes me want to choke and I do a bit when that guy’s fist collides with my stomach and the wind is knocked out of me.

 

Fuck this was a bad idea. Not smart, Justin. Not Smart.

 

I cough a lot and ignore the shit Bernie’s feeding into my ear. He’s holding onto my arms making sure I don’t move. I hear him say Cameron’s name and I hear him talking about fucking her up the ass or something. But I tone it out and stare ahead of me.

 

She’s lying on her bed looking at me. But, she doesn’t see me. Her eyes are almost half closed and she’s curled up under the covers, hugging her Abu stuff animal again. Her mouth is a little slack and she doesn’t look like she did before when she was asleep.

 

She looks dead. She didn’t hear the gunshot and she didn’t see me try to beat up these guys. It’s like something snapped in her and she was transformed from the bubbly child in a woman’s body to a mental patient. That’s what she looks like. She looks like one of those half brain dead, drooling retards.

 

Poor thing.

 

I glance at Trace and he’s sitting there with his head in his hands, curled up against the wall. He doesn’t look at me and I know he’s thinking I’m an idiot. Doesn’t he understand though? I can’t just sit there and take this. I’m not fucking ready to die. I’m not ready to have my life stripped from me.

 

I’m not ready to turn into her.

 

“Bernie, ‘Keem.” I turn and look up at the top of the stairs. Uncle asshole freaking child molester dude is standing there with the door open. He smiles at me and then says, “Bring the fucker upstairs. We’ve got business to discuss.”

 

Oh, fuck. This was not a good idea.

Chapter 5

 

I can smell vanilla and, and cigarette smoke through the scratchy wool of the hood. The vanilla is soft, like maybe an air freshener or candle, but the smoke is heavy. I was shrouded again and I can’t see shit, but I can smell a little bit. We’ve stopped moving. We walked up steps, I tried to count them but it was too hard. We walked on flat land and then more steps and then I could hear some people walking about and hear mumbling.

 

Then there were more steps. We turned several corners and the hardwood floors turned to carpet. A door was shut and I was forced to sit down.

 

The shroud is pulled off and I look and see that I’m in a huge bedroom. The bed is on the opposite side of the room and it’s huge. I see a door open that looks like it goes to a closet and another for a bathroom. There are two windows, the blinds are opened just slightly, but there’s not light. It’s already dark out. Everything is plush and white and that light wood color that I have all over my house in Los Angeles. I wanna go home.

 

Irish guy is sitting behind a desk with his feet up, he’s wearing black, shiny shoes. He takes a drag from his cigarette, holds it for a minute and smoothly blows the smoke out towards me. I’m sitting on the other side of the desk, my hands are still cuffed behind me and there’s a prick on either side of me, one of each of their hands are pressing down on my shoulders and the other holding their guns.

 

“Wipe his face will you?” Asshole says. “I don’t want blood all over my carpet.

 

I feel the hood thing roughly scraped over my face and even in my mouth a little. I don’t know which one of the punks does it. I can’t force my eyes off the faggot in front of me. What a pussy. Fucking asshole kidnaps me and Trace because we saw him fucking murder people and now he’s got this poor girl, his own fucking niece, trapped in his basement when she’s got serious mental problems.

 

I didn’t think this type of shit could really happen, ya know? What a fucking mind trip.

 

I lick my lips and I still taste blood but not like before. He smiles at me, a sick, thin smile. He doesn’t show his teeth, just curls up the ends of his lips like the sick perverted bastard that he is.

 

He takes a drag from his cigarette and then stumps it out before blowing the smoke out of his mouth and to the side. “Uncuff him,” He says.

 

“Boss…” Bernie says.

 

His stares straight at me, like he’s threatening me, or challenging me, or…seducing me. Oh God, gross. “Uncuff him.”

 

As they start working to get my cuffs off I don’t move my eyes from the guy. I feel my hands go free and I would try something again, but this time, this time I know if I do, it’ll be the death of me. He pulls out a gun and lays it on the desk with the open end of it facing me.

 

“Try something.” He dares me, but I don’t move. It’s silent for a moment and finally he shakes his head and breaks his eyes from mine. “Don’t put ideas in her head.”

 

“What?” I ask, finding it hard to talk.

 

“Sarah.” He gets a sullen look on his face. “Don’t tell her she’s a psycho. She’s already been through enough.”

 

“Like keeping her locked up-“

 

He stands up off of his chair and leans over the desk, spitting in my face as he talks. “Don’t put ideas in her head. If you fucking touch her, or hurt her, or do anything damn thing to her, I’ll fucking do things to you you haven’t even dreamed of. I’ll fucking cut off your dick and feed it to you.” He growls, “Don’t. Mess. With. Her.”

 

I’m not intimidated by him. By his gun? Yes. By him? No. “Then why did you put us down there with her?”

 

“She wanted some friends.” He shrugs and eases back down in his chair. “I give her whatever she wants and she tells me everything so if you touch her, talk to her, play with her, anything…she’ll tell me and if she doesn’t like it or I don’t like it, I’m going to make sure as fuck you don’t like it.”

 

I swallow hard, maybe she won’t be able to help us get out.

 

“So I guess we’ve got some money business to talk about.” He leans forward and smiles brightly at me. “How much you wanna give me?”

 

I sigh and lean up against the table too, rubbing my wrist in my hands. “Just…whatever you want. Just please, man, let us out.” I beg. “I won’t press charges. Just get the money and let us go and you wont ever hear from us.”

 

The three of them start to laugh and I remember that the two fuckers are still right beside me. “Oh, that’s what they all say.” Irish fucker rubs his chin in his hand and narrows his eyes at me. “How much you make a year pretty boy?”

 

“Depends on the year.” I shrug.

 

“How much did you make last year?”

 

“A mil or two.” I lie.

 

Bernie starts to laugh and smacks me on the shoulder. “Bull shit man, this dude is a fucking celebrity. He’s been around for years. He’s probably got at least almost half a bil up in the bank.”

 

“How much did you make last year?” He asks me again.

 

“Ten million.” It’s still a lie, but I guess a more plausible one. I get smacks across the head and I defend myself saying, “I didn’t do a lot last year. I didn’t have a record out and I wasn’t touring!”

 

“Alright…” The guy says nodding. “We want at least fifty million. For fifty, maybe we’ll let your little friend go.”

 

This is fucking ridiculous. “What about me?” I ask.

 

They all laugh again and I feel sick to my stomach. I wonder if he’d get mad if I puked on his fucking desk. Probably would. Probably would beat me up. Or kill me. Maybe I should throw up. “You might as well get comfortable down there with Sarah. You two can become friends.” I feel vomit invade my throat when he turns his voice sugary sweet and nods at me with wide eyes. “Do you like cartoons? If you’re a good kid maybe one day you can have a bed like she does.”

 

“Fucking sick bastard.” I grit out, almost standing up and beating the shit out of the guy. I’m on the edge of my seat and feel a hand grip my shoulder tightly and bring me back against the chair hard. Fucking shit, this isn’t fucking fair!

 

Ya know what, God? Fuck you.

 

Fuck you.

 

I feel tears form in my eyes and I rub my forehead with my hand and wipe under my eyes a bit. I don’t want them to see me cry. I don’t want them to pick on me or see how weak they’re making me. This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to happen to me. Like, Tiny went over with me once what to do if some psycho obsessed girl kidnapped me. But these people aren’t like that. These are professionals. They want money. They don’t want sex or love or anything weird like that. They just want cash or a check.

 

If I die tomorrow, it’s nothing to them.

 

“Your friend, does he have a lot of money, too?”

 

Hell fucking no if I’ll let them bring Trace into this shit. The truth is, Trace is a millionaire. He has almost as much as me and not because of what I’ve given him. He’s made fucking awesome business deals, even got into the stock market a few years ago. And when it crashed, for some reason all the shit that he had bought into wasn’t affected like everything else and has bounced back.

 

He’s such a fucking genius. And right now, I’m not going to let him get blasted like I am. “No. He’s just a friend from when I was a kid. He doesn’t deserve this. You won’t get any money out of him. He doesn’t have any.”

 

He suddenly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver device. It’s not just any cell phone, it’s mine. He waves it at me and smiles. “You’ve had a few missed calls.” He flips it open and asks, “Who’s Cam?”

 

“No body.” Fuck no, they will NOT bring her into this.

 

“Who’s Cam?” He says forcefully. I almost say ‘nobody’ again, but he picks up his gun.

 

“My girlfriend.” I admit.

 

“Cameron Diaz.” He nods and I feel sick when I realize he knows who she is. “That’s what Bernie tells me.” His eyes shift upwards for a moment and an amused smile forms on his face. “I never thought your interest in pop culture would come in handy Bernie, but it has.”

 

“Thanks boss.” Bernie says graciously.

 

“What about her?” I grit out, still very nervous about bringing her into this. I gulp down my fears though. At least it’s me in this situation and not her. God, they might try to…do something to her.

 

The guy scoots back in his chair and leans to his left, still holding onto my phone. I hear a draw open. God, they’re gonna pull out a knife and slit my throat.

 

He pulls out a magazine. It’s Fortune. He slides it to me and on the cover is some old white dude who I’ve never seen before. “Flip to page sixty-three…” He says and pinches his bottom lip with his point fingers.

 

I flip and cringe when I see her there, smiling, looking fucking amazing. I close my eyes. No, no, don’t do this. I open them when I hear the magazine slide across the table. He picks it up in one hand and reads out loud. “Cameron Diaz, actress, one of the top paid women in Hollywood. Ranks thirty-five mil or more a film.” He drops the magazine carelessly to the floor and smiles, sliding my phone across the desk. He licks his thin lips. “Call her…”

 

I want to call her. I really do. I want to hear her voice and kiss her and just, oh God. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to tell her what’s going on or have her worry about me. I don’t want to pull her into this hell. I touch the phone. It’s warm where it’s been in that fuckers pocket and hand.

 

Son of a bitch. I pull my hand back and shake my head, not being able to pull out words to say, not wanting to say anything.

 

He props the gun up right on the desk and pulls back the lock, smiling. I’m gonna throw up.

 

I sigh and pull the phone into my hands. Maybe, maybe if I talk to her she’ll tell me the police are already on their way, that they’re about to save us, that she loves me, that she’ll always love me.

 

I dial and pull the phone up to my ear.

 

I’m not told any of the things that I want to hear, or that I expect. She’s pissed. She’s fucking livid and she doesn’t even say hello. She just starts right in on me and it makes me want to die. “What the fuck Justin? What the fuck? Where the hell did you two go? Me and Elisha had to eat lunch without you. We thought you’d be back at the hotel, but no! You don’t tell us shit."

 

I take a breath when she stops bitching me out and I try to say as calmly but as desperately as possible, "Cam, just listen okay?'

 

“No. What the fuck?!” I close my eyes and rest my hand in my hand, propped up by my elbow on the desk. This is so wrong. Did I really die back there in that little gorge? Is this hell? Is it?

 

If it is, I’ll probably never know. Torture.

 

“We aren’t back home Justin!” She says, sounding like my mom did back when I was little and fucked something up. “God, you two could get lost and Elisha is about to have a fucking heart attack. And you haven’t answered your damn phone. Where are you?”

 

“Cameron! Shut up.” I yell at her. I know her and I know she’s been pissed for the last few hours and has sat by the phone, hoping, wishing, waiting for me to call. She’s been planning out everything, planning out how she was going to make me feel like shit. Well, dammit bitch, I’m not just bailing out on you. I’m…I’m….

 

I bit my lip and feel the tears breaking out. “Shit baby…” I start to cry hard and I ignore the fact that these fucking ass wipes are laughing at me and bellow out, “We got kidnapped.”

 

“Fucking bull shit Justin.” She laughs bitterly and I swallow the bit of throw up that came up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Dammit Cameron!” I cry. “They’re asking for money and, and I don’t…” I realize she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t think this shit can really happen. She’s just like I am, fucking clueless. I realize this might be the last time I talk to her. “Go ask the rangers up at Rutensburg they’ll tell you. Look,” I panick. “I love you, ok?”

 

“Justin…” She’s quiet for a moment and I can’t think of anything to say. Finally ,she says in a harsh whisper, “What...what’s going on?”

 

“What’s happening? Where’s Trace? Are they alright?” I hear Elisha in the background. God, she’s freaking out. She doesn’t need this. Neither does Cameron. They don’t deserve this shit. Fucking hell.

 

“Cameron…” I manage to cough out. “God, baby…I don’t even know where I’m at.”

 

“What…” She chokes. I can hear her now. She’s not crying but she’s panicking. It’s the voice she gets when the paparazzi get really close to the tail of our car and she can’t stop watching them, telling me to make sure I don’t slam on breaks and screaming that they all deserve to die and flipping them off. She’s fucking panicking. “What the hell am I supposed to do Justin!? I can’t do this.”

 

God, you think I don’t know that? I know you can’t handle this but you’re going to have to. You’re going to have to do something if you ever want to see me again. I want to say that to her, but I don’t. I just try and say her name first, then maybe, maybe I can make some sense and think of something she can do to help. “Cam-“

 

The phone is snatched from my hand and I look up, terrified as I see the ‘Keem guy give the phone to the guy in white. Oh fucking God.

 

He smiles at me and says cooly, “Miss Diaz? Yes, this is Patrick.” Patrick, Patrick…what the fuck kind of name is that?! “We’re hanging out with your boyfriend Justin and his friend and, well, see the thing is, you’ve got a lot of money and we, well, we want it.” He laughs a little bit and continues. “So, if you can get together about a hundred and fifty million dollars, we’ll call you back pretty soon and tell you where to drop it off. Oh, and if you don’t cooperate, well, we’ll just have to dispose of them. I really think your pretty boy boyfriend misses you, but if you don’t come through, well, him and his friend might just have to get use to it here. Sorry.” I hear her yelling through the phone, yelling my name but she’s silenced with a flip of the phone.

 

“You fucking bastard.” I say, but it sounds pitiful through the snot and the tears. I feel so angry, so hurt, so filled with hatred that I probably could snap his neck off.

 

But I’m too weak. I’m just too God damn weak.

 

“Ya know, usually we get wannabe drug dealers or S.A. agents of other useless vermin.” He smiles and nods. God, if he fucking smiles at me one more time I’ll...I’ll…Why do I even try? “It’s about damn time we wager with some high class people. I always liked Los Angeles. Everything’s so fake and unreal out there. It’s a real trip.”

 

I wipe angrily at my face. “You’re gonna be fucking caught. They won’t just let me die out here. They’re gonna fucking kill you.”

 

His laugh invades me. It soaks up every piece of dignity I have and I know right then and there, if I ever get out of this moment, that laugh will haunt me forever. “Who? Who’s gonna kill me? They don’t give a damn if it’s beyond US borders. You think the South African government gives a shit about me. About you? Do you think they know about me? I’ve been in this fucking business for almost twenty five years. Don’t kid yourself Justin.” He steps from the desk and walks away, further into the bedroom. He takes off his white coat and starts to unbuckle his belt. “I’ve got the control, not you. Take him back down.”

 

“Same as the other?” Bernie asks. Patrick nods.

 

“Hands out mate.” Bennie says to me and I subconsciously lift my hands in front of me as he cuffs them. I don’t know what to do. All of my life I’ve had it planned out. I’ve known answers to every situation. I could get out of everything. I could talk my way out of a hole. I could, could make people believe I was a god.

 

I’m shit. That’s all I am right now. I’m shit with a girlfriend who’s worried about what she has to do and a best friend who’s locked up with a psychotic retarded girl. Maybe I’ve always been shit. Maybe it’s taking this fucking situation and the damn fuckers to show me what I really am.

 

I’m just a pussy. A pussy with a big pocket.

 

I think I really am going to throw up this time.

 

And I do.

Chapter 6

 

The door slams and the light turns red on the alarm pad. Once again, we are left with her. Apparently she had been a good girl yesterday and had been allowed to go upstairs with him last night. I don’t want to think about what that meant but it did give me and Trace a chance to finally talk all this out, in the dark. We talked all night, trying to think of plans upon plans on how to get ourselves out of this mess. Every plan we pitched Trace shot down and found a fault in. He’s really given up. He’s praying for a miracle and I’m looking for an escape.

 

We decided that whatever we did Sarah was key. We need to somehow get her on our side or to at least figure out what’s wrong with her so it doesn’t happen to us. It’s been hard, though. We’ve been here for about three or four days, it’s hard to really know what time it is or how fast time is moving when you’re in a basement and can’t even see the sun and how it looks in the sky at different times in the day. They took our watches when we were kidnapped, too. We’ve been down here with no sense of time and doing nothing but trying to sleep and watching her color or watch cartoons.

 

Now that we aren’t bounded to the wall or floor we have more flexibility in our movement. But we haven’t tried anything. Trace started crying pretty hard yesterday. He curled up in a ball on the floor and just let it out. I tried to get him to talk but he just said he was taking a nap. He ended up falling asleep and I ended up watching Cinderella, then Snow White and then Sleeping Beauty.

 

She really is like a child when she watches these movies. She sits Indian style on the floor or on her stomach on her bed with her feet up in the air. She doesn’t move her gaze from the television and only speaks when she wants to sing along with the songs. Sometimes she has snacks or a drink. I thought about trying to ask her for some of it the other day. Three days or however long it’s been of bologna, bread and water is disgusting. I haven’t asked her for any of her treats yet. I spend most of my time just watching her because any attempt I’ve made at trying to get to know her, to get to know her past and who she is, it just fails and she says she wants to watch cartoons. Plus, I think she told the uncle guy about me asking questions because when he came down here this morning, escorting her down from his disgusted and perverted bed, he not only brought us a surprise breakfast of off-brand poptarts (uncooked of course) but he got down in my face and said in a low voice, “stop questioning her!” and then instructed her to get a bath and that he’d be back to check on us at lunch time.

 

The asshole doesn’t really scare me anymore. I mean, yeah, he’s got a gun. But when I threw up all over his carpet and desk he didn’t freak out. He got annoyed with me and Bernie asked if I should be punished, but he just rolled his eyes and said he was thinking about getting new carpet anyway and they cleaned me up, gave me some water and bread and sent me on my way. It was so good, too. It was just like plain white Wonder bread, but it was so damn good.

 

That’s when I lost my fear of that bastard. The carpet thing would work for us. Get some carpet guys in the house, me and Trace could scream like hell, and then, maybe get out, or at least let someone find us.

 

I made that decision last night when me and Trace were talking. If the worst does happen I don’t want to be lost for forever. I want momma and dad and daddy and Lisa and the boys to all have some closure. I don’t want them to be searching for us forever.

 

It’s weird. I’ve never really thought about my own mortality until now. I use to be afraid to think of it. One time, like back when Britney and I started having problems, she was in New York and it was September 11th. I remember watching the news and not being able to get through to her on her phone. I got so freaked out and started thinking about what if something ever really happened to one of us and we died. I got obsessed about it for a few days and just cried. But now, I’m thinking rationally. I guess you are just forced into that mode when you are put in these situations. I don’t know.

 

My fear about how hard it would be get out of the house if we got the door opened was confirmed when they brought me back down stairs without a shroud. They just led me to the basement stairs. You go through the house and then down this long corridor where there’s only one other room. You enter that room and there’s nothing in there except a chair by a door and a guard sitting in that chair, a big guard with an even bigger rifle.

 

Down that door is Sarah’s room.

 

He hasn’t told me if he called Cameron back or if he’s gotten any money. I assume not because then we’d probably be dead. I’d ask, but I don’t want to get smacked. I learned that shutting up and just sitting here when he’s around is the best thing. He likes it when we act fearful. He smiles at Trace ‘cause Trace cowers in his presence. He feeds off fear and gets high off it like it’s a drug.

 

So when he comes down, I just stare at the floor. I thought about staring at Sarah with a weird look to creep him out, but I figured that would just fuck me over some more. I’m not giving in here though, dammit. If the asshole wants to play mind games I’m gonna fuckin’ try my best to play with him.

 

Trace is snoring. I hope he’s dead asleep dreaming of Jack Daniels and Elisha and being back home in Tennessee. We didn’t sleep at all last night. Really. We stayed up talking the entire night. Like as soon as Sarah was taken up stairs and the light was turned off we sat on our asses in the pitch black and talked all night. We talked for hours and finally, when Trace started talking about how much he wanted to go to sleep and I said we should probably get some rest, Uncle busted down the door with Sarah in tow. He tossed us our poptarts and that was that.

 

Trace will probably sleep for a good few hours but I just can’t. I’ve barely slept since we’ve been down here. I can’t. I can’t sleep until my body just gives out or until we get out of here. This whole time I’ve been scheming, planning. I’ve been wondering if I can get up and get to the fridge, wondering if Sarah would scream for Uncle. We don’t really know what she would do if we tried to move around the room cause we haven’t tried.

 

We can stand up though. When they come down to check on us and give us food we both get to go pee or shit in the bathroom and they don’t help us up. They just stand there and watch us. It’s kind of weird but I figure this situation isn’t really normal. It could be worse as I told trace. We could not even have a toilet and have to shit in the corner or something. In the bathroom there are cabinets but they are all locked up. She doesn’t have a shower, just a bath and there is a beige towel that is balled in the corner by the tub. She has that Winne-the-Pooh shampoo with the characters on the top of them.

 

She’d in there right now. I can hear her splashing around and humming to herself. The guy pulled out some clothes for her and put them in the bathroom and I heard him give her strict orders to put on her clothes before she left the bathroom. The door war cracked when they were in there and I think he helped her undress. I heard doors open and shut and heard him say, “be a good girl and take your medicine.”

 

He’s such a fucking sicko.

 

I can hear the water start to drain from the tub and I wonder if Sarah would let us color or draw or something today. Maybe I could convince Trace to play hang man with me or tic tac toe. It’d be better than watching Alice in Wonderland or Lady and the Tramp or something. I think today I should try with her. Maybe try to get some snacks or something.

 

I hear a scream. For a second I think I’m gonna throw up that poptart but then it stops and I can actually her hyperventilating.

 

“Sarah?” I call out, hoping she’s ok and hoping I don’t have to get that bastard down here to help her. No, I can do this on my own. I don’t need him down here again torturing Trace and molesting her.

 

The bathroom door swings open. I almost scream as well. She looks like your normal twenty year old girl coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her, brushing against her thighs. Her chest is heaving and she has a bit of cleavage. Her hair is wet and hanging limply around her head, dripping onto her shoulders and the floor. He face looks pained and worried but I don’t know what’s wrong.

 

Then I see the blood. There’s not a lot, but enough to scare me and its spread against the inside of her thighs in a light coat. On a normal tanned girl I probably wouldn’t even notice it or just think of it as a birth mark. But against her white skin it’s like my eyes can’t help but go towards it. I can’t look away. She’s crazed, breathing hard and making little whimpering noises and she stares at me for a moment before going into the bathroom again, her back to me. I see she’s pulling her towel aside and looking down at herself. What did she do? Did she cut herself shaving or something? I noticed those pink razors in there, so I know she does it and I’ve noticed how her legs look like the normal legs of a girl my age, well a girl who’s never been outside.

 

“Sarah, are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?”

 

Trace sighs in his sleep and shifts a little bit. God, I hope he doesn’t wake up. The last thing I want for him to do is wake up and see her bleeding. He’ll freak.

 

She looks over her shoulder and just stares at me with the eyes that a kid gets when they scrape their knee or get stung by a bee, big glassy eyes with a frown. She sniffles. I’m gonna have to get up and console her. I do my best to push myself off the floor without falling. These damned cuffs are so limiting. They’re better than being chained to the wall, but still, their almost worse. You can move, but not a lot. It’s like they’re making fun of you.

 

I finally shuffle over to her in the bathroom and I see Trace still asleep. I close the door halfway. I don’t want him hearing her or something. “What happened Sarah?”

 

“I did bad,” She whispers.

 

“What’d you do?” I ask, standing behind her, hoping she’ll turn around.

 

“I don’t know but uncle says when this happens I did something bad to deserve it.” She turns a bit and looks at me with a pout. “I hate it.”

 

Slowly I start to realize what she just said. “It…it happens a lot?” She nods and looks down at herself again. I take a breath and slowly ask her, “Sarah, did you get your period?”

 

She turns completely to me and has a curious look in her face. “What’s period?” But before I can answer her, her eyes widen and she looks down at her body and says in a soft, panicked voice, squeezing her legs together, “Stop it….”

 

“Here…just…” I don’t know what to do. I don’t have sisters. I don’t know what to do when a girl has her period. I mean with my girlfriends I saw their tampons and pad thingies but I didn’t sit there and teach them about it or give motherly advice on how to deal with cramps. This is weird.

 

I can’t just have her bleeding all over. Especially, oh god, period blood. That’s so nasty. I don’t mean to be a dick, but it just is. I gotta forget about that for now. Just forget she’s bleeding from her vagina and help her. If I freak out, she’s gonna scream for uncle and I don’t want that to happen.

 

Maybe if I help her, she’ll form some trust in me.

 

“Sit down on the toilet, ok?” I touch her shoulder and push her towards the opened toilet seat. Her skin is warm and still a bit pink from the bathwater. It’s smooth and untouched, like baby’s skin. She really must have never been out in the sun for this kind of thing to take place. She plops down on the seat and I watch her spread her legs and look down into the bowl. Weird, I think she’s watching herself bleed.

 

She closes her legs and looks up at me. She looks just like Jonathan use to when he would scrape his knee playing basketball with me. She wants me to make everything go away. She, oh my god, she looks like I’m the only one that can make it better, like I’m her savior.

 

I thought that was who uncle was.

 

Hmmm, there’s more to this that I know about. Something about her and him and how she acts. I hope I can figure it out.

 

I take some toilet paper and wet it in the sink and then turn back to her to give it to her to clean herself up. As I look at her and hand her the damp glob of paper she just looks at it and then at me. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s completely clueless and I’m gonna have to be the one to clean her up.

 

I take a deep breath and squat down in front of her. She spreads her legs so openly that I turn to look away. She’s showing me…not just her bloody thighs but other parts of her. I don’t want to be that uncle perv. I mean, I’m not sexually attracted to this poor girl. That’d just be gross. But still, staring at her or see her like that, it’s just, it’s not right. She has no sense of privacy or respect for her body. She was never taught.

 

I concentrate on the blood starting to dry on her thighs and wipe the cool cloth over her white skin. The almost greyishly white paper starts to turn pink and then a light shade of red. I can’t think about what I’m wiping up and figure maybe I should get to the bottom of this. “So what did you do bad Sarah?”

 

“I…” She sniffs. “I don’t know. Uncle says I’m bad and that’s what causes me to do that.”

 

I try and smile at her. I don’t think she’s seen enough genuine smiles in her life. “But why does he say that?”

 

“I don’t know.” She shrugs and I realize I’m not gonna get much out of her. I sigh in defeat and realize I need to get out of this bathroom with her. It’s just too weird. But then she starts to ramble, “Cause, cause I guess I messed up his bed once.” Her eyes start to widen and sparkle and she says, “He’s got the biggest bed and he lets me jump on it and we have tickle fights and he shows me how much he loves me and…” I try to ignore what she just said and just nod at her. “And, and one day I started doing this.” She points her to vagina, but I don’t look. I keep looking at her face and her eyes start to plead with mine. “I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. And he got mad, really mad.”

 

“What’d he do?” I asked. I bet the bastard beat her.

 

“He punished me.” She looks away almost like she knows whatever he did was wrong. Then she starts to shake her head, like she’s trying to convince herself otherwise. “But I was a bad girl. He says I deserved it.” It’s like she knows. Somewhere deep inside of her she knows that this situation is fucked up.

 

But she’s too brainwashed to see it.

 

I wonder…I wonder if I can get her out of it. Shit, if I can get her out of it? If she realizes that uncle is not good, is not nice and that I am…

 

This might just work.

 

I lick my lips and clear my throat a little, putting my hand on her knee. She hasn’t seen affection either I bet. Well, not real affection, un-perverted affection. “You didn’t deserve that Sarah.” She bites her lip and I ask her, “It happened again didn’t it?”

 

She gets that whine in her voice that little girls get and nods, “Mmhmm, a little later it happened again and he gave me this stuff to put on it. But I didn’t know how and he got madder.”

 

“What’d he give you?” I ask.

 

“This thing in a little round thing. It looked like a white popsicle.”

 

I want to laugh, but I don’t. “A tampon?”

 

“I don’t know.” She shrugs and then reaches beside her on the floor between the toilet and the wall. She pulls up a plastic green pouch. Maxi-pads. “He also gave me these. But they just stick to everything. They stick to me down there and they hurt.”

 

“There...all cleaned up.” I throw the toilet paper in between her thighs into the toilet bowl. There’s like weird swirls of blood. Oh my god, why I am looking? Ok, since that asshole apparently didn’t show her how to do anything, I’m going to have to. I have the strange sense that I’m her doctor or something. I’m trying too hard to be professional and not over step boundaries or scar her or do something to make me feel like I’m being a pervert. “Can I see that bag of pads?” She looks confused for a moment and then picks up the green pouch again. “Yes, that.” I take it from her and look around it. It’s opened and about half full. I wonder how she wears these things if they hurt. I think you just stick them down in your underwear but I’m not sure. I find the directions and the little picture thing on the side that shows me how to do it and ask her, “Did you read the directions, Sarah?”

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

I just look at her. Wow. That explains some stuff, I guess.

 

“Oh….”

 

She clears her throat and looks at me a bit as I read over the directions. It’s weird. I’ve always taken for granted the fact that I know how to read. I mean, most people do but…shit… “Only boys know how to read.”

 

I cut my eyes to her and feel like going to punch that asshole, I don’t care the consequences. “Did uncle tell you that?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I laugh a bit and pull her panties off the top of a folded pile that was on the floor in front of the sink. They have little pink crowns on them that say “Princess.” I pull out a little yellow envelope from the green pouch and ask, “Do you believe everything he says?”

 

“He’s my uncle.” She says in defense and I just ignore her and work to get this pad thing stuck to her panties. I don’t know if I have it in there right, but it’s sticking to her panties and won’t stick to her skin. I got one of the wing things under the middle of it to put it in place. I tried doing the other one, but, well, it got stuck to itself. These things are more complicated than I thought.

 

“Put these on.” I tell her and she looks at me for a moment and then reaches for them. She stands up and slides them up over her legs and up to her hips. “Does it feel ok?”

 

She nods and then a smile comes to her when she pulls them down again and looks at them. Then she starts to laugh. Well, I made her happy. One point for Justin.

 

“Yay! You fixed it!” She’s so happy and she reaches down and hugs me. I feel really weird about it and just pat her back. This whole thing is getting a little too weird. I mean, I just sat here and cleaned up this girl’s period blood. I’m kidnapped and she’s a weird half woman half girl. I bet if I get out of this someone will want to make a movie about it. No, I can’t let that happen. This is all too sick and twisted to be used for entertainment. Maybe one day I’ll write a book about it and give all the money from it to like a charity for people that are kidnapped or something.

 

Sarah starts changing in front of me and I look away. She’s standing there topless. Shit, I just saw her breasts. Great now I’m a perv because I think they are pretty. God, what is my deal? “Justin…”

 

I look up at her as she pulls a shirt over her head. It’s just a grey plain t-shirt. I wish I could wear clean clothes. Shit, I wish I could get in this bath tub right here. Maybe…nah… Uncle guy would torture me if he saw I was clean. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without taking a bath or a shower. 4 days.

 

Gross.

 

“What is it Sarah?” I ask her. She smiles. I smile back and her’s grows. God, she is such a child.

 

“You’re nice.”

 

“Thank you. I’m your friend, ok? You can trust me.”

 

She nods and starts to work on pulling up her shorts. I figure I’ll try and get somewhere a little deeper with her. I mean, we’re friends now, I guess. “Do you know why you get your period Sarah?” She just looks at me confused. “Why you bleed like that?”

 

“’Cause I’m bad.” She says matter a factly.

 

“Not really, Sarah. All young women get that. It’s called your period. You get it once a month. It doesn’t mean you’re bad. It just means you can have babies.”

 

She starts to laugh and giggle and finally says, “No I can’t. I have to have a husband first. You have to get married then the husband and wife become a mommy and daddy.”

 

Shit. This is gonna be a lot harder than I thought. She had no real concept of sex, at least I don’t think so. She still has that 5 year old where do babies come from attitude about it. This conversation is pointless and she seems uninterested with me as she starts to brush her teeth with a toothbrush that looks years old. The bristles are going in every direction. She has that Colgate sparkly toothpaste with the bubble gum flavor that I use to love when I was a kid. Maybe, maybe she’s not 20. Maybe she really is a 5 year old but has a disease that makes her ages quickly.

 

Hell, I don’t know.

 

“Do you wanna watch Aladdin with me?” She opens the door and smiles. “It’s my favorite.”

 

No, I don’t wanna watch it. I wanna get to the bottom of why you’re so weird and why you act like you do. But I don’t say that. I smile at her and say “sure.” I follow her out of the bathroom, thankful that Trace is still asleep and hoping that whatever just happened there in the bathroom let her trust me and maybe, maybe was the first step to her helping us out.

Chapter 7

 

My dick hurts. I gotta pee really bad. It aches. I’m usually good about waiting until Bernie or Keem come down with our food, but I gotta piss, like now. We don’t have restrictions if we need to use the bathroom. Yesterday Trace threw up twice, once on the floor and the second time he was able to crawl to the bathroom. I think he kind of scared Sarah. She stayed with uncle last night. Pervert. I think Trace must have gotten a bit of food poisoning or something. Maybe his body is just breaking down or something. He spent the night in the bathroom. I felt bad for the guy, he was puking for a good while and then he couldn’t stop shitting. Diarrhea sucks, but to be here, in this hell hole, it’s got to be worse. I could hear him crying and kept asking him as I laid there in the dark, not able to sleep cause of all his bodily noises, if he wanted me to come in there with him. He just yelled no to me.

 

He’s not doing well. I thought he would get over it like I have, but he hasn’t. At least his eye is starting to look better. It’s still a little swollen, but it’s not as bruised anymore. After a while I couldn’t help it and I dozed off. I slept pretty hard last night. I haven’t really slept since we got here and I passed the hell out last night. I woke up feeling pretty good and it must have been almost lunch time because Sarah was already down here and I woke up when Bernie kicked me lightly and threw a bottle of water down at me. Trace was just eating the bread of his sandwich.

 

Sarah had pizza for lunch. I was so fucking jealous and sat there with my eyes closed, smelling the cheese and pepperoni and making my mouth think that my cold bologna and white bread was a big ass slice of Tino’s pizza, my favorite place back in LA.

 

It kinda worked.

 

She’s been watching cartoons, like normal, all afternoon. She colored a bit and talked to me about how a lot of the voices in the movies sound the same. I started to notice it, too. A lot of the Disney movies like Robin Hood and Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, and Lady and the Tramp have a lot of the same people to do the voices in the different movies. I wanted to see how deep she thought about that, like if she knew these were movies, that the cartoons weren’t real. But I was too tired to try and get into a deep discussion with her. I’ve tried over the past few days, ever since the period incident. She’s so far lost, so into her five year old mind that I’m having a really, really hard time explaining things to her. I’m sure she has no concept of actors or directors, or anything like that.

 

We’ve watched a least four Disney movies today. Since I have nothing to tell me the time down here, I’m assuming that we’ve been watching them for six hours (since Disney movies are usually an hour and a half long). If they brought us lunch around 12 or 1 it would be 6 or 7 now. They’ll probably be coming down soon with dinner.

 

But I can’t wait to take a piss.

 

I stand up a bit and Trace must be asleep because he doesn’t move from where he’s curled up on his side, huddled to the wall. It’s in the same spot he puked yesterday. I’m glad they cleaned it up for him and I’m still surprised they didn’t yell at him, just like when they didn’t yell at me when I puked in the fucker’s bedroom.

 

I push myself off the floor and start to shuffle towards the bathroom. I scratch my head with both hands since when one moves the other is sure to follow with the handcuffs and all.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

I stop and turn to look at her. She’s lying back on her bed, under the covers, holding Abu and watching the end of Lady and the Tramp. I hate this part when Trusty gets run over. It’s so sad.

 

Fuck, I miss my dogs.

 

“I gotta pee.”

 

She starts to giggle. “Pee pee!!! Boy’s are so weird.”

 

I smile at her. God, it sucks someone like her has to be so fucked up. She’s absolutely adorable and would be pretty if she wasn’t so, creepy. “What do you mean?”

 

“It just hangs out. Girls are prettier.”

 

I shouldn’t laugh, but I agree with her. I don’t want to think about where she’s seen a penis before, but I’m sure I know where. “That’s for sure.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re fucking laughin’.”

 

I look over and Trace isn’t looking at me, hasn’t changed his position, but apparently he’s not asleep. I wish he’d just accept that we’re in a tight spot right now, and giving up is only going to make it worse. We’ve been clashing lately. He doesn’t want to talk to me. He doesn’t want to try and pass the time. He doesn’t want to think of ways out of here. He just wants to crumble. He’s been my rock all of my life and now he’s shattering. It’s a weird thing to see.

 

I go into the bathroom and bend down to lift the seat up. I don’t know why, but I find that really amusing. Here I am, locked up in some dungeon with a freak woman-child, kidnapped for God knows how long, and I still have to lift up a toilet seat. I guess I’m kind of glad of the small motion. I still have some freedom. It’s not like I have to shit in a corner or pee my pants. I’m able to unzip my pants. They’re dirty as hell. I mean, I’ll admit I’ve worn unwashed jeans two days in a row before. I know a lot of people that do that. But it’s been, damn how long has it been? Four days? Five days? Maybe Six? I don’t even remember now. Almost a week.

 

I wonder if momma has flown out here yet. I bet she has. I bet she’s out here bossing all the agents and police telling them if they don’t find me she’ll fucking do it herself. I grin. I know she won’t give up on me. I sigh. Shit. This is a lot of pee, kind of like that scene in Austin Powers. I wish we had some comedies to watch down here instead of all these cartoons. I would love to see Tommy Boy or Rush Hour or something.

 

Hmm. That’s interesting. I never noticed that the mirror and medicine cabinet have a lock on them. I bet that’s where all her shit is, like that medicine he makes her take every night. I wonder what it is she takes and why. I guess I won’ ever find out since uncle asshole has the key and all.

 

I finish my business and flush the toilet. I tuck my stuff back in, zip up and shuffle back out of the dark bathroom into our little home. No Justin. This isn’t home. Whew. Sometimes I gotta check myself cause this place is getting more and more cozy to me. I know that’s sick, but I’m not going to just sit here and freak out like Trace. I try and find the positive aspects of this place, like the fact that we can pee on our own and that even though it does get redundant, it’s not like were down here by ourselves in the dark with nothing to do but freak out. We have each other to talk to, if Trace would ever talk. There’s the puzzle of Sarah to figure out and there are Disney movies, no matter how creepy they start to seem.

 

Sarah’s pouting when I come out of the bathroom and she’s working on rewinding the tape, sitting on her knees in front of the TV. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

 

“I wanna doggie.” It’s sad when I have more to talk about with a psycho child/ adult lady than I do with my best friend.

 

“I have three.”

 

She looks up at me with amazement, “Really?”

 

“Mmmhmm.” I lean against the doorframe and watch her as she scrambles to the bed just as the video starts to play the previews for upcoming movies. “Bearley is my old dog. He stays with my momma and I just got two baby boxers, Franco and Rosco.”

 

“Boxers?” Her eyebrows furrow and she looks really confused as she sits on the end of her bed. “But…”

 

I realize that she only knows a boxer as a fighter. “Someone that hits someone else?”

 

She nods. “Uh huh.”

 

I walk towards her and get a little shocked when she cowers from me. Since the period incident Sarah has sort of trusted me. I’ll find her staring at me. At first it creeped me about a little bit, but then she would start to smile. I don’t think she’s ever had a friend before. I’m happy to be her first, if it’ll get us out of here. Still, she cowers from me and looks up with big brown eyes. I ask her, “Can I sit?”

 

She looks at the bed and then back at me, then whispers, “I...I guess.”

 

I realize that the only other person that has been on her bed is uncle. And when uncle gets on it he touches her. Shit. She doesn’t like being touched. She knows it’s wrong, but she doesn’t show him. This is fucked up. “I won’t touch you, Sarah,” I reassure her.

 

He nibbles on her lip and scoots to the far side of the bed as I sit on the edge opposite of her. “Ok.”

 

“A boxer is also a type of dog or a breed,” I try to explain to her. “Like in that movie, Lady was a Cocker Spaniel. That’s her breed. Tramp was a mut, or a mixed breed. That means his momma and daddy weren’t the same type of dog.”

 

She gives me a weird look but kind of smiles, “That’s confusing.”

 

“Yeah, it can be.”

 

“Why aren’t your doggies here?” She asks and pulls up her legs to sit Indian style. She must not be afraid of me sitting on her bed anymore cause now she’s rocking forward a bit, getting kind of close to me when she does it.

 

“Cause…” My voice catches in my throat when I realize what I’m about to say to her. “Cause they’re at home.”

 

“Home?” She asks, worried, concerned. I guess she thought this was my home. I can’t imagine how many lies this girl’s been told. It’s sick to think how much damage her uncle has done to her. How can you do that to a family member, even if you are a twisted pervert?

 

More and more evidence is growing in my mind that makes me think this bastard isn’t really her uncle.

 

“I don’t live here, Sarah.” I lean forward a bit and look her directly in her eyes. I don’t know if she knows what lies are, but if she does she’ll have to know I’m telling the truth if I look directly at her. “I have a home, a house, really far from here.”

 

“Oh…” She looks a little disappointed and eyes her bedspread, making a circle on it when her finger.

 

Maybe I should try to explain to her what happened to me. Maybe I’ve made enough progress to do that. “I’m kid-“

 

But she interrupts me. “I wanna dog, but uncle says I’m not responsible enough.”

 

“Maybe someday you can come visit me and see my dogs.” Ok, so I don’t think I’ve made enough progress with Sarah to convince her about me and Trace’s situation. Maybe, maybe the answer is getting Sarah to think of something other than this place. She has no real concept of the world outside this room, or at least outside this house.

 

It baffles me. Doesn’t she ever wish to go outside? Even if she really is a five year old with a weird growth defunct, when I was five I longed to go outside and explore, and I was eager and interested in the world. She seems only interested in her TV and sometimes her drawings, her incredible drawings.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

I’m making headway. So, she wants to visit me and my dogs. She does have a sense of something outside this house. I have to play on that. “We have to get out of here first.”

 

She nods and points to the TV. “Have you ever seen this one?”

 

I sigh as the beginning credits of a movie start to play. Of course, it’s a cartoon. I don’t know why I would have thought other wise. This is gonna take a lot more, this whole mind game thing. It’s gonna be harder than I thought. “What is this?” I ask, deciding to drop the previous conversation and talk about things on her terms.

 

“Charlotte’s Web.”

 

I look at her and she’s smiling. “This one makes me cry,” I admit.

 

“Me too.” She sighs and flops down on her stomach, face towards the TV. “I want a pig, too. Just like Wilbur, and a spider. Sometimes they get down here and make a web up in that corner.” She points to a corner in the ceiling above her refrigerator. “I try to get them to talk to me, but they don’t.”

 

“Ya know, spiders can’t really talk. It’s just something in the movie.”

 

“What?” As soon as she asks that and I look at her face and see the horror in it, the disbelief, the crushed spirit and hope I realize I’ve made a mistake. She has no concept of reality as I know it and it’s so fucking disgusting. That asshole needs to be burned alive and then fed to rabid dogs or something.

 

I suck in a breath and realize I just did a bit of damage to her. I need to bring her spirits back up before the tears that are collecting in her eyes start to fall. “Well, they can talk to each other, and maybe other animals, but they don’t speak our language. In these tapes, these movies, they talk that way so we can understand.”

 

“Oh.” She swallows hard and looks away confused. “Ok.”

 

She watches the screen for a moment and I watch her. It’s hard to really believe that she’s a five year old with a hyperactive growth gene or something. I mean, it just doesn’t fit. Nothing does. It’s like I’m putting together this puzzle, but all the pieces I have are parts of all these other puzzles. I’ll put a couple pieces together, but then I’ll find another piece and it just doesn’t fit with anything. It makes me crazy. I stay up at night thinking about her, trying to figure out what her deal is. I’m becoming a little obsessed about it, I know. But what else am I supposed to do down here? Trace won’t talk. Disney movies are freaking me out.

 

I gotta keep digging. My mind takes me back to the medicine cabinet, the locked medicine cabinet. A piece is in there. I know it. “Sarah?” I ask and she looks at me over her shoulder. “Those pills you take.”

 

“Huh?” She asks.

 

“The pills your uncle makes you take at night.” I pause. She doesn’t look away or look scared. I continue. “What are they for?”

 

“My disease,” She says and then looks back at the TV.

 

I was right. There is a puzzle piece in there. Ok. We’re getting somewhere. So maybe she really does have a growth defect. “You have a disease?” I ask slowly and then quietly add. “It makes you like this, doesn’t it?”

 

“I’m allergic to the sun,” She says, not moving her gaze from the TV, scratching the back of her calve with her opposite foot.

 

“What?” I ask, looking at her, taking in her pale skin now for more than what I thought it was before.

 

“It’s called solar urticaria,” She says smoothly. Now, now I know something’s up. Normally, a five year old child would have trouble saying that. Hell, I don’t even know what she said. Even if a kid had had the disease all their life they would have trouble saying it. But she said it flawlessly, like a knowledgably twenty year old would.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

She turns over and pushes herself up so she’s sitting on the bed facing me, her knees bend under her. “I take medicine for it. That’s why I can’t be upstairs except at night, when uncle lets me. Cause if I get sunlight on me I’ll die. And If I don’t take my medicine I’ll die.”

 

I nod my head but not in agreement. I stare at her hard. Her skin is grayish white not pale, not reddish pale like people I know that are sensitive to the sun. There are no freckles, nothing that looks Irish about her. There’s a lot of lies going on right now and I think I’m starting to figure them out. “Really?”

 

“Mmhmm.” She nods and turns back to the TV. “That’s what uncle and the doctor said.”

 

My mouth drops a bit, “You have a doctor.”

 

She doesn’t look away from the TV. “He doesn’t come down often but…” She looks at me with scared eyes. This is sick. “I don’t really like him,” She whispers and then hurries to add, “Don’t tell uncle that. He just, he scares me. Sometimes he sticks me with these things and he…” She gulps and looks away. “He looks weird.”

 

“Are your pills in your medicine cabinet?” I ask.

 

She nods at me and then I find myself in a really awkward staring contest with her. I almost want to look away. Her eyes are deep, brown. God, and I know this is cheesy and maybe I’m going psycho or something, but I think they’re trying to tell me something. They aren’t the eyes of an innocent child, but they’re the eyes of a tortured woman who’s seen way too much pain in her life.

 

I look away. Maybe I should just go back to the floor beside Trace and forget prying. I thought this would be my ticket out of here. Figuring out Sarah and getting her to trust me was the way out of this hell. But now it’s like I’m witnessing a crime or a horror movie, and all I can do is sit and watch it.

 

“Wanna see them?”

 

I suck in a breath and look at her. I smile at her when I see that she’s almost bragging about her medicine. I remember when I was nine years old and there was a dead rabbit behind my house. It’s was near the part of the woods behind my house that momma and daddy told me not to go into, but it was too cool. It was all rotting and looked like it had been eaten a little bit. Trace and I ran back there one day and looked at it. He was a little scared at first, but I convinced him. Then we heard this weird noise in the woods and ran away back home and decided to ride our bikes to the pool.

 

“Yes,” I tell her.

 

She pushes herself off the bed and I watch as she goes to the nightstand and opens up a little drawer. She pulls out a key.

 

Holy… I’ll remember that. I’ll definitely remember that. When she sleeps upstairs with uncle, yeah, yeah I’ll remember that. She walks quickly to the bathroom and before she goes in she turns around and looks at Trace. He’s been quiet for way too long. I can hear him breathe pretty deeply. He’s asleep. She looks back at me. “You can’t tell anyone, ok?”

 

“I won’t.” I smile and add, “I promise.”

 

I wait patiently and before I know it, she’s handing them to me. She’s handing them to me so freely. She’s smiling. I realize something that is more important than the fact that I have her drugs in my hands. She just did something you did with friends. She trusted me with a secret and wanted to share that secret with me.

 

She’s starting to trust me and that is very, very good news.

 

I smile back at her as she sits in front of me on the bed. I pick up the white bottle, it’s pretty big. It says daily vitamins for women on it. It’s those ‘one a day’ brand and has a special helping of Vitamin D. I guess that’s cause she’s not in the sun…ever, and you get that from the sun. Still, she’s got to have some type of deficiency. I open up the bottle just to make sure and see large grey like pills inside. Definitely vitamins. The next case is one I know pretty well. I don’t even inspect it. It’s birth control, that tricyclin’ stuff that Britney used. Cam’s on the patch and last time she talked to me about it she was thinking about getting some shot. I didn’t even know they had a birth control shot, but apparently they do.

 

Well, at least the fucker is being nice enough to keep her healthy and not pregnant. God, that’s fucking disgusting. There’s an orange bottle here and this is what I’m most interested in. These must be the sun allergy pills. I turn the orange vile over and look at the label.

 

I blink.

 

I look up at her. She stares at me with wide eyes. Shit.

 

The pieces get more jumbled and the hole gets a lot deeper and a lot darker.

 

“Methaqualone…” I say.

 

“What?”

 

“Methaqualone. That’s what he’s giving you.”

 

“Yeah, that’s for my disease. The others are to make me healthy.”

 

“Meathaqualone…” I can’t stop saying it. I know this drug. Marty sometimes used it on tour when he couldn’t sleep. He never seemed to have a problem with controlling it. I sat down with him one night cause I found it on his bus when I was hanging out, asked someone about it and they told me it was a pretty serious depressant.

 

It was like a damn after school special. I told him I didn’t want him getting sick or getting addicted. He reassured me he was ok and knew all about the drug. It’s illegal, at least in the states, and it can make you seriously sleepy. It knocks you out, makes you forget things. It’s pretty much like a heavy duty sleeping pill that makes you chill out and then pass out.

 

But it sure as hell doesn’t prevent the sun from shining.

 

It starts to click in my head. She has no disease. She could be out in the sun if she wanted, but that bastard, that fucking son of a whore told her she was sick to make her afraid to go outside, afraid to run away. He manufactured some disorder and gives her “medicine” to cure her but really it only makes her fall asleep.

 

“You don’t need to take these, Sarah.”

 

I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I did. I wonder what would happen if she didn’t take them. I wonder if she’d become more alert, more trusting. She probably wouldn’t lie in bed half the day and watch movies. She’d crave to get out of this prison. She’d start to ask questions. She’d loose her trust in uncle and gain it in me.

 

Yes, I have to get her off this crap.

 

“I’ll die…” She says in a pitiful voice. It’s like she asked me if I wanted her to die.

 

“No you won’t Sarah. This is a drug that makes you go sleepy. It doesn’t protect you from the sun. Don’t you go to sleep after you take this?”

 

“Yes, but…”

 

I grab her hand. I don’t know why, but I do. “Sarah you just, you gotta believe me. This isn’t good for you.”

 

“But uncle said it…”

 

“He lied, Sarah.”

 

She jerks away from me and starts shaking her head, closing her eyes, blocking out the truth. “No…”

 

“Look…” I grab her hand again and look straight in her eyes, forcing her to look at me. I make up an excuse, it’s probably a lie, but I have to get her to not freak out. “Maybe, maybe he doesn’t know any better. Maybe the mean doctor lied to him. But you gotta believe me, Sarah.” I could see it. She was about to cry. She was breathing hard and her eyes were watering. “These pills are bad news. They don’t protect you from the sun.”

 

Her eyes widen and she says in a panicked, shaky voice, “Am...am I gonna…”

 

“No..No…” She’s still freaking out, so I do the only thing I know. I reach out to her. “Come here…” I say to her calmly and she leaps into my arms, crying into my shoulder and holding me tighter than I’ve ever been held.

 

Yeah, she knows this isn’t right. She knows something bad is happening that she can’t control. I rub her back and try my best to sooth her. “You’re not gonna die, Sarah,” I whisper into her hair. “I promise.” I pull her a way and look her in the eye. “But you gotta believe me.” I pick up the bottle of Quaaludes and shake them at her. “These pills are bad news.”

 

“But…”

 

I shake my head at her. “Don’t take them tonight, ok?”

 

She licks her lips and looks at the bottle and then, thank God, she nods.

 

I start to smile and want to hug her again, but then she turns her head quickly to the door. I can hear someone there. “Shit…”

 

I hand her the bottles and say, “Go put these up, quick.”

 

I do my best and half run, half shuffle back beside Trace. He’s still asleep. I lay there and try to calm my breathing and hope she gets back with everything back where it’s supposed to be in time. She comes out and is holding the key. “Don’t take them Sarah.” She nods at me and puts the key in the drawer before shutting it and jumping on her bed.

 

“Don’t.” I whisper to her as the door opens.

 

He swaggers down in his ugly white suit, with Keem in tow.

 

“Hey beautiful,” He says to her and I almost throw up. Trace moans beside me and I feel him shift and then push himself up against the wall.

 

“Hey…” He whispers to me.

 

“Feeling better?” I ask him and he just nods.

 

We are given our sandwiches and our water and I eye uncle as he hands her a sandwich as well. Her’s isn’t bologna, though. Her’s looks like it has cheese and ham and lettuce and when she takes a bite, a glop of mustard, not regular but that spicy or Dijon looking kind, lands on her plate. Her bread is darker than ours, too. Looks like really nice, expensive wheat bread with all those grains on it.

 

I bet the fucker gave her a sandwich that was twenty times better than ours just to fuck with us. He sits on her bed as she eats and runs his hands over the back of her head and through her hair. He talks to her, but I don’t know what he’s saying because he turned up the sound on Charlotte’s Web.

 

Keem just stands there with his hand on his pistol, like always, watching us.

 

It’s amazing how many lies that bastard has told her. She doesn’t have a disease. He dopes her up on drugs. He molests her and abuses her. Ya know, I have a very, very hard time believing this fucker is her uncle. They don’t look anything alike and I’ve heard jokes about dirty, scary uncles, but this guy takes the cake.

 

This guy is a maniac.

 

He’s a murderer and a kidnapper.

 

It makes me wonder who she really is.

 

“Who needs to go?” Keem asks when we finish our sandwiches. He has a deep voice and is really, really intimidating. Ya know, if he wasn’t one of the bad guys, I might have asked him to be a part of my security team. He’d be really good at it I bet. I don’t have to go to the bathroom since I went a few moments before, so I shake my head no. Trace pushes himself up and says, “I do.”

 

Keem walks behind him as he shuffles towards the bathroom door and I watch the door close entirely.

 

Now it’s just me, poor Sarah, and the devil himself. I just watch him. I watch them and try not to throw up my sandwich as he wraps his arms around her and starts to tickle her and kiss her neck and shoulders. She doesn’t laugh, though. Well, she does a little bit, but not like she use to.

 

I catch her looking at me and I don’t know what to do, so I just sort of grin at her and unscrew the cap of my bottle. I gulp down the water. It’s gone within a minute. I still feel parched. Minutes pass and I just stare straight in front of me. Trace is taking a while in the bathroom. I hope he’s not sick again. I can’t watch them. I can’t stand it hearing him whisper but not knowing what he’s saying. But then again, I don’t wanna know. I don’t wanna know what’s behind her forced giggles and his deep chuckles.

 

At least now, now maybe she has some doubt in him. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t seem as happy to see him as she was before. Maybe I’ve made her not trust him. That’s good. That’s good, just think about that Justin. Think about how Sarah will one day trust you completely and kill the fucker in his sleep for you and get you out of here. And then, then I can take care of her.

 

Yeah, then everything will be ok.

 

I hear the bed squeak and shift and my eyes catch him moving off the bed and walking to the bathroom. Shit, he’s going to get her drugs. When he’s not looking I look at her and mouth “don’t” to her and she just chews on her thumb. Poor thing. I know, I know she’s so confused. She doesn’t want to take them, but she doesn’t want to make him mad.

 

Shit! Fucking shit! I didn’t tell her to put them in her mouth but not swallow.

 

She doesn’t know any better.

 

She really doesn’t know what to do.

 

He comes back out before I can try to do anything. She pushes herself back against the pillows and holds her knees to her chest. Fuck.

 

“Here ya go, sweetheart.” He opens his palm to her and she takes one. I see it’s the vitamin. That’s ok, that’s good. Those are good for her. She glances at me and I look away when she takes the birth control.

 

I know what’s left and I find myself staring at her. She’s looking at me and I know some shit is about to go down. God Dammit, why didn’t I tell her to put it in her mouth but not swallow? I’m in idiot! A fucking moron. Soon to be dead.

 

“Come on, last one.”

 

“No…” She whispers it, but it rings in my ear.

 

“Why not? You have to. It keeps you alive.”

 

“I don’t want to.” She’s still whispering and I don’t look at her. I can’t. I can feel my self sweating. I’m about to die. He’s going to figure it out. I just know it.

 

“Why…why not?” He asks, his voice is deep, threatening.

 

I glance at her and she’s still staring at me, wide eyed, panicked. And then it happens. The uncle follows her gaze and he looks at me. I shudder and turn my head quickly.

 

“What did he tell you!” I hear him yell at her a moment later and I can’t help it and turn to see he’s roughly grabbing her upper arms and gritting his teeth at her. She’s crying. Fuck, I never wanted to make her cry. She shakes her head and I can’t even make out a word. She doesn’t even have the strength to blame me and I have to stop it. I can’t have him hurt her.

 

“Stop it!” I scream at him and he stops holding her so tightly and stares at me. He breathes hard but doesn’t say anything. He slowly stands up from the bed and paces for a moment before stopping, staring at her and drawing back his hand like he’s going to smack her. I close my eyes and wait for the sound.

 

I hear nothing but her sniffles.

 

And then I hear, “Keem…”

 

I look up and see that he’s staring at me, his hands are in fists and he looks like he’s ready to kill. Fuck, he’s going to kill me. I hear a toilet flush and moments later Trace comes out, looking around at all of us. He looks at me and shakes his head, not disappointed but scared. He’s worried. He’s really, really worries. Keem pushes him to where he falls down beside me and then the goon looks at his boss.

 

“Make sure Sarah takes this.” I see him drop a pill in Keem’s hand and then I watch as Keem walks over to her. I can’t see what he does to her cause he’s so big and blocks the view of her, but I can see her legs kicking in the air and hear her struggling.

 

But I don’t see much after that because I feel a sharp blow to my face. My ears start to ring and right when I open my eyes I see the fucker there with his knee bent back. Then his foot comes flying at me.

 

It hits me in the stomach and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I fall down on my side and gag. Then I feel someone pulling me up my collar. I get spit on.

 

“Fuck with her again and you die. Fuck the money, fuck the ransom, fuck your pretty little girlfriend. You’ll be gone and it won’t be quick and it sure as hell won’t be painless.”

 

And then my eyes sight flashes black when I feel someone kick me again, but this time in the groin. I can’t feel anything but pain. It surges through me like waves and I lay there and moan. It’s all my body will let me do. I hear trace saying something to me but I can’t comprehend it. When I open my eyes again I look and see her lying on the bed, looking at me, crying silently.

 

Poor Sarah. She just doesn’t know any better.

 

I gotta get her out of here.

 

The fucker blocks my view of her quickly. He pulls me up so my back is to the wall and pushes me back against it. He forces open my mouth. I should try to bite him but I can’t move. I can’t control myself. I think my brain is saying “bite” but my mouth won’t listen. I feel his hand go into my mouth and he puts something on the very back of my tongue. I cough and gag but it’s too late, and I feel two capsules going down my throat.

 

I swallow again and the feeling of them disappear.

 

I have a good idea of what it was I just swallowed.

 

I slid down against the floor and stare at the ceiling, blinking, breathing, not being able to do anything but moan. I hear a door slam and hear trace call out to me. His face comes in between my eyes and the ceiling.

 

“Justin….” His mouth moves, but I don’t hear anything. “Are you ok?” Still nothing.

 

I curl on my side and grab my dick through my jeans. Holy fuck, I think that took some years off my life. I lick my lips and my eyes close in a very, very slow blink. It takes a lot for me to open them and when I do my vision is blurry.

 

But then it clears up and I see her. She’s lying there, not crying, staring back at me with heavy eyelids. She’s curled up on her side like me, blinking slowly.

 

“I’m sorry…” Her mouth moves and she closes her eyes.

 

They don’t open and I decide to do the same thing. I close my eyes, everything turns black, my pain disappears, the basement disappears, Trace disappears and my mind shuts completely off.

My eyes open and I feel cold. I feel cold and yet the hot sting of pain still throbs in my face and my stomach and my groin. I close my eyes in a blink and a blurry vision of grey and then a purple square and lights, dim lights above come to me. I can hear it in the back ground, soothing, sweet:

 

“Someday my prince will come, someday we’ll meet again and away to his castle we’ll go, and be happy forever I know…”

 

I blink again and my vision clears. I’m on my side, head against the concrete looking towards her bed. She’s under the covers, all I can see is her mess of brown hair around her head on the pillow and she’s singing, watching Snow White and singing. I shiver.

 

“Justin?” I hear a hoarse whisper beside me and I feel someone pulling on my shoulder. I’m gently rolled onto my back, pain runs through me but also relief when I see him there. Trace. “Oh God, Are you…” He shakes his head. “That’s a stupid question. Can I do anything?”

 

“No.” I say but it doesn’t come out. I try again. “No…”

 

“Are you hungry?” He reaches up underneath his shirt and pulls out some bread. “I put a bit of my sandwich in my shirt when they weren’t looking.”

 

I want to smile at him. He’s finally come around and is thinking on his own now. Maybe he’s not going to be all depressed. My head aches. I feel like I have the worst hangover plus that feeling that you have when you’ve been up for 24 hours straight and you fall asleep and then five minutes later someone wakes you up. That’s how I feel. But Trace just got lunch, so that means it must be afternoon. “What time is it?”

 

He sighs and looks down at me. “It’s been hours since they brought lunch.”

 

I turn my head to Sarah. She hasn’t noticed that I’m up yet and I’m glad. I need to talk to Trace and I don’t want her getting upset about what happened last night. I know she saw what they did to me and I know that she was struggling when Keem put that pill down her throat. I wonder, I wonder if seeing uncle hurt me like that changed anything in her. It had to have.

 

“How long has she been up?”

 

Trace sighs and I look at him. He shakes his head at me. “Don’t worry about her Justin. It’s her that got you messed up.”

 

“No, it was my own damn fault. Can you help me up?” Trace reaches forward and tries to put his hands under my back, but its hard since he’s cuffed and all. After a few tries and a hell of a lot of effort I plop back against the wall and gently rest my head against the cemented wall.

 

We both turn our heads when we hear a soft moan and she rolls over with her eyes closed, mouth slightly open against her pillow, clutching Abu.

 

“She’s been dozing on and off all day.” I turn and look at Trace who’s staring at her. He’s freaked. “Awake one minute, singing along, asleep the next.”

 

“She’s on Quaaludes Trace.” His eyes dart to mine. “I promised her I wouldn’t say anything but yesterday, when you were asleep she showed me her pills. That bastard told her she has some disease, some sun disease and is given her fucking illegal sleeping pills to cure it. I think that’s what they gave me last night.”

 

His eyebrows bunch. “I didn’t think…”

 

“They don’t.” I cut him off, knowing what he was going to say. “That’s the thing Trace. He’s feeding her a hell of a lot of lies. Quaaludes have anything to do with the sun. ”

 

“So?” He shrugs. “He’s probably feeding us lies, too.”

 

I smile at him and tell him the good news about Sarah. I know yesterday I fucked up but she trusts me now. I just hope she still does. “She trusts me Trace. She showed me her medicine. I tried to get her not to take it last night and that’s what caused this.”

 

“Stop it Justin.” Trace bites out. “We’re…We need a miracle to get out of her. You’re not fucking James Bond or something.”

 

“What if she’s our miracle?” I ask and he rolls his eyes and hits his head back against the wall.

 

“You’ve lost it.”

 

“You’re giving up.” The more I talk the more I can feel my strength coming back to me. The pain is still there, but manageable and the more I talk to Trace the more it starts to affect me, like a hot cup of coffee in the morning. “Man, you got so much waiting for you outside of this, Elisha and all. And I’m not ready to say goodbye to my momma or the rest of my family. And…and I don’t care what you say.” I nod over to Sarah and steal a quick glance. She’s so sweet when she’s sleeping. God, I gotta get her out of here. Who knows how long she’s been stuck in this hell? Sleeping with that fucking pig and being told lie after lie, forcing her to act like a child. “She’s not part of this Trace. Can’t you see? She’s been turned insane by him. We gotta get her out of here. We gotta get ourselves out of here. She’s not locked up, she gets to get out of this room.”

 

He clears his throat, pauses for a moment and doesn’t look at me when he says, “What about Cam?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You said you’re not ready to say goodbye to your mom or your family.” He stares at me, hard and I feel like I’m in definite trouble. “What about Cameron?”

 

“I…” I sigh and give up and tell him the truth. “I haven’t really thought about her Trace. I’m thinking about getting us out of here.” I haven’t thought about her. And the way she acted on the phone, I really don’t wanna think about her. We’ve been having problems for a while anyway, and thinking about her is only depressing to me.

 

So I think about Sarah and how to get out of here.

 

“No, you’re obsessing over that…” He points his finger at her like she’s a creature behind a cage and I want to punch him. “That thing…”

 

“Yeah, ok, dammit. You’re right.” I narrow my eyes at him and try to sit up a bit more, but it hurts to breathe when I do that. “I am obsessing over her. I’m obsessing over her because she’s our way out of this. And while I’m trying, trying my BEST to save us, all you wanna do is sit here and cry and be pathetic.”

 

He’s about to say something back to me when we hear someone at the door. We both look for a moment and see the red light turn green.

 

“Pretend you are asleep…” He whispers to me and I fall down against my side and wait. I stare at her for a moment. She’s still asleep, probably dreaming of Aladdin and all of her other Disney friends. I just want to hold her and protect her and tell her that from here on out I got her and I’m not gonna let anything happen to her. But until I’m out of here, until I get her out of here, I can’t do anything about it.

 

And that kills me.

 

I hear footsteps coming down, down and I close my eyes and wait.

 

A few seconds pass, more…

 

I can hear myself breathing.

 

“Has he woken up yet?” I hear the guy’s voice say. It’s hoarse.

 

“No...” Trace says. He’s terrified.

 

“He will soon.” I hear someone move, coming closer. God I hope he doesn’t kick me again. But he doesn’t and soon I hear the sound of a bed squeaking and hear, “Sarah…”

 

I want to see what he’s doing, but I don’t open my eyes. “Sarah, wake up. I got a surprise for you.”

 

“Huh?” She says, in a perfect, sweet, innocent manner.

 

“I got you a new movie.”

 

He is responded by an excited, but feeble voice. “You did?”

 

“Mmhmm. I’m sorry about last night. But when your friends disobey and are disrespectful they’re gonna get punished, ok?”

 

“Kay…” She sounds more terrified than Trace.

 

“Now be a good girl and give uncle a kiss.”

 

I squint open my eyes and see him laying over her on the bed, touching her through her t-shirt, his mouth open against hers.

 

I want to throw up.

 

“There…” He whispers. “I have to go out of town tonight but Keem will be down in a little bit, ok?”

 

She doesn’t say anything and I wait. I hear movement. It goes from my left to my right and then a minute later I hear a door slam.

 

“He’s gone.” Trace says.

 

I open my eyes and cautiously look over my shoulder. When I see he’s telling the truth… Wait, what am I thinking? Of course he’d be telling the truth. I push myself up trying to cause as little pain to my body as possible in doing so. By the time I’m resting back against the wall again, I’m out of breath.

 

“You’re awake!”

 

I open my eyes and roll my head to the left. She’s sitting on her bed, staring at me with wide eyes. She looks a little scared, a little unsure, and clearly upset.

 

I try to smile. “Yeah. I am.” I notice there’s something in her hand, a puffy, white VHS case, of course it’s Disney. “What cha got there?”

 

She looks at the cover and then shows us to it. “What’s it say?” She asks shyly.

 

I nudge Trace but he’s already staring at it. It’s one of Trace’s favorite movies. Good, maybe he’ll lighten up a bit when we watch it. He’s really good at doing all the voices for it, too. Maybe he’ll do some for Sarah. “Monster’s Inc. That’s a really great one.”

 

“You’ve seen it already!?” She’s smiling. Thank god she’s smiling. It’s a purely amazed smile, with maybe a bit of awe. She’s in awe of me right now.

 

“Yup.” I nod and point to Trace. “He can do some of the voices of the characters.”

 

Trace mutters “shut up” to me but I ignore him ‘cause she asks me a question after looking at the cover for a minute. “What’s the ‘ink’ mean?”

 

“Oh…” She throws me off, but finally I’m able to pull myself together. It still shocks me when I realize how much stuff she doesn’t know. “Um, it stands for incorporated…” She just blinks at me. “Like a company or a business.”

 

“Ok…” She says, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t understand anything I just said. She stares at the cover some more and I stare at her, wondering what she’s thinking about, trying to get into that head of hers. It’s hard but it’s something I so desperately want to do. I wanna figure out what’s going on in there and maybe get some answers about what makes her act the way she does, well, besides the dick upstairs.

 

And if it gets us out of here in the process then that would be perfect.

 

“You gonna put it in?” I ask her.

 

She looks at me with those huge eyes and I find myself getting lost in them. That’s so cliché, but really, I forget where I am and I can’t help but wonder how much those brown eyes have seen. I find myself wondering if she has an eye problem, a lot of people do. A lot of people need glasses or contacts and I know she has neither. I use to have contacts but I got that laser surgery a few years ago. I doubt she’s ever had that. And with as much TV as she watches… But maybe that was just a myth momma’s tell kids to get them away from the TV.

 

I don’t know. That’s stupid, she probably doesn’t need glasses. But, if she does, and if we get out of this, I’ll have to take her to my old Doctor. Dr. Morris. He was great. Yeah…

 

“Justin…”

 

I snap out of it and she’s closer now and kneeling down in front of me. I shake my head a bit and plaster a smile. “Yeah?”

 

She crawls over and sits right beside me. I hear Trace go “oh god” in a groan but I ignore him. He really needs to lighten up about Sarah. She’s not gonna hurt us. I feel her shoulder press into mine as she sits against the wall and she looks up at me with watery eyes. “They hurt you.”

 

“Nah…” I lie, not wanting her to worry about me.

 

I feel her fingers touch my face and I suck in a breath. It’s sore, yeah, but I’m more amazed that she’s touching me so…not intimately, no, that’s not it. But…I don’t know. It’s something. She holds my face and I just stare at her. “Uncle hurt you…” She whispers.

 

I let out the breath I had been holding in and nod slowly. “Yeah, he did.”

 

As she stares at me and takes her hand away I can almost see the battle going on in her head. Uncle hurt me, her friend, and that’s something that she’s not going to be able to forget. Asshole made a mistake. He made a big mistake. If him beating me up helps her lose trust in him and get us help, then I’m glad he did it.

 

He could have done without kicking me in the balls though.

 

“Why don’t you go put that in and we’ll watch it?” I tell her and she smiles again and scrambles up and towards the TV.

 

“I don’t get it Justin.”

 

I whip my head to the other side. He’s staring at her with narrowed eyes. “What?”

 

His eyes cut to mine. “What makes you trust her? What makes you think she’s not in on all of this…”

 

I lower my voice and grit out to him. “Cause I know her.” God, what does he take me for? A Fool? Well fuck you Trace. I’m trying to save us here. Fucking wallow in your misery for all I care. Maybe they should just get rid of you before you ruin our chances of getting out of this…

 

No.

 

No.

 

I don’t mean that. God, I don’t mean that. You hear me right? I take it back. Maybe he’s right. I mean, not about me trusting Sarah. She’s harmless. But maybe I am being a little bit foolish with out chances of getting out of here.

 

“You don’t know shit about fucking shit.” He growls at me and turns his whole body away from me. I stare at his back and know that if he wasn’t handcuffed, he’s arms would be defiantly crossed over his chest. Whatever. I’m not being foolish and I know more than he ever could.

 

I take back what I said before. I don’t want anything to happen to him and I don’t want him to be rid of. But his attitude is in a need of a change. A major one.

 

“Fine…” I say arrogantly and push myself off the floor. I wobble a bit and brace my shoulder against the wall. I’m kind of dizzy now and out of breath. I wheeze a bit when I take in a breath and I feel my heart thumping. I need to lie down.

 

“Come sit over here.” She smiles at me and pats the space beside her on the bed. She’s lying on her stomach, like always. She’s so sweet and so pretty. At least I have one friend down here that’s got a positive attitude about things. She might be a little demented, but she’s a cool girl.

 

And lying on a bed is a hell of a lot more comfortable than a floor. I take her invitation with a smile and sit down carefully before pulling my legs up on the bed and sitting up against the pillows. Her feet are near my chest, cute little bare feet. She looks over her shoulders and smiles at me then says “Yay! It’s starting” when the opening credits start to roll.

 

I smile at her and then look over at Trace. He’s still not looking at me, still has his back turned. Fine, shut me out. See if I fucking care.

 

I lay there and watch a few minutes of the beginning of Monster’s Inc. but soon find my eyes get heavy and before I know it I nod off.

 

-------

 

I can’t sleep. I guess all the Quaaludes are out of my system now and that afternoon nap really did me in. I slept for a long time. Sarah woke me up with a nudge and when I opened my eyes she was hovering above me, smiling. “Sleepy!” She giggled at me and I smiled at her, yawned and then proceeded to get off her bed and walk back to my spot beside Trace.

 

I didn’t know when the uncle guy or Keem would be coming down again and didn’t want to get into trouble. She didn’t question me but instead went and grabbed a drink from the fridge and pulled out a few little American singles of cheese. I plopped on the floor and watched her unwrap the cheese and eat them. I use to do that as a kid, now…well, it’s kind of gross if you think about it.

 

Trace didn’t talk to me the rest of the day and I didn’t try to get him to talk to me, so I went back to sleep. I woke up later and Keem was down there, waiting outside the bathroom door. Sarah was inside and Trace was eating a sandwich. There was one in front of me and a bottle of water.

 

My stomach growled and I sat up, even though the pain of yesterday was leaving me, the ache was increasing. I felt sore everywhere and my breathing was getting worse. Still, I slammed into my sandwich and devoured it in less than a minute.

 

Sarah came out in her pjs and jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her. “You do everything you’re supposed to?” Keem said and I think that was the first thing I had ever heard from him besides that first thing…that oh shit is right comment back a week or, two or…whatever ago.

 

She nodded. “I took my medicine and brushed my teeth and used the potty and now I’m tired.” She sunk down under the covers and smiled up at Keem. He didn’t smile back. I stared at her and she didn’t look at me. She took her medicine. I just know it. I realized I hadn’t made much progress the other day. I drank back some water and then sighed.

 

Keem said that he’d turn the lights out in a few minutes and then left all of us there. Trace and I threw our empty bottles over into the corner of the room like we had been since we were put down there. There’s a pretty big pile there now.

 

The lights went out and we were surrounded by darkness. A few minutes passed. I heard her move in her bed, heard the sheets sliding. Then it was quiet. I waited and lay down on my back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to see if my eyes would dilate enough to get any bit of light and see anything. But it was dark, completely dark.

 

I was surprised Sarah didn’t get scared of the dark. Most kids do. Trace started to snore, loud and then it quieted, he coughed and I heard him sigh and roll over.

 

That seemed like forever ago and I still can’t sleep.

 

Maybe tomorrow I’ll work on Trace some more. Maybe I can get him to open up, do some of those voices for Sarah. He always did a great impression of that old slug lady in the movie. I don’t remember her name. I probably should have stayed up and watched that movie this afternoon with Sarah, but her bed felt so nice. I forgot what it was like to actually sleep on a mattress. I mean, it’s probably nothing to mine back home, or even the one at the ranch we were staying at, but it’s better than a cemented floor.

 

Anything’s better than that.

 

This sucks.

 

Like really…

I’m stuck in a dungeon and…there’s like, nothing to do but sit here in the darkness.

 

Stuck in a dungeon no where to go.

Wondering why I didn’t just say no.

But there was a bird and Trace had to see it.

And now, right now we’re in deep, deep shit

 

This is pathetic.

 

There’s this crazy girl who stays with us

She’s really messed up and Trace makes a fuss.

He says I shouldn’t talk to her, shouldn’t get in her head.

But if I don’t, him and I both are soon to be dead.

Here’s the chorus now, let’s go…

 

In a cement room

No windows looking out

I really wanna run

But the bad guy’s gotta gun.

I sit here and think

What’s it all about

I wanna go home

I wanna get away

But all I can do is sit here and say...

I’m in a cement room

No windows looking out

I really wanna run

But the bad guy’s gotta gun.

Man, I haven’t sung in so long, or written anything. This is so bad, but whatever. Something to pass the time. Maybe I can whisper it, just ya know, sing real softly. This is by far the gayest song I’ve ever written. I stifle a laugh.

 

No it’s not the movies

No it’s not tv.

I’m really in this place

This really is me

And soon he’s gonna get tired

And we will no longer be.

Oh yeah I’m in a cement room…

“Justin…”

 

I stop singing and get really quiet. It was a whisper and I don’t know where it came from or who said it. Great, now I’m making horrible songs and hearing things.

 

I’m quiet. I hear nothing.

 

Then there it is again, “Justin…”

 

It’s her. “Sarah?” I call and the next thing I know I hear sheets moving again and the soft pad of feet against the floor.

 

I feel her body heat against me and she’s right there, next to me. I can’t see her, but I can sense her. Then I feel her hand timidly touch my chest, trying to make sure I’m there. “Is this you?”

 

“Yes…” I say. I’d sit up, but I don’t see the point if she can’t see me. “What’s going on?”

 

“I’m scared.” She means it. I can hear it in her voice. She sounds like Steven, just like him, when he can’t sleep.

 

“Why are you scared?” I chuckle. “Was my singing that bad?”

 

“No, I liked it. But I can’t go to sleep ‘cause I keep hearing something.”

 

“It was just me singing.” I whisper and move my hand just a bit, to see if I can feel her. I’m not trying to like, touch her. I just wanna see how close she is. I’m not that psycho.

 

“No something else.” She whispers back.

 

I almost ask her what it is that is keeping her up, but then, amazingly, it hits me. She’s awake. She’s not passed out. “Wait, you can’t sleep?”

 

Her voice is still hushed, but excited, proud when she says, “I didn’t take my medicine. I put it down the potty.”

 

“You didn’t take it!” I’m ecstatic. She’s smarter than I give her credit for. Keem let her do all her stuff by herself, trusted her to do it, and uncle trusted Keem to see that she got it done. And she took advantage of the situation, trusted me instead, and now, now she’s not passed out.

 

But she’s clearly wide away. “That’s my girl.”

 

“I did good!” She touches my chest again and soon I feel her against me, hugging me. It kinda feels nice to have that kind of affection. She pulls away.

 

“Yeah. You can still take the stuff in the white bottle and the little flat one. Yeah, you should definitely take the flat one if you keep going upstairs to spend the night with uncle. But the stuff in the orange bottle is bad.”

 

“Ok.” She’s exited and I don’t know what to say. But as soon as I try and search my brain with something useful to say and do, hear voice is back scared, terrified and she’s clutching my arm with one of her hands. “Will you sleep in my bed?”

 

“I don’t think I can.” That kind of freaks me out that she wants me to sleep with her. I mean. I did it this afternoon but that was by accident. And no matter how much I try and compare her to my brothers and how they act, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s not a little kid. She lying beside me and I can feel her body pressed up against me. It…it would just be wrong.

 

Right?

 

I change the subject. “Why are you scared Sarah?”

 

“I heard something.” She pauses and then I feel her lean further against me. She’s lying beside me, clutching my arm with hers and then she puts her face near my ear and whispers. “I think Randall is over there.”

 

Randall…Randall. Who the hell is Randall? That’s my middle name. Hmm…Oh yeah, right. That guy from Monster’s Inc. The bad one that can change colors.

 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not him.” I say.

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“Probably a mouse.” Shit Justin, she’s probably terrified of mice.

 

“Mickey?!” She almost squeals. Good, whew…

 

“Maybe. Here why don’t you scoot over some so we don’t wake up Trace.” I hear her move again and I push my self over a few feet, towards her bed and away from Trace. I bump into her.

 

“I’m going to sleep here tonight.” She whispers and I hear her bed squeak. Just great, now she’s gonna sleep beside me anyway.

 

“Don’t you wanna sleep in your comfy bed?”

 

Something soft lands half on my face and I reach up with both my chained hands and feel it. It’s a pillow. Then something else lands on me. I reach for it and it feels like a stuffed animal. “No, I wanna sleep here, beside you.” Before I can say anything more I feel something else, with a bit of weight but soft, cover me and her. It’s a blanket. She curls up to me and I lay there, rigid as she hugs my arm and Abu. She rests her head near my shoulder.

 

I feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be lying with her like this. I mean, she’s a grown woman. But...but she’s not. I gotta think of this like when my brothers can’t sleep, or something. I have to. I don’t wanna be a sicko like that uncle character. She soon is moving the pillow so it’s under my head. Oh god, Heaven. She’s letting me share a pillow with her and has covered me in a blanket. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

 

Her body curls up more against mine and she clutches my upper arm tighter. I kind wish I wasn’t handcuffed so I could hold her, but no, that’s a stupid idea. God, Justin. You freak.

 

“Justin?” She whispers a minute later.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You’re my best friend.”

 

I don’t know what to say to her. That…that means a lot. I mean, I know I’ve been making myself be that for her, but still. I’m…I’m honored or something. I wonder if she has ever had one before. “Will you stay forever Justin?'

 

I clear my throat a little bit. “I can’t.” That’s another lie, as far as I know this is gonna be my burial ground.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Cause like I told you the other day. This isn’t my home. I have a house and a family and friends and dogs and a job and everything else out there, outside this room and this house.”

 

She’s quiet and then asks, “Then why aren’t you with them, too? Why don’t your other friends come play?”

 

“Because…” I sigh and try and figure out how I’m gonna explain this situation with out destroying her. “In any of the movies you watch, do…do people get kidnapped? Taken from where they want to be by mean, evil witches, or men or something?”

 

“Yeah. In Lady and the Tramp, she’s put in the pound and…”

 

I interrupt her. “What about One Hundred and One Dalmatians? When Cruella Deville takes the puppies…”

 

“That movie is scary.” She clutches me tighter and whispers, “I don’t like it.”

 

“That’s…that’s what’s happened to us.”

 

I don’t think she heard me. “Oh and there’s The Rescuers.”

 

“I haven’t ever seen that one.” I say, realizing this is pointless. I yawn, starting to feel a little sleepy now.

 

“Well these two mice, not Mickey and Minnie though, they find out someone needs help and they go and save this girl from this…” Her breath catches in her throat, and well, so does mine. Her voice betrays her. She doesn’t want to say it. But it’s too late and it comes out. “Fr-from this bad man.”

 

I swallow hard and she doesn’t make a sound. “Really…”

 

“Uncle’s not bad.” She rushes to say, trying to not only convince me, but to convince herself as well. “He just got mad at us the other day.”

 

“He gets mad a lot doesn’t he?”

 

She just sniffs. It’s quiet again and stays that way for a while. I realize it’s over. She’s not going to push it anymore and I don’t want to traumatize her anymore so I just stay still. It kind of feels nice to have her against me. I hate it though. Sometimes I make progress with her, but other times, when I hit these brick walls, it’s so, so frustrating. Maybe one day she’ll figure it out and realize that uncle is the bad guy.

 

I hear something like a very faint squeak and then hear something sound like its over near where our empty water bottles are. She clutches me tighter and I feel and hear her gasp.

 

“It’s just Mickey,” I say.

 

“Promise?”

 

“Mmmhmm. Ever heard of Disney World?”

 

“Maybe. Sometimes they talk about it before the movies come on, but I don’t know what it is.”

 

“Oh my goodness Sarah. It’s this place that you would love. Mickey Mouse lives there, and so do Cinderella and Peter Pan and Snow White and all your favorite people from your movies. It’s the city that they live in. And there’s all this fun stuff to do.” I chuckle to myself and say, “And, actually, I use to work there when I was a kid.

 

“There…there really is a place?!”

 

I laugh and I think I can almost see the excitement in her face, though my eyes barely let me see the outline of her form, now leaning over me. “Shh, don’t wake up Trace. But yeah, and you can meet all of them. And everyone is so nice and friendly. And you can meet Belle, and the little mermaid and Jasmine and…”

 

"Jasmine?!" I’m shocked that Trace doesn’t wake up, but he doesn’t make a sound. “I feel her rest beside me again, her head back against my shoulder. “Wow…” She says. I’ve amazed her. I’ve done good.

 

It’s weird. The way she talks and how she acts is exactly like a child, but feeling her pressed up against me, holding onto me, well, she feels like a grown woman. I don’t mean to say this like I’m a pervert, like that dick head is, but, but she really does have a woman’s body. She’s soft and, and yeah…

 

STOP IT JUSTIN!

 

Maybe being stuck down here is making me crazy. God, maybe I am being turned into a freak like her or something. I wonder how long that sick asshole is gonna keep us here.

 

A question rises in my mind and I have to ask. "Sarah..."

 

"Yeah…"

 

"How old are you?"

 

“I dunno.” She says casually.

 

"Well, when's your birthday?"

 

“I don’t have one.”

 

I chuckle a little. “Everyone has a birthday.”

 

“I don’t know mine.” She says, now not so casual, now a little sad.

 

Shit, now I’ve depressed her. I gotta get her happy again. “Oh yeah, and Disney World isn’t the only place. There’s also Disney Land. And I have a house near both of them.

 

"There's TWO!?" She all but shouts, forgotten are her birthday woes.

 

"Oh yeah,” I say and she just says “wow” in her amazed childish voice. Now, now I gotta get her to think about getting out of her. Yes, yes Justin. Get her to want to get out, and then, then she’ll help you. “I'd really like to take you there Sarah."

 

“I’d like to go with you.” Funny. She doesn’t sound very childish anymore.

 

“I’ll introduce you to Jasmine and Aladdin.”

 

“You know them?” She’s in awe, again.

 

“Yeah. We’re not that close, 'cause well, they’re really busy, ya know? But, I’ve met them before.”

 

“I can’t wait.” She says in her little amazed voice. I smile in the darkness. Yeah, now we’re getting somewhere. Now I can use that to my advantage.

 

I feel her move and almost ask what she’s doing and where’s she’s going but feel her against me again. It’s weird. What the hell is she doing? She’s like laying half on me now.

 

She’s close, I can feel her. Her lips press into mine softly and… Oh my god.

 

“Stop!” I say and push her off me. It takes a moment, another. One more. And finally it sinks in. She just kissed me on the mouth. “No Sarah, no…”

 

This is fucked up. Trace was right. I can’t trust her. She’s…she just…oh my god, she just kissed me

 

“But…” She sniffs and the whine in her voice comes out. She’s about to panic. “But uncle says you do that to someone when you love them.” I gasp and close my eyes. Oh no, now she’s in love with me.

 

No…no Justin. No, now, come on. Get a grip. She’s not in love. She doesn’t even know what that means. She loves you, like a friend would, like a sister would, but…but she doesn’t know the difference ‘cause that pervert told her that kissing and, probably other things are expressions of love. And well, they are. But not…not for platonic love. Oh fuck. How the hell am I supposed to explain the difference in love and love…? God, I don’t even know what platonic means.

 

“You don’t kiss your friends Sarah.” I say slowly, calmly, well as calm as I can.

 

“But I love you.” Great, she’s freaking out. “You’re my best friend Justin, my…my only friend besides uncle and Abu.”

 

“Yeah but, uncle told you wrong.” She gasps and clutches my arm so tight it hurts. “Well, I mean. You kiss someone you love, yes, but not this kind of love.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Neither do I.

 

I sigh and think about it for a moment. I lick my dry lips and stare at the ceiling that I can sort of see now that I’ve been looking around in the dark for I don’t know, hours. Ok, maybe, maybe this will work. “When a mommy and daddy love each other it’s the kind of love where you can kiss. Or the love between a boyfriend and girlfriend is when you kiss but not…”

 

“But you are my boyfriend.” I sigh and roll my eyes up into my head. This is torture. Smart thinking Uncle Patrick or whatever the hell your name is. You’re succeeding at torturing me. I’m dying here. “Right? I mean, you’re my friend and a boy. Right?”

 

I give up. “Yes Sarah. I’m your friend and I’m a boy. But, just don’t kiss me anymore, ok? Hugs are fine. Hugs are wonderful but, kissing. Well, I’ll just explain that to you later, ok?” I can’t control myself and I yawn, big, long and loud.

 

“Ok.” She giggles and I feel the blanket, which had kind of been shifted around, being placed back around me, neatly, perfectly. She tucks me in. “I’m kind of tired, too.”

 

“Alright. Goodnight Sarah.” I say as she rests beside me.

 

“Night Justin.” She clears her throat and with a sigh says, “I love you.”

 

“I…” I sigh as well. “I know.”

 

I wait and listen as her breathing quickly deepens and evens out. She relaxes completely against me and as weird as it is and as messed up as this night’s been, I feel a little comfort with her holding onto me.

 

But not enough to make me fall asleep.

Chapter 9

 

Pretzel sticks. Holy shit, pretzel sticks. I haven’t had these in forever. I’m not a big pretzel fan. I mean I like them and all, but I wouldn’t purposefully go buy them or anything. If I had people over I’d buy some for beer food, but I’ve always been more of a cracker guy, like Cheez-its and Wheat Thins. But still, when you’ve had nothing but plain bologna sandwiches on stale bread with a bottle of water for the past two weeks or whatever, a bag of pretzels between me and Trace and a juice box each is a fucking gourmet meal.

 

When she offered it to us I didn’t think twice and shook my head yes with a smile. She seemed so happy to share, grabbed herself two handfuls from the bag, put them on her bed with her juice box and left us the rest of the bag as she watched Dumbo. I never really liked this movie as a kid, but it’s pretty good. I mean, the crows are horrible stereotypes but that song they sing is great. I started singing it and she giggled. It was weird, though. When she did it she seemed different. Her giggle was childish but she didn’t squeal or bounce up and down or dance or clap her hands. She just giggled and smiled at me, stuffing a pretzel stick in her mouth.

 

When I woke this morning she was already up, on her bed, coloring quietly. There was an empty plate on her bed and two bottles of water in front of our sleeping bodies. I didn’t ask her, but I assumed she moved back to her bed when she woke and since I could still breathe I figured she must have done it before Keem came down.

 

“Ya know, I wonder where that other guy went?”

 

I pull the small straw from my mouth and ask “who?” to Trace before sucking some fake orange punch back in my mouth.

 

“The white guy, with the accent, Bernie or whatever.”

 

“Oh…yeah.” Interesting, something to think about. “Hmm.” Maybe he got caught. Maybe they’re questioning him now and he’s gonna tell them where we’re at. God, I hope so.

 

“Hey,” I feel a little elbow nudge and look at him. “I’m sorry we’ve been fighting.”

 

“It’s ok.” I shrug and reach for another handful of the thin pretzels. If I get out of this I’m gonna buy out RoldGold. They’re saving me right now.

 

“You’re right.” He shakes his head and stares off at the screen where Dumbo is. “We gotta get out of here.”

 

“What? You don’t like Dumbo.” I start to laugh and he groans.

 

“Don’t be a cock.” His eyes are narrowed, but I can tell he’s amused. He sighs and nods. “You’re right, though. We gotta use her to get out of here. Sorry I’ve been weird about her. She’s just, fucking nuts.”

 

“Shit man, help me find a way!” Yes, he’s into it now. He wants to get out of here. Hopefully, he’ll be able to stick through and not panic and yeah, we’ll we’ll figure something out. We just will. We use to get in the biggest shit back in Tennessee and we’d always find a way out of it. We can do this.

 

Of course, people weren’t threatening to kill us in Tennessee.

 

“Well maybe she can remember the code and we can sneak out.”

 

I shake my head and wish I could be that easy. I wish we could just break a code and bust out and run away, but we wouldn’t get three feet out of that door before we’d be lying in a pool of blood. “There’s a fucking three-hundred pound bodyguard with a huge ass rifle sitting outside the door. Unless of course they’ve dropped their guard outside the hostage room, which I doubt. And when they took me up there for phone calls and shit, there’s so many people with guns man. There’s no way.”

 

“Well,” He hits his head back on the cement wall and stares at the ceiling, grabbing a few pretzels and munching on them. “Then we gotta get her to do something for us.”

 

“What?” I laugh and shake my head at him. I know I’m being the pessimistic one now but we gotta be realistic. We gotta get out of here, but we gotta stay sane, too and we can’t be jumping the gun on risky ideas that have no hope for success. “Call the police?”

 

I laugh but he doesn’t. I look up at him and he’s staring at me with wide eyes. Slowly it dawns on me. Police, calling, a phone. If there was a phone down here we could call. But there’s not. I mean, maybe if we could go upstairs and get a phone it’d be one thing but…

 

Sarah can go upstairs.

 

Sarah can get us a phone.

 

Sarah.

 

My eyes widen and he’s nodding with a smile. We both look over at Sarah who’s furiously shading something on her paper. “Shit, why haven’t we thought about that until now?” He asks.

 

“Because it would have been impossible until now!” I say. Sarah wouldn’t have been able to do anything for us before. She was interested in us, but she wasn’t trusting. But now she is. Hell, she said last night that she loves me. God, she LOVES me. As sick as that is, I can use it. I can use it. I look at him and pat his knee excitedly. “But we gotta open up Trace. I know she freaks you out, but look, she’s fucking harmless.”

 

He clears his throat and says in a low voice, not looking at me. “I heard yall last night. You’re getting in too deep.”

 

“I’m getting inside her head.” I try to explain and start to get worried he heard too much. I wonder if he knows she kissed me. God, he’s freaked. “Look, we gotta keep her mind out of the clouds, out of his room and outside. I tried playing up Disney World so that maybe she’ll get so excited she’ll wanna go and leave.”

 

“Be careful man, what if she brings that shit up with that guy?” He looks at me now and shakes his head at me. “What then? We’re dead.”

 

“I know, I know!” I throw up one of my hands and the other one comes with it. “Plus, do you think she’d know how to use a phone? I mean she can’t read.”

 

“She could bring one to us.”

 

“Can they track cell phones?” I ask. “Cause I doubt he has a landline. And we sure as hell don’t know the damn address.”

 

“Yeah, if hell has an address.” I nod in agreement. Ya know I wonder if police and FBI can trace any call. I mean he’s made ransom calls. He’s gotta have a scrambler or something. I don’t know. All I know is what I’ve seen in movies and I’m sure none of that shit is true.

 

I laugh and say to him, “You’re the one that loves CSI and shit.”

 

“They don’t track phone calls, dumb ass. They look at crime scenes.” He sighs and pulls his legs up so that his knees are bent and his arms are resting on them. “I hope Elisha has taped the episodes I’ve missed.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“No, but it makes me feel better to think so.” I start to think about Cameron and I try my best to push the thought from my head. I haven’t really thought about her. I’ve been trying to get out of here and trying to get to know Sarah. I don’t need the thought of her wearing me down. I don’t need to have to worry about how anxious this is making her and how she’s having to deal with all the press. And I’m sure the paparazzi are crazy on her now that I’m “missing.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye I see movement and turn to see Sarah moving to the TV and changing out the videos.

 

“What’ya doing Sarah?” I ask.

 

“Putting in Aladdin.”

 

Trace groans quietly. “God, not again.”

 

I look at him. “It’s her favorite movie, man.”

 

“I’m going back to sleep.” He shakes his head and rolls over on his side. “Maybe I’ll dream of having sex with ‘Lish.”

 

“Keep it quiet.” I hit him the best I can with having both my hands cuffed together. I think he’s right, at least for him. Rest is the best thing he can do. It’s so weird cause in my life outside of this Trace was always the calm one with a solution, but now, now he’s so panicked and anxious. Now I have to be the savior.

 

“Hey…” He says, looking up at me over his shoulder. “I don’t wanna fight anymore. God, we might not get out of this and-“

 

“Shut up Trace.” I cut him off before he can say anything else. We will not say our last words dammit! We won’t! “We’re not thinking that way.”

 

He looks at me and then turns back around so his whole back is to me. “R-right.” I see him nod, trying to convince himself. “Right.”

 

I sigh and watch her as she sits on the bed and looks at the opening credits of Aladdin. I wonder what she’d be like if she weren’t in this situation. If she was just a normal girl that didn’t act like she was eight, would be a fan or be someone that I was interested in or, or something.

 

I wonder where she’s from.

 

“Wanna come sit?”

 

I shake my head and snap out of my daze as my eyes focus on her, now looking at me and smiling from her bed. I return her happiness and push myself off the floor to shuffle towards her. “Yeah. Thanks again for the snacks Sarah. They were wonderful.”

 

“Yay!” She hugs me when I sit myself on her bed and then pulls away. I wonder if she remembers any of our conversation last night about Disney World and, and that kiss. “You’re my best friend now so we can share everything. Wanna color?”

 

I watch her pull her pad back into her lap where she was making another picture of her name. She rips it off and lets it float to the floor. “No that’s ok. Why don’t you just color for me?”

 

“What do you want me to color?” She asks, finding a pretzel that had gotten lost in her comforter and popping it into her mouth.

 

“What ever you feel like.” She smiles and picks up a crayon as I lay back and watch the movie. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve seen this movie over the past well, however long we’ve been here. I mean, it’s a good movie and all but how many times can you watch this damned thing. I feel myself dozing off and then I’m startled back awake when the song “Friend Like Me” blasts through the tiny TV speakers. I yawn and stretch and she’s still coloring furiously, singing along quietly.

 

I clear my throat and say, “So you watch this movie a lot don’t you.”

 

“Almost every day.” She bites her lip and smiles. “It’s my favorite.”

 

God she’s so messed up. She looks so lost and sad, forcing herself to make her believe that she is happy. I know now, I know she’s not happy. But she thinks she is, cause she doesn’t know any better. She knows nothing about life or what’s out there. It’s so incredibly heartbreaking to watch her. I hope if we get out of her she will too. I really hope so. “I know. I bet you know a lot about it.”

 

She shrugs.

 

I figure I should try and see how smart she really is. Like, how good she is at remembering things and what not. If we’re gonna get her to get us a phone or something we’ll need her to have a sharp memory. One little mistake and we’re toast. “What’s the last thing someone says in the movie?”

 

She immediately responds, “’Made ya look.’ The genie says it.”

 

“Why do you like this movie so much?”

 

“Cause Jasmine is pretty.” She doesn’t look up from her drawing. I try to lift my head to see what it is, but she’s blocking my view. “And I like Aladdin.”

 

I yawn. Maybe I should go back to sleep. “He’s a cool guy.”

 

She stares at the screen for a bit and sighs, then starts drawing again. “Ya know his things on his pants changes colors a lot.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“That thing.” She points to the screen with a purple crayon.

 

“The patch?”

 

“Yeah. Sometimes its blue sometimes it’s yellow.”

 

I stare at her hard. I mean, I know she’s watched this movie a whole heck of a lot but damn. I mean the past few times she’s watched it she doesn’t even look at it. She just colors and sings along and every now and then glances up. My stomach starts to ache and I wonder if I ate too many pretzels. Shit, I bet all that salt on them is gonna make me have the runs or something. “I never noticed.”

 

“And the toys that the sultan has, the Beast is in there.”

 

“The Beast?”

 

“Yeah,” She looks at me and smiles. “Belle’s beast.”

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“No..” She gets up and it’s the next scene. I see a stacked pile of little toys the sultan is playing with and she picks up her paper and runs to the TV to point. “Look,” Sure enough, there’s a little toy that looks like a silhouette of the Beast. I think this movie came out before that one. That’s pretty cool. “Did ya see?” She asks coming back.

 

It starts to hit me. That scene went fast and, and unless someone had pointed that out I would have never, ever noticed it. I don’t think anyone normal would have. She’s…she’s got a damn good memory. “Y-yeah.”

 

“And I think one of the elephants from Dumbo is there too but I’m not sure.” She pulls her drawing back into her lap and continues to shade.

 

“So you really know this move in detail don’t you.”

 

She shrugs. “I guess.”

 

The movie continues and I keep on staring at her back and the side of her face as she draws and colors, trying to figure out what goes through her head. I keep trying to picture her in jeans and a cool t-shirt, with her hair combed and pulled back and a bit of a tan. She looks goth-like pale. But she doesn’t wear black eyeliner or have black died hair. Her hair is the color of fall, a deep brown with golden orange hints here and there. I wanna run my hands through it. I mean, not to sound perverted but it’s just so ratty. I guess, I guess I just feel like her big brother or something. God, I better not say that to her, though since she thinks she’s supposed to sleep with family members.

 

God, what a fucking psychotic pig. How can you do that to someone?

 

“You like it?”

 

I meet her eyes and sit up a bit to look over her shoulder at her drawing. It’s an exact replica of that city in Aladdin. Agra-something. Like, exact replica. It looks like an animator did it and it’s colored perfectly. “Damn…”

 

“Is it good?”

 

“Do you…” I stop myself and stare at her. She barely looked at the movie. She’s has a really, really good memory. Ya know I heard once that people who are traumatized, especially at a young age, or people who have their mental growth stunted sometimes end up forcing all their mental ability into one type of thing. Her’s must be art. “It’s great Sarah. You’re really good at remembering stuff.”

 

“I am?” She asks. She’s completely confused.

 

“Here.” I get an idea. I gotta see how good she is at remembering stuff. I mean, if she’s like really good maybe she can remember the code or something she sees out side or maybe I can teach her how to use a phone. It’s not like I’m trying to teach a toddler. She’s a grown woman. She just doesn’t realize it. I reach across to her nightstand and grab the juice box she had put there. It’s empty and I straighten myself again and say, “Lets play a game.”

 

“YAY!”

 

I smile at her and hold the box to her, letting her see the side label. It has pretty small print and I let her get a good look. “Look at this box.”

 

She looks at me weird for a moment and then does what I say. “Ok?”

 

“Done?”

 

She shrugs, confused, but its ok. I just, I have to know. “I guess.”

 

I pull it away and put it behind my back. “Now draw all you can remember of it.”

 

Her eyebrows bunch and she turns to get her pad of paper and a pencil she has. “That’s easy.”

 

I watch her, in amazement as she quickly makes a replica of the side of the box. A few minutes later she rips off the paper from her pad and hands me a rough, quick sketch of the side of the box. It’s perfect. Every detail is there. Every word, even if she doesn’t know what they mean, it’s there. I pull the box out and compare the two. The ounce thing is perfect, all the nutritional information and the ingredients are there. Even the manufactures address is there and a 1-800 number. It’s…it’s amazing.

 

She’s got a photographic memory.

 

My breathing quickens and I know somehow I’ve just made a breakthrough. Yeah, she’s gonna get us out of here somehow. She just has to. “Yes….”

 

“What?” She asks me but I don’t respond. I’m so amazed. I’m trying to think about what I can do, how her ability will get us out of here. What could she remember? A phone number. No, no uncle would kill her if he saw her on the phone. And then he’d kill us.

 

“Justin…”

 

I give her a hug and say, “Thank you Sarah, this is really nice of you.” I pull away and turn towards my best friend, who’s sleeping ten feet away. “Trace…Trace wake up!”

 

He stretches and I say his name again. He rolls over. “What?”

 

“Come here…”

 

He gives me a funny look at first but must see the seriousness in my face. I watch him push himself up off the floor and shuffle towards us. “What?”

 

“Look what Sarah drew.”

 

I show it to him. He nods but doesn’t quite see what I’m getting at. “That’s amazing.”

 

“What’s more amazing, I didn’t let her use it as a model.” I wave the empty juice box at him and he takes it, looks at it and then at the picture on the bed. “I let her look at it for a few seconds and then put it behind my back.”

 

“Are…” He looks at her and then at me. “Are you serious?”

 

“Photographic memory.”

 

He’s breathless. “Really...” He takes in a big breath and says to me, “If she can draw us an address...”

 

Yes! That’s how to think Trace. If she gets an address somehow and brings us a phone we can call mama or Elisha or someone and tell them where we are! “And get us a phone!”

 

“Holy…” He pulls his hands up to run through his hair and shakes his head roughly. “No, no, this isn’t gonna work. No, no we…”

 

“Trace…” I try to calm him down. It’s too much for him. He’s panicking.

 

“What...what’s going on?” I ignore her and reach out to clasp Trace’s wrist. I don’t say anything and we just stare at each other. This is it. This is our ticket out of here. “You guys are scaring me.”

 

“Sarah,” I turn to her and smile. I’m beaming. We…we’re gonna make it. “You remember how I told you about Disney World?”

 

“I wanna go!” She starts to giggle.

 

“I know,” I try to calm her down. I can hear Trace breathing heavily and it’s making me nervous and she looks like she’s about to squeal with delight and I don’t need her getting too excited and sharing this information with anyone. “I know you do. And I wanna take you but I have to call a friend of mine so that he can take us.”

 

She looks at me confused. “Call?”

 

“You know what a phone is?”

 

She nods, her big brown eyes staring at me. “Yes.”

 

A hand is on my shoulder. “Address first Justin, they’d notice if a phone was missing.” Great thinking Trace! Good, he’s…he’s coming back to me. Using that head of his and figuring out this problem. He was always good at that, problem solving and shit. Always did my homework in middle school for math.

 

“Where’s she gonna get it?” I ask.

 

He licks his lips and searches the air for some answer. I hear his finger snap and he looks directly at Sarah. “Does your uncle get mail? Do you know what mail is?”

 

She gulps and I know she’s terrified. It’s the first time Trace has really made an effort to talk to her. I’m sure she’s so confused and lost right now but if, if she can just hold it together and do this for us, we can all get saved. All of us, Trace, me and her. She nods slowly and stares at him, reaching out and holding onto my arm. “Yeah, I think.”

 

“Can I borrow that?” I ask and she holds me tighter, staring at him and then at me. Finally she eases her grip and slides the pad to me and puts a pencil on top of it. I to my best to draw a rectangle and then a stamp and the return address in he corner and the sending address in the center. I show it to her. “Have you ever seen something that looks like this upstairs?”

 

“Yes, on uncle’s desk.”

 

We both suck in a breath and I hear Trace say, “Fuck, I need to sit down.” He stumbles over against the wall and slides down, staring in shock at the far wall. He really thought he was going to die here. He really thought I wasn’t gonna get us out of this. No buddy, I’m not ready to die just yet.

 

And it’s not just us anymore. I gotta get her out of this, too.

 

I look at her and grab her hand. “Next time you go upstairs, will you do me a favor?”

 

“What?”

 

“But don’t tell uncle you’re doing this. And don’t tell him about Disney World.”

 

“Why not?” She asks.

 

“Cause…” I search for a reason and bull shit my way through. “Cause it’s just our secret. We’re best friends, remember?”

 

“Trace knows the secret, too.” She whispers.

 

“Yes, we all do.” I look at him and he’s looking at us. “Cause see, me and Trace have this club.”

 

“A club!?” She exclaims.

 

“Yeah!” I hear Trace say, he’s getting excited again. Man, buddy just, just calm down. “And we want you to be a part of it.”

 

Good thinking man! See, I knew if we just worked at a team everything would be figured out. I just wish we could have done this sooner. I turn to her and squeeze her hand in mine. “But you can’t say anything about it to anyone but us.”

 

“Oh k.” She nods, eager to be part of our club, happy she has friends. God, I love her right now. She’s gonna fucking save us.

 

“And we need you to do this for us.” She nods and I point to my envelope drawing. “So next time you go upstairs, take a look at one of these things, and I need this part right here.” I point to the center address. I wrote my own. I miss it. I miss my house. I miss my dogs and, and I miss… snap out of it! I circle my address. “It’ll look like this, but there will be different letters and stuff.

 

“I don’t understand.” She says in a pathetic voice.

 

I sigh. I’m going to fast. She doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Ok Sarah, this is how you spell your name right.” I write her name and she nods. “Well my name is Justin and I spell it like this.” I spell mine on the paper and she nods. “So it looks different. And so uncle’s address, this thing,” I point again. “We’ll look different from this one.”

 

“Oh…ok.” She nods, I think she’s starting to understand. God I hope so.

 

“So I need and envelope, this thing.” I point to my drawing again and then to the center address. “And I need to know what it says right here. It’ll probably have uncle’s name right here, spelled like this,” I write out “Patrick.” “And if they’re opened up top then that’s really the ones I want.” Yeah, yeah, good thinking, cause yeah. She might find an envelope that he’s sending out. And if it’s opened and ripped up top then they were sent to him. Right? Ok, this might not work, but…but I gotta take that chance.

 

“I’m gonna get in trouble.” She whispers to me. God, I’d hate that. I’d hate it if she got in trouble because of us. If the fucker started beating her, I don’t know what I’d do. What a sick bastard!

 

“No, no you aren’t.” I reassure her and try to reassure myself at the same time. If this works we’re out of here, but if it doesn’t… I’m not gonna think about that. “Just don’t tell him. And don’t let him see you look at it, ok? And then you come down here and you can draw what you saw. It’s a game, ok?”

 

She looks at me, still confused, still unsure if this is the right thing to do. We’re screwed. “Ok.”

 

I rush to make everything ok in her mind. “And if you do it and you win, I’ll take you to Disney World, I promise.”

 

“Really?” She lights up and I wonder if I had said, Los Angeles, or Detroit, or anything other than Disney World if she would have acted the same. I wonder if she just wants to be taken out of here.

 

“We’ll all go,” I hear and look over and nod appreciatively at Trace. He might be panicked but God, this is so much easier with him helping me. I just feel better ya know?

 

“And we’ll meet Aladdin.” I add. Her eyes look into mine and I get lost in them. She’s trying to tell me something, something she herself doesn’t even know. I wanna ask, I wanna find out but I just don’t know what it is. I mean, I guess I’m getting a little obsessed with her, but she’s just so different and weird and dammit, she doesn’t deserve this. No one does. And there’s just something about her, ya know? It’s like she’s begging me, without asking, to figure out what’s with her, but she doesn’t even know and that’s why she’s asking someone else.

 

“Shit Justin!” I turn and look at Trace who’s staring at the door. The red light turns green.

 

I grab her hand and say, “Promise me Sarah. Next time you go upstairs.”

 

“Ok,” She nods. “I promise.”

 

“Justin!”

 

I try to stand up and run over to where Trace is but it’s no use and I trip. I brace myself against the way and quickly slide beside trace before Keem comes down and sees me with Sarah. That wouldn’t be good. Not at all. I try my best to control my breathing, using all my techniques I’ve learned through singing and stuff, but it doesn’t work. My side starts to ache and my lungs and I wonder if that kick to my stomach a few days ago has really done some actual damage. I hope I’m not like bleeding internally or something. I suck in a breath as the door opens and then I let it out slowly, staring at the steps as my pain slowly dissolves.

 

But it’s not Keem that comes down. Its uncle and it makes me want to throw up and makes all the pain rush back. He’s in one of his fucking white suits. So gay. He’s back early. I thought he was going to be gone longer than just a day or two, but I guess not. He walks down and has something in his hand. I can’t see what it is. There, now he’s close. It’s a fucking Polaroid camera. He smiles at us.

 

“Say cheese.” He rasps out at us and snaps the picture. It’s fed out of the mouth and he shakes it a moment before going over to Sarah. I guess that’s for proof or something. I wonder how he’s gonna send it to the policemen. Or maybe he just likes to have photos of his hostages. Fucker.

 

“Hey Sarah. Have you missed me?” Gross.

 

I watch her and she just nods but she looks scared. Really scared. God, maybe, maybe me trying to get into her head isn’t working. It’s making her not trust this guy and as much as that might help us, someone with a mind as fragile as hers, well, I don’t know. This might have been a bad idea.

 

“Come on, I’ve got presents for you upstairs.” He grabs her hand and kisses her cheek and I shake my head when I see her smiling, lighting up at the mention of presents. She’s a child, a poor fucking child.

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmhmm.” He pulls her up off her bed and she snatches Abu. “Come on.”

 

As they pass us and walk up the stairs, Sarah looks over her shoulder at me and stares. She’s scared and I know damn well she probably won’t remember the address thing. God, what was I thinking?

 

He pushes Sarah out of the door at the top of the steps and turns around and smiles at us. I feel sick and he says, “Oh, you’re girlfriend is wiring us an installment. So don’t worry, you two won’t be down here much longer.”

 

The door shuts and the light turns red. Moments later the overhead lights are shut off and we are surrounded by darkness.

 

A minute passes. I don’t really know what to say and I figure we will just lay down and sleep or something like we always try to do when the lights are out. I mean, unless he wants to brainstorm some more or unless I come up with another idea.

 

“It…it was a good idea.”

 

I clear my throat. “What?”

 

“I mean, it was a chance ya know.” I hear him laugh but it’s a sad laugh. “At least we tried.”

 

Fuck. He’s psychotic now and thinks we’re gone and thinks we’re gonna die. I mean, we might but…no! NO! We’re not gonna die dammit. We’re NOT! “Trace.”

 

“Even if she did get an address, it’d been too much and she’d tell him. It just wouldn’t work and, and there’s no point trying when we already know we’re gonna…”

 

“NO!” I yell and I can hear him. He’s crying. Shit. I don’t need this now. I don’t…I don’t need him to cry. It’s just gonna make me cry. I reach over and touch him. I scoot over and lift up my hands and blindly try to circle my arms around him. I do and I hold him tight.

 

He’s crying so hard. God, buddy. We’ll be ok. We will.

 

I feel his fist grab my shirt and I say to him, boldly, strong, shaking him as I speak. “We’re. NOT. Going. To. DIE!”

 

He keeps crying and I force myself to keep my eyes dry. I can’t give in and I have to think ahead, think about Sarah getting an address and coming down and saving us. I have to. I have to.

 

I have to.

 

I can’t give him like him. I can’t. Cause if I do…

 

If I do we’ll be dead a lot faster than we planned.

Chapter 10

 

It’s not a good day. I think I could throw up any minute. I can’t believe I tricked myself into thinking that I could ease my way into Sarah’s head and get her to get us out of this. How long did I think that was going to take? How long did I actually think they’d keep us around? I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid. I tried too hard, I thought I knew everything. I always do that. I always assume I know every answer. And now I’m about to die. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. Very soon. I can’t fucking believe it. I’ve done so much shit in my life. I’ve won Grammies, I’ve made music and I’ve got a great family and great friends. I’ve done everything I want in life. Every goal I set out to do, except…except marriage and kids and all that stuff but…but… I don’t even think I want that. I just wanted to live. I wanted to live this great life that I was blessed to have gotten.

 

And I did that.

 

But I’m not ready to die. I’m not going to fucking die. Do you hear me?! I’m. Not. Ready!

 

“Fuck…”

 

I pull my legs up slowly and rest my elbows on my bent knees, holding my head with my hands. I don’t even have the sickening sounds of cartoons and Disney songs to tone out the morbid thoughts that keep invading my head when I realize that my best friend is gone. No matter how painful it was to see him crumble, to see him cry himself to sleep and stare off into nothing as we sat down here together, its better than him not being here at all. I just pray and hope that whatever they did to him was painless, quick.

 

No, no…I don’t know that. I don’t know that he’s gone. Maybe, maybe they were negotiating with the police or maybe, maybe they had a change of heart. Yeah, yeah he’s out there with momma and ‘lisha and stuff right now. I’ll…I’ll be out of here soon too.

 

Right.

 

“No….no, stop…” I look up and see her, turning softly in her bed, sleeping, having a nightmare. I’d get up and wake her but I don’t think I could if I tried. I’m pretty damn sure she didn’t get the address. I’m pretty damn sure he found out about our little scheme. And I’m pretty damn sure that’s why Trace was taken away. I should have known not to trust her. It’s not that I think she told on us, but when Keem brought her down here, slung over his shoulder, her body limp, pale, with noticeable bruises on her arms and one on her cheek, I knew…uncle knew.

 

She was put in bed, laying there like a doped up mental patience, drooling, laying on her side, her arms and legs limp, her eyes half closed. I almost threw up. I almost stood up and ripped apart my chains and killed that fucker with my own hands. I could see it, me squeezing his neck until he coughed and choked and turned red. I could see his eyes rolling back in his head. I could see him dying. And I liked it. It made me feel good.

 

And when they pulled Trace to his feet and pushed him and told him to walk, I almost screamed out at them. I almost got up myself and tried to run out of there. I almost told Trace how much I loved him and how he had to fight. He had to fight!

 

But I didn’t.

 

No, I didn’t do a damn thing.

 

And now he’s…

 

“No!”

 

My heart thumps in my chest and I stare at her bed. It doesn’t help the injury that I received from the fucker a few days back. I’m still not breathing right, especially when something scares me. When they took Trace I don’t think I breathed at all. The harder my heart works the harder my lungs work and my side starts to ache, like someone’s stepping on my ribs. She’s just having a nightmare, but still, it’s scary. I see now what Trace saw in her, the fear, the terror. What the fuck was I doing getting so close to her? Liking her? Caring about her? She’s a looney. She’s a fucking nutcase and here I was trying to be her friend.

 

I hear her moan and then watch as she lifts herself from the mattress, using both of her hands and seemingly all her strength to push herself up. Her hair is a mass of tangles; I can’t even see her face. She stumbles up and trips towards the bathroom. The door slams. I hear something heavy and limp fall.

 

Silence.

 

A few hours ago I would have called out to her. I would have gotten up and seen if she was ok. This is the person who I cleaned up when she got her period. This is the person who let me lay on her bed and told me she loved me and drew me pictures. This is my Sarah, was my Sarah. Now, now she’s just a preview, a preview of what my life is going to be.

 

I bet they kill him. I bet they leave me down here with her. I bet they buy me a bed with Buzz Lightyear on it.

 

I don’t get up and I don’t care. If she’s gone, if she’s dead, if she’s hurt she’ll be out of my sight, out of my head and I can just die quietly without anything to worry about.

 

I hear coughing, gagging, more silence, more gagging and then the sound of a toilet flush. The door opens a few moments later and she stares at me. She’s crying quietly, covered in a long t shirt, her arms purple, even yellow at places. Her right cheek is dark red, and her eyes brown and glassy just stare at me as tears slowly flow down her cheeks. Go away Sarah. Just go away. I don’t want to become you. I don’t want to.

 

She doesn’t go away; instead she walks straight for me. I cower from her as she approaches and wish I had the strength to move from her when she sits beside me. Then she starts to cry harder. She grips my arm and buries her face against my shoulder. I start to break. I feel my eyes water. No, no I won’t cry. I won’t become her. I won’t let him break me. I won’t let him see me cry.

 

“He promised!” She sobs into my shirt sleeve. Her crying becomes violent and she shakes beside me. I can’t help myself and look at her arms and legs. She suffered a beating last night, a brutal one and it makes me sick cause I know I’m the one that caused it. “He promised he wouldn’t punish me.”

 

My breath catches in my throat. I shouldn’t want to know. I shouldn’t be curious anymore but that part of me is pressed. That intuition I have about her, about who she is, I know there’s a clue somewhere begging to be found. I can’t help it and I ask her, “Wh-what?”

 

She looks up at me. Her face pitiful, longing. God almighty, she wants out. She wants out and she doesn’t know how to ask. “He told me he wouldn’t ever punish me again. I don’t remember when but long ago. But he did. He did. He saw me looking on his desk and he got mad. He got so mad.” An expression I’ve never seen on her face flickers in her eyes and her jaw locks, her eyebrows furrow. “He promised me!”

 

“I’m sorry Sarah.” I take in a breath, it’s shaky and I feel myself start to weep a little bit. I try to check it but it doesn’t help. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to look for that address. It’s my fault and now…now…”

 

“GET BACK IN YOUR BED!”

 

I feel my skin pull off my body and then slap back on. I look up at the doorway and there’s uncle. Shit. Oh shit I’m in for it. I can hear her move, hear her scrambling, crying, terrified, running as fast as she can to her bed. She covers herself completely in the bed and I hear uncle run down the steps and stalk over to her. He leans over her and starts gritting stuff out at her. I’d move, I’d try to stop it, but I’m frozen.

 

“What did I tell you Sarah?” He pins her arms down against the bed roughly and yells at her. “What did I TELL you?” I can hear her sobbing.

 

But my attention on her vanishes when I feel something be thrown down beside me. I look over and my heart stops for a moment. I feel tears running down my and if I could reach out and embrace him I would, but the handcuffs prevent me and I just reach over and grab his arm. “Trace!”

 

“Shut up!” I pull away from Trace and press my back into the wall as uncle storms over to us. He squats down and I see him staring at Trace with an evil smile. Trace stares back, but there’s something different about him. His eyes look vacant, he’s paler than normal and he looks lifeless. Uncle pats Trace’s face. “Don’t worry kid. She’ll be good. She’ll do what we ask. She’ll buy you guys some more time down here.” I look between the two of them but they don’t look at me. I want to ask what going on, but I’m too frightened.

 

Uncle and Keem walk up the steps and before they leave uncle turns around and yells at Sarah. “Don’t make me have to punish you again, Sarah.” She doesn’t say anything and when I look at her I just see a mound of covers on her bed.

 

The door shuts, the light turns red and I just stare at him.

 

“Fucking shit trace!” I lift my arms and hook them around his neck, pulling him to me in a make-shift hug. “I thought you were fucking dead.”

 

“I am.”

 

I pull away from him and smile. He’s fucking alive. He’s alive. “Oh come on man. What did they want?”

 

But he doesn’t respond. I call him name and he just stares into space, tears spilling down his cheeks. Finally he whispers, “She was hysterical.”

 

“What?”

 

I watch as his eyes squeeze shut and he curls up into himself, holding his face in his hands, bawling. “I can’t do this.”

 

“Trace…” I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what happened when he was up there. He doesn’t look physically hurt. I hate this. He can’t handle much more mental torture.

 

“They made me call her!”

 

I stare at him and he stares back, gritting his teeth. “Oh…” And that broke him. They found out and they knew he was the weaker one and knew that if he called a loved one that he’d break. “Fuck.”

 

“We’re…we’re not gonna get out of here Justin.” He shakes his head, panicked. “We’re stuck. That’s the last time I’ll ever…”

 

“Shut up!” I cut him off, but as I do I start to wonder how much longer I can keep this up. How much longer can I try to give him a little faith about our situation? It’s only a matter of time until he gives up and when he does I don’t know how much longer I can last. Maybe I’ll get rid of us before that’ll happen. No, no! “We can’t think like that Trace! I thought...I thought you were dead. I thought they had found out about the address thing and were going to kill you, but they didn’t, did they?”

 

“They found out who she was…” He cries, still hung up on Elisha. Come on man, I had to talk to Cameron, I had to talk to momma, but I made. I’m still alright. “They found out how much I had in my bank account. How the fuck did they do that?”

 

“Trace…look at me.” He doesn’t and I move onto my knees and bend down so his eyesight lines up with mine. “We’re not gonna…” I stop myself. I’m not going to say that word. I won’t. He lifts his head. “We’re gonna be ok, alright? So our first plan failed. We’ll try another one. We’ve been here for a while, they’re gonna find us. It’s not like he’s moved us around the country. That must mean he’s stuck. He can’t leave.”

 

“That means he’ll panic and blow out brains out.”

 

“No it doesn’t.” He won’t look at me. Why won’t you look at me! “Trace…no it doesn’t!”

 

No glance my way and no words are said. And I’m left all alone.

 

“Is he gone?”

 

Except for Sarah. Poor Sarah. My little Sarah. I turn and look at her; she’s still under the covers, not peeking out. All I see is a mound of fabric.

 

“Yes, he’s gone.”

 

A hand comes out first and then that pulls down the covers and her head pops out. She quickly scrambles out of bed and sits in front of me and Trace. She stares at Trace for a moment but he doesn’t acknowledge her. He’s so far gone I don’t even know if he notices that she’s there. Finally she comes beside me and rests her head on my shoulder.

 

“He’s scaring me.”

 

“Trace will be ok.”

 

She clutches me tighter. “Not Trace…” I can hear her suck in a breath and she whispers, “Uncle...” I look at her, she’s staring at me. “He’s so mean now.”

 

I take my hand and turn a little to touch her face, the bruise there against her cheek has started to yellow. I wish I could kill that bastard. “He hurt you.”

 

“Like he hurt you.” She whispers to me. So it’s done. I don’t think she has any more faith in the bastard. She’s on our side, the only problem is getting her not to be so afraid of him that she becomes paralyzed. Like Trace.

 

She moves her body so that she’s holding me around the middle and her head is resting against my chest. It hurts a little where she’s pushing her weight into my hurt side, but when I put my arms around her it feels a little better. I know it’s not right. I know encouraging her like this isn’t right but it feels right having her against me like that. I’m not trying to be perverted but she just feels nice. Maybe it’s just having some affection and comfort that’s affecting me, but whatever it is, I’m glad that she’s with me.

 

It’s silent for a while and I look over at Trace, he’s got his arms against his knees and his forehead against his crossed wrists. Finally I hear her clear her throat a little and she whispers, “I got it.”

 

“What?”

 

I look down at her and she looks up at me. “I got it for you.” She pulls away a little, staring at me with those huge child-like eyes. “Why do you want it…?”

 

I realize what she’s talking about. She got the address. It’s up there in her little brain just waiting to be written out for us. Holy shit, we’re close. We’re…we might actually get saved. I turn to hit Trace and tell him the news, but he’s already looking at her, staring, even more shocked than I am.

 

“To get out of here, Sarah.” I say.

 

“But why.”

 

I can’t think of how to explain it to her. This is the only world she knows. Maybe I should bring up Disney World again. “Because, because…”

 

“Sarah…” I’m shocked when I hear Trace’s voice. “Remember how Aladdin is locked up in that dark scary place.”

 

“Yes, Trace…” I cheer him on quietly.

 

“For being with the princess.” She answers as if we should have known and that Aladdin trivia is common knowledge.

 

“Right, well they think that he kidnapped her, but he didn’t.”

 

Her eyebrows connect in confusion. “Kidnap?”

 

“I’m Aladdin, Sarah.” I say to her and then motion to my best friend. “Trace is too.”

 

“And I’m Jasmine!” She squeals, asking me.

 

“Yes, yes!” I hug her and smile at Trace. He’s smiling back. It might be up and down with him but I think, I think from here on out it’s going to be up. He’s got his hope back and that’s the only thing we really have down here. “And, and…we gotta get out of here because there’s this whole other world out there.”

 

She gasps, “Agrabah?”

 

“Yes…” I’m thankful I’ve watched Aladdin everyday for the past week or two. If not I’d be clueless to what she was talking about. “And the palace is out there and the cave of wonders.”

 

“Really?”

 

“But who locked Aladdin up, Sarah?” I ask.

 

She responds slowly, a little unsure of where this is going and why we are asking her so many questions. “Jafar…”

 

“Uncle, Sarah...uncle is Jafar.”

 

“No…” She shakes her head and starts to cry. I hate this. I hate making her cry, but dammit we have to get through to her. I don’t know how much longer Trace can last down here. How much longer I can…

 

“Please…” I grab her hand. “Please Jasmine, I need your help.”

 

She wipes at her face. “Me?”

 

“Yes..you.”

 

“But where’s the Genie.”

 

“Well...um…” Fuck. What do I say? “Genie is outside…”

 

“His name is Tiny and he’s huge and he’ll protect you from Jafar and he’ll take us away. He’ll protect you from Uncle.”

 

God, I love you Trace.

 

“Yeah! And we can go live in the palace.”

 

"Who’s the Sultan?” She gulps. “Uncle, right?"

 

"No, Sarah…I’m sorry but Uncle is Jafar..."

 

“Johnny…” Trace whispers to me.

 

“Yes!” God, he’s really going now. See this is why I need him to be up until we get out of here. He’s got the brain to think up all this shit that I can’t. He’s always been the brains of anything we’ve done. I smile at Sarah and tell her about Johnny. “There’s a friend of mine named Johnny and he’s the Sultan, he lives in this huge house and you can go swimming…”

 

"I don’t know how..."

 

I smile and laugh at little. God, I’d give anything to be able to teach her how to swim. That would mean we were safe. "I'll teach you..."

 

“What about Abu and the carpet?”

 

“The Carpet?”

 

“I wanna fly.” She whispers and then clutches my arm. “I wanna fly, Aladdin.”

 

I nod slowly and touch her face. "Help me out Jasmine...I'll take you flying.” She’s crying again, but she’s smiling. God, what has he done to her? “I promise.”

 

“Now all we need is a phone.” Trace says to me as I hold her.

 

“We need her to write down the address first.” I say to him. “We don’t need her forgetting. Sarah…” She doesn’t look up so I try again. “Jasmine?”

 

She giggles, “Yes Aladdin.”

 

“Can you write down what we asked you to do for us?”

 

“Okay.” She hugs me tighter and I’m so relieved. But then Trace hits my arm and says, “Light’s changed,” in a rushed voice.

 

“Shit…” I look up and see the light is green. I push her away. “Get in bed Sarah…”

 

She’s quick, thankfully and I watch as she dives into her bed and covers herself completely again.

 

A minute later I’m staring at Keem. He smiles at me and bends down to grab my arm. He yanks on it. “Get up fucker…”

 

He pushes me forward but I take a glance back at Trace. He stares at me but manages a smile. I get a smack against my head and I’m pushed up the steps, but I don’t care. Nothing can hurt us now. And even if something happens to me, at least Trace knows how to get out of here.

 

At least one of us might make it.

Chapter 11

I can’t stop smiling. I know the bruises on my face and my back are because of it, but I can’t stop smiling. The asshole…oh shit….the asshole’s in trouble. He took me upstairs, roughed me up a little bit, told me some shit about my momma I didn’t really wanna hear, but I’m numb to it now. Numb because the prick is scared. They know where we are, or they’re getting mighty close to finding us. He’s got a fuckin’ army in his house. More people in camouflage and huge guns than I’ve ever seen. And right before I was going to dial and have to call someone for more ransom crap, the lights went off. Keem pressed a number on some phone, didn’t say a word and then hung up. I was pushed on the ground. Keem stepped on my back and the white suited pussy got down close to the floor beside me, put a gun to my cheek and said, “Say anything and you die.”

I did what he said in the darkness. It was night time, no sun through the blinds and it was silent. I could hear myself breathe. I could hear him breathe. He was not so calm.

Fifteen minutes I was on the floor. Fifteen minutes I had a boot in my spine. Fifteen minutes a gun pressed to my cheek. After I while I got a little frightened. The sweat from his hand started to seep down the gun and drip on my face. Keem’s balance, believe it or not, started to falter. I could feel his weight shift, much more and my spine would be crushed. The pussy’s fingers could slip and pull the trigger.

But I started to smile. I started to smile and I was kicked to where I was rolled over.

“Not a word,” was whispered in the darkness.

The boot was planted in my stomach and I heard uncle stand up and go sit on his bed. My eyes started to adjust in the darkness and he still had the gun pointed at me. His arm was shaking.

But my smile was still there. And it got bigger and bigger and bigger.

It was closer. Closer and closer I could hear it. Chopping, thudding, vibrating, whatever you want to call it. It was the best sound I’ve ever fucking heard.

I almost screamed. I almost yelled as loud as I could. I would have been shot in the head, of course, but Trace and Sarah might have made it. I was too chicken, though, to do it. But I didn’t stop smiling.

A few minutes later it was silent again, only my breathing and his breathing could be heard. A few more minutes passed and the lights flickered on. I didn’t move I just stared at uncle.

He looked terrified.

And as he reached in his pocket and unscrewed the cap on an orange medicine bottle and popped back three pills, I knew right then and there he had no control. He had no control. He stared at me as he swallowed the pills without water and finally nodded at Keem, “get ‘em out of my sight.”

I couldn’t stop smiling as Keem led me out of the room and we started to go down the steps into the main part of the house. “Keep smiling and I’ll take it off myself.”

I laughed.

He punched me in the face.

I couldn’t stop laughing and he threw me down the rest of the stairs, about half a flight. I looked up and saw him staring over me with a gun pointed at me. He kicked me ribs. I stopped smiling then. “Get up, and stop smiling.” He yanked me up and grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me through the house like you would a dog with a collar when he was messing up your yard or tearing up the laundry. We got to the door for our room, our dungeon, our little basement. There were three security guys outside the door now. Two of them were playing a game of cards on the floor, the other was by the door with his rifle in hand, ready.

The guard pressed the code, blocking my view with his body and opened the door for Keem. Keem threw me down the steps.

And I couldn’t stop smiling. Even when I hit the floor and felt something pop in my shoulder. I just couldn’t stop. I still can’t.

“Justin!” I hear and Trace shuffles over and looks at me. I’m lying on my back, staring up at the lights of the basement. “Fuck man…you’re bleeding.”

“I am?” I smile.

“Sarah…” I heard Trace say in a hurried whisper. She doesn’t come in my view, though. “Will you go get the toilet paper and wet it and bring it here?” Trace looks over me concerned, especially at something on my face. He shakes his head at me and looks me in the eyes real hard. I’m still smiling. His head suddenly jerks up and he stares at something. “Sarah…” He calls out louder.

“Toilet paper?”

I try to turn my head and see her but I can’t. I stop smiling. Fuckin’ shit hurts now. She sounds scared though. That worries me. I hope I haven’t freaked her out. My little Sarah. She’s so sweet.

“The paper,” He continues. “The stuff you use when you go potty.”

“Oh…” I hear the bed move and squeak and then she asks, “Turn the sink on and get it wet?”

“Yes Sarah.” Trace says, sounding kind of annoyed. I don’t know why he’s getting annoyed with her. God, it’s not like he was really explicit with her. He knows she’s just a girl and doesn’t know anything.

Soon he’s back looking at me, and trying to pull me up to sit a bit. I try to put my weight on my one arm but it hurts like hell, so I lay back and try the other. I manage to get myself half sitting up with my weight on my good elbow. Trace manages to stand up, bend down and grab my good arm. He pulls me back against the wall. We’re both out of breath, but it feels much better to be sitting up against the cement.

My arms hang limply by my body and it starts getting hard to breathe again, like it did when I woke up from being on Quaaludes.

“What happened?” He asks, sitting beside me and still staring at that same spot on my forehead. I can feel something wet oozing over my temple. Must be blood he’s talking about.

I smile again.

“They’re gonna find us, Trace,” I say. God, I feel great.

“What?”

I try to sit up some more. I’m sliding down against the cement. He helps me, looking at me intently. “They went into code red mode. Made me be silent, turned out the lights to the house and like fifteen minutes later I heard a fuckin’ helicopter or something.”

He looks away from me, onto the floor, like he doesn’t want to believe me. “Serious?”

“Trace…” I try and grab his arm. “They’re coming!”

“Do you…”

“He hurt you.” I look over and she’s standing there with a dripping roll of toilet paper in her hand. Her face looks pathetic and she has tears against her cheeks.

“It’s ok Sarah,” I say as Trace gets the roll from her and presses it against my forehead. I don’t feel anything. It’s cold but besides that I can’t feel a thing. Then my head starts to throb as if instead of a brain I have a heart beating inside of my skull. I try and smile at her but it doesn’t seem to work. She keeps crying. “It’s ok. I’m fine.”

“Why is he being mean to you?”

I sigh. “He’s a mean person, Sarah.”

She bites her lip, crawls down beside us and curls up to me, hugging me like she does Abu, keeping me safe or hoping that I’ll keep her safe. “He’s scary.”

“We’ll be out of here soon.” I look up at Trace and he just shakes his head and tries to smile at Sarah when she looks at him. “I promise you. And then you can come live with me and I won’t ever make you do something you don’t want to. And I won’t make you take medicine. And I’ll teach you so many cool things.”

She looks up at me. Those huge brown eyes begging me: Take me out of here Justin. Save me. Give me a life. She sniffs and rubs her hand under her nose. “Really?”

 

“Yes, really.”

She lays there for a while against me, holding me with her head against my chest. It feels nice. Really nice. It’s a feeling I don’t want to lose. I start to relax but the pain in my body increases. I can’t stop looking down at her lying against me. I wonder what she’s thinking about. How does she think? She’s so beautiful and so special and so tormented, and I have to save her. Like, sometimes, and I know this is crazy, but, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we did get out of here. If I took her out of this place and brought her home with me. I wonder how she’ll change, how she’ll grow. I wonder if I’ll find out who she really is, what she really is.

Trace has gotten up once to get a new thing of toilet paper and has kept it pressed against my head. I think it’s stopped bleeding. The throbbing is gone, but I have a migraine like you wouldn’t believe.

A grumbling noise comes from beside me and I look at Trace. He laughs and Sarah glances from his stomach to his face. “Do you want a snack?”

“Yeah…” He laughs and she looks up at me.

“Thanks Sarah.” She smiles like I just told her she won a coloring contest. I remember Steven won one of those contests for the church back home. It was done a few years ago and was a picture of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Jesus was a nice shade of blue.

Lisa had the picture duplicated and framed. I got one.

It hangs in my office that Trace always uses. I rarely go in there.

I wonder how blue Jesus is doing, and how easy the ride is on that pink donkey.

As Sarah is up and scrambling over to her little refrigerator and sink, I take a breath and realize I wanna see blue Jesus again someday. “Now we need to figure out a way to get a cell phone.” Trace just stares at me. “Maybe if she can get ours from our clothes. You know we had them on.”

Trace’s face softens and I wonder what’s going on. Doesn’t he want to get out of here? Why the fuck is he shaking his head no? “Maybe we should hold off for a while. Take it easy for a day.”

“We don’t have time Trace!” I plead with him. It’s starting to click that we really do need to get out of here. Yeah, so the police and army and FBI or whoever might be close to finding us. But…if they are that means that our chance of survival is really starting to decline. The closer they get, the more uncle is gonna wanna get rid of us. “If…if the police are getting close then uncle’s gonna get more and more desperate.” I gulp. “And then he’ll kill us.” Sarah looks over her shoulder as she reaches above the fridge for some food. She smiles. “And her,” I whisper.

“I don’t know if that’ll work. I mean, you think he just lets her roam around up there by herself.”

“Maybe she can take his.”

Trace shakes his head again. “I’d think he’d notice that.

“Well, let’s ask her.”

“Don’t scare her,” He says, looking over at her. She’s over there scratching her ass. God that’s just sick. I mean, I don’t care that she’s doing that. That’s not the sick part about it. She just doesn’t know anything. She’s so… She’s gotta get out of here. It’ll be ok if Trace and I don’t. At least we’ve had a life.

She hasn’t.

“She might be terrified to do anything more.” Trace continues and looks at me. “Remember what happened last time. He fuckin’ beat the girl up!”

I shake my head. That’s just a risk I need to take, especially if it’ll save her. “Sarah, can I ask you something?”

“Mmhmm.” She comes over with her arms full of juice boxes, pretzels, cheese balls and Pringles. Shit, she actually has Pringles. What a great feast!

Ya know, I wonder when he brought those down. Must’ve been a few days ago. The last time when Keem brought us our bologna he also had a bag of something with him. I was so hungry I didn’t watch what he did with it.

She hands us our juice. I have a hard time grabbing it since my one arm is practically dead. Plus, I’m not really concerned with food right now. My appetite vanishes and I’m not quite sure why. “When you go up there at night with uncle…” She stares at me and hugs the can of Pringles, terrified. God girl, I’m sorry I have to ask you this, but I’m doing this for you.

Can’t you see this is all for you?

“Are you with him the whole time up there?”

She gulps and puts the can down. “Yes.”

“So…you’re with him the whole time?”

“No…” She pauses and I glance at Trace who’s drinking his juice through the small straw. He shoots me a look as she continues. “I can go to the kitchen and get a snack if I want. He goes to sleep a lot or doesn’t want to play with me anymore after he shows me he loves me, so I can stay in his room and watch a movie.”

“By yourself?”

“Mmmhmm.” She nibbles on a pretzel.

“Can you come back down here?” Trace asks as he works on the Pringles seal.

“I don’t know. You wanna watch a movie?” She pushes herself up off the floor and takes her juice box with her. I notice she still has bruises on her legs, her perfectly white legs. The one on her thigh is purple still and the one of her calf is turning grey. I wonder what my bruises look like.

“Sure, whatever you want Sarah.”

I wonder how long it’s been. I wonder…I wonder if that was really even a helicopter looking for me. It’s Africa, people probably go on tours and hunt for game and everything. I mean it was dark outside but…I don’t know. It’s just. Something’s not right, ya know? Oh yes, she’s putting in Robin Hood. That’s my favorite. We don’t watch that one a lot but I just love Maid Marian. She’s hot, for a fox. Sometimes I wonder why they made animals talk. Like who was the first person to say, we should draw an animal and make it talk?

Cause animals really don’t talk.

I mean I’m sure they talk to each other and we just don’t hear it.

I wonder if that mouse I saw the other day in the corner talks to his other little mice friends. I wonder if he goes “look there’s that Justin Timberlake guy chained together in a dungeon.”

Nah, he probably only cares about finding food.

I wish I was a mouse and could crawl in a little hole and dig my way out. Cause lets be honest here Justin, you’re not gonna get out. It’s fuckin’ hilarious if you think about it, how happy I was when I heard the helicopter. Like that’s gonna do anything. If the FBI do find us and bust down the door you know he’ll come down here and shoot us. You know he will, man. Probably shoot Trace first so you get all sprayed with is blood and brains.

I wonder if it’s really grey, like everyone says it is. Ya know, grey matter and all.

Like Sarah’s bruise. Grey and big, in the shape of a Lake Okeechobee. I haven’t been there in years. Mom and I went when I was little. I should go again. If I get out of here. I should spend more time in Orlando. Los Angeles is kind of getting old. Oh yeah. I laugh to myself. I won’t get the chance.

But wouldn’t it be cool if heaven is just like the US, just like the world but no bad guys, no uncles, no basements? And I could go to Lake Okeechobee and swim and do whatever it is that you do at lakes and no one would bother me. And Sarah would be there. And Trace. And we could just swim and eat Pringles.

And get a tan.

But that won’t happen. Soon I’ll be as white as she is. I just hope instead of Buzz Lightyear sheets he’ll let me have Robin Hood sheets. Cause I really like Robin Hood.

A lot.

“So we get her to go up there. He falls asleep. She swipes the phone and comes down here and we call someone we know and give them the address we got from her.”

“If she gets caught she’s killed.” I stare at her as she sits on her bed and waits for the movie. “We can’t risk that.”

“Oh yes we can Justin! Cause if she gets caught and gets killed, we will too! It’s not… Look, it’s our only chance. Come on now, what’s…what’s getting into you. You were smiling a minute ago. And now…”

I don’t hear him. I just hear that song and I sing with it. “Robin Hood and Little John walkin' through the forest laughin' back and forth at what the other'ne has to say…” I stop singing and smile at Trace “Just like us, huh? Robin Hood and Little John. Remember when we were little. This was our favorite movie.” My eyes focus on Sarah and suddenly I feel like I’m going to be sick. I don’t really know why, but I think I might throw up. My eye focuses on Lake Okeechobee that’s flying through the air as she swings her legs up. “I don’t want her going up there anymore,” I say.

“You think she has a choice.”

I feel something wet on my cheeks. I don’t know what it is and I look at Trace to see if maybe he’ll stop my cut from bleeding again. He stares at me. He’s scared. Why am I scaring you Trace? What’s wrong? “Never ever thinkin' there was danger in the water. They were drinkin', they just guzzled it down…” I laugh and sing louder. Sarah’s singing, too. She smiles at me. I love her. I think I really do. “Never dreamin' that a schemin' sherrif and his posse was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around…”

“Stop it.” He hits me in my bad shoulder and I stop singing. “Stop crying! This…this is our chance. I’m going to ask her to do it for us, whether you like it or not.”

I don’t stop him from getting up. Wow, I didn’t know I was crying. Hmm. I watch him get up and go over and sit on her bed. She looks at him very confused at first, but then smiles. I don’t hear them talking. I can’t.

I’m too busy singing.

“Robin Hood and Little John runnin' through the forest, jumpin' fences, dodgin' trees an' tryin' to get away. Contemplatin' nothin' but escape, an' fin'lly makin' it. Oo-de-lally, Oo-de-lally Golly, what a day! Oo-de-lally, Oo-de-lally Golly, what a day!” I laugh. I wish I was Robin Hood. Then I could get away.

I’d be the fox! Trace could be Little John, just like when we were little. And Sarah…Sarah would be Maid Marian. It’d be great. It’d be perfect. I think about it. How we’d have so much fun being animals. British animals at that. Haha! Yeah, that’d be awesome. I start to smile.

I laugh.

And I can’t stop.

Chapter 12

 

She’s gone.

 

He’s killed her. He took her from me, to punish me. ‘Cause I’ve been bad. I shouldn’t have smiled or laughed. I shouldn’t have thought that I could out smart him. But I did, so did Trace. Trace still has hope. He thinks they’re getting in trouble and that’s why they’ve kept Sarah up there and that’s why they haven’t been down here to check on us for three days.

 

Three days since I’ve seen her.

 

At least I think its three days. The light hasn’t changed, we haven’t had “nighttime” yet. But it’s been hours, many hours and hours and hours. Trace says she’s ok and that she’ll get the phone. But I don’t want a phone, who would I call? I just want my Sarah back, safe, leaning against me all beautiful and soft. She’s mine, not his. He hurts her. I’d never hurt her.

 

“Why did he have to take her from me?”

 

Trace comes over and throws down a bottle of water he found in the fridge and a bag of potato chips. Does he really expect me to eat at a time like this? What’s the point? We’re gonna die anyway. “Snap out of it and eat your God damn chips. She’ll be fine. She’ll be down here with a phone in a bit, I promise.”

 

“How do you know! How are you so sure Trace! You’re the one that forced her to go up there! Made her go risk herself for us! Fuck you Trace! Fuck YOU!”

 

He just shakes his head. That’s all he does. It’s all he ever does. He doesn’t care about me or about her. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. Why won’t you talk to me? I don’t want to get out anymore. I want to stay here. It’s not painful or unpleasant. I don’t feel hungry. I don’t want to be alone. I want my Sarah back. Why did he take her from me? From me! Three days without her is too many. I want to sit on her bed and watch movies and talk with her. I want to laugh with her. It’s the best feeling to laugh with her.

 

“If she doesn’t come back…”

 

I feel drunk. I feel like my might puke. I feel tired, but I can’t sleep.

 

All I want to do is sleep.

 

“What Justin? If she doesn’t come back, then what? We’ll be ok. You took care of me the first days here, I’ll take care of you.”

 

I glare at him. Fuck him. “I don’t need to be taken care of.” I push myself off the ground but it doesn’t do much good. My arm feels like its dead weight and my lungs hurt when I breathe. I wheeze.

 

“What are you doing? What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

 

“Shut up!”

 

It echoes in the room. Weird. Just like my “oh shit.” I laugh. “Oh shit…” I laugh some more. Where’s that key?

 

“Justin…”

 

I need to pretend he’s not there. The more I start to think about it, the more sense it makes. I pull myself up on the bed. I like beds. I stare at all the different Jasmine’s on the cover. She’s hot. Very attractive. Sarah would look like her if she had a tan. Maybe. If she had that aqua outfit, and was an Arabian princess. What if she is? That’d be neat.

 

I reach over to her nightstand and pull out the drawer. I sort through pencils and crayons and slips of paper with drawings on them. The lights above catch a small silver key and I grab it and sigh. “Yes…”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

I laugh. Finally, sleep. I roll off the bed and use it as a brace. I pretend not to see Trace standing there staring at me. He can’t know. He’ll try and stop me. I can’t have him stop me. I stumble to the bathroom door and push it further open. If Sarah isn’t going to be here I want to go to sleep. I want to sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.

 

And I don’t care if I wake up.

 

In fact, I don’t think I want to. Cause if I don’t just sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep, I’ll wake up and I’ll be here. Alone. ‘Cause I know they’re gonna kill Trace next. They hate me. They want me to suffer. Maybe they’ll let Trace go. Maybe they’ve let her go already. But they won’t let me go. Ever.

 

I’ll be stuck. Bologna for life.

 

I’d rather die.

 

I’m sweating. I’m sweating really bad. It’s running along my fingers and making it hard for me to get the key in the lock. My vision blurs and I focus on the mirror to try and gain back my sight.

 

I don’t recognize who is starting back. The person staring back has cuts along his face, one side is puffy and bruised. His lips are chapped, his cheeks are sunken in. A beard has started to grow along the neck and cheeks and mouth. The hair on his head is getting just long enough to want to curl, but unable. And his eyes are dead.

 

I don’t know who that is and I don’t know what he’s doing looking back at me, but I don’t like it.

 

I punch him.

 

It hurts.

 

But I laugh ‘cause he went away. See ya sucker.

 

Now I can focus. I get the lock free and feel like I might cry. Little reflecting pieces of glass fall down into the sink as I open the cabinet. There it is. I am crying now. It looks so good. It’ll make it all better. That small orange bottle. It looks back at me and I grab it. I’m almost there. I’m almost home. I don’t waste time. There’s no need to. It’s almost over with. Sarah’s gone. Trace is, too. Why shouldn’t I go? I just want to sleep.

 

I’m so tired.

 

I’m so God damn tired.

 

Something grabs me from behind. I scream, I yell, I kick. They won’t take me away yet. Not yet. I’m not ready. Just let me sleep first. Please.

 

I fall down. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Someone’s trying to take them from me. They’re prying my fist open. No. No!

 

“No!”

 

I hit my head against concrete. My world flashes black and my vision is blurry.

 

“Stop it Justin! What the fuck? What are you doing! Are you crazy?” Someone’s on top of me. I can’t see them but I hear them. I blink. I do it again and I see him clearly. Trace is still here. They haven’t taken him. I stare at him as he uses both hands to open my fist. He grabs whatever it is that I’m holding and throws it in the corner with our discarded water bottles. We started to make a bowling type game out of them. But it got old really fast.

 

“Justin!!!” I feel like someone is shaking me and I push him away. I start to cry and I don’t know why and I can’t stop.

 

I can’t stop.

 

I cry so hard I start to shake. I cough. I taste blood. I wipe my face and then my mouth and a small streak of blood smears against my hand. My knuckles are busted and bleeding as well. This is bad. This is really bad.

 

I curl up into myself on the floor. I look at my wrists. The skin is rubbed raw and is chaffed and peeling from where my handcuffs are. My fingernails are down almost non existent. I started biting them, I guess. There really is no escape, is there? I’m going to die down here.

 

I’m going to die.

 

“Justin…” It’s Trace. At least there’s still Trace. “Are you ok?” I feel his hand on my shoulder. It just rests there and then it moves. I feel his arm sneak under and through my own and he hoists me up and leans me against something, against him. I just lay against him like a limp doll. He puts his arms around me. I stare at his hands that are hand cuffed and hanging in front of my chest. We’re going to die here.

 

“We’re going to be ok. And if not, I’m not going to let you be alone. I’ll be right here. Ok?”

 

It’s silent. I clear my throat, trying to get out the taste of blood.

 

“What if they take you?”

 

“I won’t let them.”

 

It feels good to lie against Trace and have him hold me. It makes me sleepy. I shut my eyes and it feels so good. I keep them closed. I can feel myself relax.

 

“Shit…”

 

My eyes are forced open and I feel Trace push me off him a little. I look around and see it. The light at the door is green. It opens a little bit. My eyes blur and I rub them and blink and open them as I hear soft footsteps running down the steps. I can’t see well and I blink again. Someone’s coming near us.

 

And then I hear, soft, whispered, rushed and beautiful, “I got it.”

 

I reach out for her and I feel her kneel beside me and hug me. “Where have you been?”

 

“Upstairs. Uncle wouldn’t let me come down. He’s sleeping. I told Mr. Tom I left Abu down here. Here…Is this what you wanted?” I look down and see in her hand a small silver cell phone. I can’t touch it. It’s too real. It’s too much.

 

I don’t believe it. It was all too easy, too simple and too stupid.

 

She just holds it out. I look at Trace and he looks at me. And then he snatches it, opens it up and starts to cry. I hold her tightly. I don’t care about the damn phone. Trace has it. He knows what to do. He has the address, had Sarah write it down while I was negotiating, put it in his sock. But I don’t care. Sarah’s back. She’s safe.

 

“Did he hurt you? Are you ok?” I look over her face, her beautiful porcelain face. She smiles at me and I want to kiss her.

 

She nods, “I’m ok.” Her head rests against my bad shoulder but I don’t care. “It’s scary up there. We’ve had to turn the lights out a lot. And uncle hasn’t been around much. But he’s made me stay in his room and watch movies. It’s ok there. His bed is fun and bouncy. She’s so soft and I want her to stay here with me forever. She makes it all better.

 

And then I hear it, his voice cracked and harsh. “Elisha…”

 

I look over and he’s crying, hard. I don’t really know what to think. I don’t know if this is truly happening. I feel like I might be dreaming or making this up in my head. We’re not supposed to make it. We’re not supposed to escape. It’s supposed to be the end for us. We’re supposed to die down here. And we will. I know that we will.

 

We’re going to die down here.

 

And Sarah’s here with me, so it must be a dream. With her against me it’s a sweet dream.

 

I listen as he cries into the phone and tells her he can’t talk long and listen as he tells the address. He repeats it three times. He tells her he loves her. Tells her he’ll see her soon. Why does he tell her that? Why does he lie to her? Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t he realize that…

 

“Here…” He hands me the phone. I stare at it and then at him. What the hell does he want me to do? I have Sarah I don’t care about whoever is on the line. “Fuck man, we don’t have much time. Just tell your momma you love her!”

 

“Momma?” I look down at Sarah and her eyes are searching mine. They look confused and scared and yet at the same time they seem to be figuring something out. It’s like she knows, like she understands she isn’t supposed to be here in this place, with that man, that sad disgrace of a man. I pull the phone up to my ear and I can hear her crying already. I haven’t even spoken to her and I can hear her crying.

 

I try to make out the words. I try to say something. But my voice fails me. I open my mouth and nothing is produced. It’s my momma. It’s my momma. I clear my throat. “Justin! Justin, are you ok? Is that you?”

 

I can’t take it.

 

I break.

 

“Momma…” I feel Trace’s hand on my shoulder. I feel Sarah hold me. I can hear my mom tell me that she loves me and that she’s gonna find me and that we’ll be ok. In that moment, in that dungeon, in God knows where Africa, while I cough up the taste of blood and lose feeling in my left arm, as I sit there crying harder than I ever have in my life, so hard that it hurts, I feel more loved that I’ve ever felt in my life. “Momma, I gotta go. I love you.”

 

It’s all I can say. It’s all I can think. I can’t hear her anymore. I can’t hear her promise me she’s going to find me and that I’m going to be ok. I can’t hear that, ‘cause I know it’s not true. I know any minute that light is going to turn green and we’re all going to be dead.

 

I hand the phone back to Trace and squeeze Sarah against me. I cry and I cry and I cry and I hold her tighter than I’ve ever held anyone else. But then she pulls away. I try to keep hold of her but she pulls away and she looks at me strangely.

 

Trace talks to her. “Sarah, you need to go back. Don’t forget to take Abu. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

 

“Ok.” She just stares at Trace and then runs and gets her stuffed animal and holds the phone tightly in her hand.

 

“Go Sarah...go…”

 

I try to grab her as she runs back up the stairs. “No…no!” But the door shuts and the light turns red. I try to crawl after her, but Trace holds me back. “Let her go. Elisha said they were on their way, she said they already had been tipped off by this place but couldn’t find a way to get in. Apparently, it’s heavily guarded. But now they are. Now they’re in. It’s only going to be a few more minutes Justin. We didn’t even have to call. They knew where we were. They’re coming for us.”

 

“What about Sarah….Why did she have to go?”

 

“She’ll be ok. I promise she’ll be ok.”

 

I use all my strength to push him off me. “How do you know!”

 

He just stares at me and I stare at him. He looks different. He has color in his cheeks now. His black eye is almost gone and he looks at me with concern, not fear. In fact, I don’t think he has any fear in him at all. Tears of happiness are on his cheeks. Son of a bitch. Happiness? Fucking happiness? The boy is delusional. And I want nothing to do with him.

 

“Just shut up and leave me alone Trace. Don’t fucking talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t get near me.”

 

“But…”

 

“Keep on thinking we’re going to be saved, but I know...”

 

“Justin…They’re on their way. I promise you. They’re…”

 

But he stops. And so do I. I try to see through the darkness but I can’t. It’s utterly dark. Darker than before. Darker than when uncle cuts the lights out for nighttime. There’s not a speck of light and I wonder. Did I die? Am I dead?”

 

“Justin…” Trace whispers my name. No, I’m not dead, or if I am, Trace is dead, too.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I guess they think it’s nighttime.”

 

I look around, I try to look around but all I see I blackness. I pull my hand in front of my face, I touch my face. I can’t see my hand, but I feel it. We’re still alive. But something’s changed. Something’s about to happen. I can feel it.

 

I look around some more and I realize it’s not nighttime. No, it’s far from nighttime. “No Trace…”

 

“What?”

 

“There’s no red light.” I stare at where the door should be. Even at nighttime there’s a little red light, a little dot glowing by the doorway for the alarm system. Now there’s nothing.

 

It’s quiet in the basement, in Sarah’s room. I hear him take in a huge breath and then he whispers, “Oh shit.”

Chapter 13

 

It’s deathly quiet. I hear nothing but my own breathing. My eyes have started to adjust in the darkness but there’s not enough light to make out much. I know I can see movement when my hand waves in front of my face, but other than that…. Complete darkness.

 

I think Trace has passed out. He’s not making a sound. I can’t even hear him breathe. I’m just waiting. Waiting for someone to come save me, to kill me, for someone to tell me I’m dead. Or maybe this is death, darkness and quiet for the rest of my eternity.

 

God no, please don’t let this be death.

 

I hear something, a thud, a footstep, nothing more. A sharp in take of breath, but not my own. Trace is still there. Thank God. Maybe this isn’t death. I hope I’m not dead. The sleep I wanted moments ago faded away and I don’t think I can ever sleep again. I don’t know what is happening upstairs, but I hope Sarah is ok. I hope she’s not scared.

 

The sound comes back, this time more, this time louder. Footsteps, it sounds like running. I think I hear a yell, faint and far off, but maybe that’s just my mind playing another trick, another sick little joke. Silence again. This time it lasts and lasts.

 

And then the distant sound of rapid gun fire. And then silence again.

 

"Shit, just-"

 

"Shut up."

 

I don’t mean to be an ass to Trace, but I can’t have him freak out. ‘Cause I’m already freaked out. It sounds like a war is happening in the distance and I wonder how long it will be until someone finds us, good or bad. He takes in another breath and I feel him move beside me, closer to me. He leans against the wall with me and sighs.

 

“Remember that time I popped your bike tire?”

 

I don’t answer him. That was years ago, ten I think. I was just ending middle school. I had just come back to Millington after MMC. Trace got pissed at me and popped my bike tires. We were mad at each other for a week. It’s the longest we’ve ever been mad at each other.

 

I hear another gun shot and make a very, very important decision. If I’m going to die within the hour I don’t want it to be with me straining to hear every gun shot and footstep. I want to be with Trace and talk to him, talk to him like I haven’t been able to for two weeks.

 

Has it been that long? Has it been longer?

 

I clear my throat, “Yeah, I remember.”

 

It’s quiet again but finally he whispers, “I’m really sorry about that.”

 

I find myself smiling and I nudge him with my elbow. It’s weird. I feel normal again. I feel different. Calm. Maybe I’ve come to terms with my mortality. Maybe it’s finally sunk in. Sarah’s gone, we’re going soon. Maybe it won’t be so bad. “It's ok. I got you back by pulling out your playboy so your mom could see."

 

“Asshole."

 

He chuckles and I start to laugh, too. It dies down and then it’s quiet again. No, not quiet. Silent.

 

And I can’t stand it. “‘member tit-fucker..."

 

Trace laughs. “With the blow up doll?'

 

"God, what the fuck happened to him?"

 

“I think he choked on his blow up doll.”

 

That’s funny. We laugh again. “That kid was so crazy.” We keep laughing.

 

“I think he’s living in Missouri now.”

 

“Right.”

 

It’s silent again, until a loud explosion occurs. I can only hear it, but I feel it shake me on the inside. I try my best to keep us talking, keep our minds away from whatever is happening outside this basement. It’s hard.

 

I quickly keep talking. "Remember that time we accidentally locked ourselves in your dad's trunk..."

 

But Trace doesn’t say anything for a moment and finally, after about a minute of quiet he replies, “that was scary.” I can hear a distant thudding right before he keeps talking. “Ya know Justin, this is nothing like that..."

 

“Yeah…” I take in a quick breath and cough. There’s that taste of blood again. I know, I know that’s not good. But I’m going to ignore it. “I was about to say the same..."

 

He cuts me off. “Remember you said...you said that you could die happy if you got a Grammy or two?”

 

I don’t want to hear him. I don’t want to hear that. Yeah, that made me happy, but I was drunk when I said that. And right now, right this very moment, I’m not that happy and I really don’t want to die. I’ll give the Grammies back, I’ll never accept one again. Just don’t let me die.

 

I can’t stand it and I stop that path of the conversation. “I can’t believe we were fucking chasing a parrot...”

 

He’s quiet and then he laughs a little, just a chuckle. But then it grows and it grows and I find myself laughing along with him. We’re laughing so hard that it hurts my stomach. “A fucking parrot.”

 

“Oh Trace, you never cease to amaze me. A fucking bird?”

 

He laughs. “Hey! It was a cool ass parrot...”

 

I nod and laugh a little more. “It was a cool ass bird.”

 

We both stop laughing. We stop laughing suddenly. We don’t talk and it’s silent once again.

 

It felt good to laugh, but now I feel sick. I feel nauseous. We wait there for God knows how long. It’s been quiet upstairs for a while and I have no idea what is possibly going on. But I don’t feel like laughing and I don’t think he does either.

 

It’s coming. Our fate is coming towards us. I just know it. And I know I’ve been a little crazy lately, a little obsessed, a little out of it. But I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was in control when we first were put down here. I thought I could beat it, beat him, figure all this out and make us safe. I always have to be in charge. Always.

 

But I wasn’t in charge. Never was. And I’m sure as hell not in charge now.

 

At least Trace is still here. At least we’re in this together.

 

He sighs and I feel him slouch and lean against me a little bit. He clears his throat and finally says, “I want my girl, Justin.”

 

I realize then that if I do get out of here, if I make it and go back to my life, something’s going to happen. Something’s gotta change. I’ve been in this hell for who knows how long. I’ve been fed crap, been tortured and beaten up, been threatened and I haven’t thought about her. I haven’t thought about “my girl” except when uncle rubbed it in my face that she was a celebrity and that he wanted all her money. And even then, I didn’t care.

 

Maybe I never did. Or maybe I stopped. And as horrible as it sounds, she just seemed not to matter anymore. I wanted to get out of here, I wanted to see my momma, my brothers, my family, but I didn’t…I didn’t care about her.

 

I cared about living, about getting out of here, about saving my life.

 

I cared about Sarah.

 

I still do.

 

I feel I need to respond but I can’t say “me too” so I sigh and lean against him a bit as he leans against me. “Well, I want momma..."

 

“What about Cam?”

 

I ignore him. “And a beer..."

 

“Justin, what about Cam?”

 

I shake my head and sit up a bit. “Yeah a beer and a pizza would be damn nice..."

 

It’s quiet and I hope he’s going to give it a rest. But he doesn’t. “What about Cameron, Justin?”

 

I gulp. “What about her?” He doesn’t say anything and I sigh. I think about this experience and I think about her. I didn’t tell him this when it happened cause I figured it didn’t matter. But it fucking matters now. And it mattered then. I was just too nervous or anxious or fucked up to realize it. “Ya know Trace, that first night, when I had to call her and tell her where I was? Well I fucking called her. And I told her. I tell the girl that I'm kidnapped and she's concerned about what "she's" gonna do..."

 

“She...she was just freaking out..."

 

“No, she wasn’t freaked out. She had an attitude. Meanwhile, Elisha was screaming her head off in the background, terrified. I think she knew Trace. I think she knew something bad had happened. And I bet…”

 

“She did. When I talked to her the first time she said she knew, but Cameron said that we were fucking around, probably got drunk in a bar and we’re lost somewhere. Elisha wanted to call the park, but Cameron said no.”

 

I bite my lip. I don’t use this word lightly with women, but I don’t care anymore. “Bitch.”

 

It’s silent again. No thudding, no footsteps, nothing.

 

“Ya know, I told you that she was shady, J.

 

I nod “Yeah, yeah you did.”

 

“Not quite as shady as that Sarah girl…”

 

I cut him off before he makes a mistake and makes me mad. I don’t want him talking about Sarah like that. She’s…she can’t help how she acts. If anyone in this whole deal is innocent, it’s her. “Sarah’s not shady, Trace. She’s been fucked up by a psychotic asshole...”

 

“You like her, don’t you?” His tone doesn’t approve. But I don’t care. So what if I like her? It’s not like I sit there and whack off to her. I care about her, I’m curious about her and I want to help her. And she’s beautiful in her own strange way. I know there could never be anything there with us. She’s a woman who’s been forced to live her life as a child. I’m not stupid.

 

I just care.

 

I start thinking and I don’t really realize that I’m saying it out loud. “I wonder...I wonder who her family is...”

 

“Well her uncle…”

 

I grit out, “That son of a bitch isn’t her uncle.” It makes me angry to consider him family. He’s not family. He’s a psycho. I’ve figured it out. I know who he is, who he is to her. And it’s sick.

 

“How are you so sure?”

 

“I just am. Did you ever get a good look, Trace? At how he tucked her in and kissed her goodnight?'

 

“Shit Justin, I didn't pay attention! I was trying to stay alive.”

 

“Well, I paid attention. And he…he was touching her and shit, man”

 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Like…”

 

“Like, you know…bad touching.” I’m twenty three years old and I can’t say it. I can’t say that he was molesting her. It’s too harsh, too strong. Too disgusting.

 

“So, when- when she was saying she was a good girl or whatever and got to go upstairs…shit.” He gets it. He finally gets it. Maybe that’s why I feel so connected to her and Trace doesn’t. I know what goes on. I know what he does to her and I know that she’s just a poor girl who’s been brainwashed by this poor excuse for a human. Maybe now he’ll start to see why I need to protect her and care for her since no one else has. “I don't think she deserves it...she seems innocent in all this to me.”

 

“She is innocent, Trace.” What the hell is he talking about? Did he think she was a part of this kidnapping? Did he think she was just fucking with us this whole time? “Why else do you think he put us down there with her?"

 

“To annoy us or give her friends?"

 

"No...don’t you see ? All of us are fucking kidnapped. Me you and Sarah."

 

He doesn’t understand. He’ll never understand. He doesn’t know her like I do. “How? Justin...that girl...she lives down here.”

 

“She doesn’t live here! She’s imprisoned down here. Just like us. He’s kept her inside here, away from the world. He brainwashed her! That fucking shit bag took an innocent girl and fucking made her think she was a child. Made her have sex with him and worship him all because he’s sick and twisted. I want to kill him Trace. I want to see him die.”

 

I’m angry. I’m angrier than I think I’ve ever been in my life and I can feel myself get energy, gain power. I push myself on all fours and start to crawl towards the steps. If the fucking army or FBI or police or whoever can’t kill him, I sure as hell will.

 

But Trace grabs me. “Justin…” How can he say it like that? How can he keep so even and level and calm? He’s going to kill us. He’s going to kill her.

 

He probably already has.

 

“You need to calm down, okay?”

 

“God Trace! And if we do get out of here, if we are rescued, all of us…what's gonna happen to her if she gets out of this?” I feel my eyes burn and I think I’m going to cry again. I’m sick of crying, sick of hurting. I just want it all to stop.

 

I’m getting tired again.

 

“Then she’ll get the help she needs.” He’s pulling me into a hug again. I don’t want to be held. I just want to go home. “Don’t worry about her Justin. Just calm down.”

 

I can’t believe him. I push him away. “Don't worry about her? Don’t fucking worry about her! Trace...are you hearing yourself? Do you know how hard it was for her to do what she did for us? She risked her life to get that phone for us. If she didn't get it...you know what? We'd…we’d probably be dead right now!”

 

“No we wouldn’t.”

 

“How do you know!”

 

It’s quiet. I realize then that I was screaming. I taste blood again and clear my throat. Maybe, maybe I should lie down. I do, and Trace puts his hand on my shoulder.

 

“‘Cause Elisha said they already knew where we were. Just take a breath and calm down. You’re getting too excited and its making you cough.”

 

I’m having a hard time breathing. It hurts every time. It makes me wonder if maybe something’s happening inside of me, like something bad. I mean, they did beat up me really hard and pretty frequently lot. What if they don’t rescue us in time? What if I’m dying right now?

 

“Maybe we should try and get out..."

 

Trace laughs a little and pats my shoulder. Don’t fucking patronize me Trace. Don’t you dare start. “There's nowhere to go, Justin. It’s dark and we just need to wait for them to find us. It’ll be soon, I’m sure.”

 

I clear my throat. “I’m not so sure about that Trace.” I take a breath and use all my strength and scream, “CAN'T YOU FUCKING HEAR ME! WE’RE DOWN HERE!”

 

I start to cough again and it hurts really bad. It’s a pain that lingers and lingers and the taste of blood won’t go away. I’m just glad it’s dark. I think if Trace could see me, he’d freak.

 

“Justin come on...you need to stop that.”

 

I start to cry again. I…I really think I’m going to die down here. I don’t want to die, especially here. Please…please don’t make me die. “I want to get the fuck out of here, Trace. I want to go home so bad.”

 

I hear him start to cry too and he tells me he wants to go home as well. It’s been quiet for too long. What if they forgot about us? What if they can’t find us? Maybe I should scream again. Maybe I should go pound on the door. I think I can make it.

 

There’s footsteps again. Lots of them. Quick ones. I hear yells, distant, still there though. I grab Trace. “Shit Trace! What if...What if it’s him? What if he’s going to…" I suck in a breath. “I don't want to die Trace.” I think I can make him out in the darkness. I see him, I think.

 

Or maybe my eyes just want to see him, just want to look at my best friend one more time before we die.

 

He shakes me. “We're not gonna die okay? If he does comes down here… Well, we'll just...we'll just fight back!”

 

“What if he has a gun?”

 

He doesn’t respond. And I know I have my answer. If he has a gun, we’re gone. Dead. Finished, forever.

 

Trace sighs and I hear him move. I hear him stand up and start to shuffle away. Where the hell is he going? “Well if I’m dying, I’m dying with a damn Capri Sun in my hand.”

 

I don’t say anything. I hear him walking and then the sound of a door opening. Light doesn’t come from the fridge and there’s no noise from it either. I realize that the power must be off. Someone cut the whole damn power of this place off. I wonder if it was uncle, or if it was the police. I can hear him cursing to himself quietly and then he laughs a little and I hear him shuffle back over.

 

He plops down beside me and I feel a little cool pouch of liquid put against my leg. I grab it and I laugh. “Dammit Trace, you know I can’t do these fucking straws, especially in the dark.”

 

He grabs the pouch and laughs, "I've always been your little bitch, huh?" It’s quiet and he hands me the pouch back. I take a sip. It’s sweet and washes away the taste of blood.

 

It’s the best damn thing I’ve tasted. Ever.

 

Trace laughs again. “You’re a worshipped celebrity and what do I have to do…I still have to open your damn juice boxes. Really, Justin…sometimes you make me…”

 

There’s someone at the door. There’s a knocking, a pounding. It’s here. Our fate is here.

 

It’s all led up to this. I put down the juice and grab Trace. “I...I love you, ok?”

 

He doesn’t say anything back. He just grabs me, grabs my arm. He’s shaking. Or is that me? I can hear my heart beat.

 

A second later the door busts open. Light, high, strong, piercing beams of light come through. It blinds me; I can’t see anything but the light getting closer and closer and closer. Is this death? Are they coming to take me away forever? I feel someone grab me and I push them away.

 

“No!” I’m not ready dammit!

 

I try to swing but one arm won’t move and I can’t see where I’m trying to hit.

 

And then I hear it. I hear someone say, “We’re only here to help you, Justin.” It’s an American. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know what’s happening. I feel something grab me, someone grab me, maybe two people grab me. I’m lifted up. “Let’s get you boys home.”

 

But this is home. Why can’t I see? Where’s Trace? “Where’s Sarah? Where is she!”

 

They don’t answer me and it hurts. It hurts so bad.

 

The light changes. It’s not as dark. I’m outside the room. Am I free? I can see now. We’re in a hallway, a long hallway. People are all around, surrounding me, with helmets and dark suits of camouflage and guns. I don’t know who they are or where they are taking me. We pass a room.

 

A room with more men, more camouflage, more guns…

 

And a man in white stands in the middle with a gun in his hand, a gun pointed at….at…

 

“SARAH!”

 

I call for her but then she disappears. They’re running me out of there. I keep calling, and I try to hit the people carrying me, holding me. I need to get to her. Don’t they get it! He’s going to kill her. “He’s going to kill her! Stop it!!” Why won’t they answer me? Why won’t they just let me go? I…I have to save her!

 

Twilight. It’s only Twilight outside. The sky’s not dark yet, lavender is the color and soft pink. I wanna go back inside. I want my Sarah. Please…just give me my Sarah.

 

There’s people all around, flashing lights, screams and yells, sirens and…and a gunshot.

 

My world fades. It fades from the lavender and the sirens and the flashes and the people to a blur, to a grey. Color fails. It’s slackens and disappears.

 

And everything becomes black.

Chapter 14

 

Its amazing how one small moment can change your entire life, your perspective, your beliefs, relationships you have with others, how you view yourself, how you live. It can. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve been there. And I’m still working on getting back. It’s been a long process and honestly I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. Africa is beautiful, the people are wonderful, but I will be so damn glad when I can get on that plane and never, ever step foot here again. In fact, I could be home now. I could be back in LA, trying to pretend to be surprised by the welcome home party they’re planning, ignoring Cameron as best as possible, and acting like the fact that I was kidnapped hasn’t totally warped everything about me.

 

I’m actually rather surprised how well I’ve been handling all this. I even did a fucking press conference yesterday. Of course, I didn’t really answer questions. I got up there, made a statement while flashes of lights continuously went off and then stepped down. I didn’t even write the statement, one of Johnny’s people did and I oked it, but I guess it said what I wanted to say. Trace was there with me. He’s been doing well.

 

Actually, I think this whole kidnapping thing is really working out for him. Elisha and him plan to spend the first available couple of months back in reality secluded somewhere in Hawaii. They need to make wedding plans. Wedding plans...and here I’ve cut off my girlfriend from everything. I guess she’s not my girlfriend anymore. I just don’t want her fake sympathy and her fake personality around me.

 

I just want my mom and my family and Trace and…and…

 

I sigh and look around me. I was released from a hospital a week before, but not this place. This place is different, scarier, nice and clean, but quieter, and more eerie. Still having to wear a back brace and still having to come back to my hospital every day for physical therapy sucks. I can’t wait until that is over with. Come to find out I had barely been hanging on those last few days in the basement. Besides the fact that Trace and I were both very malnourished, both of us had cuts that were soon to become lethally infected. We were down in that hell for thirteen days. Trace had sustained some damage to the eye that was punched. But it seems to be back to normal now. I had problems though, major ones, and if we hadn’t been rescued when we were there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be here.

 

I had a concussion and three broken ribs. One rib was continually brushing against my lung when it would expand as I’d breathe.

 

My lung actually collapsed when we got to the hospital. Of course I don’t remember any of that. I was unconscious and woke up a couple days later in an unfamiliar, pristinely clean hospital room.

 

I woke up alone, apparently Momma had been by my side every moment, but this one moment she had gotten up to use the restroom. I didn’t know where I was. I looked out and focused as best as I could, trying to clear away the blurriness. There was a window in this room and I saw men, men with big guns and camouflage. I freaked. I tried to get up but I couldn’t move. I had things sticking in me, tubes, my vision blurred again. I was terrified and in pain and the first thing that crossed my mind came out of my mouth, and I yelled her name.

 

Women in white rushed to me.

 

They wouldn’t tell me about her at first. My momma rushed in and I broke. I started to cry and cry and cry. I was shaking. A nurse told me to calm down and I watched as she pushed a syringe into the end of one of the tubes, I started to feel tired. I begged my mom to tell me where they had put her, if she was ok. No one would tell me. They’d pat me on the shoulder and gently push me down. “Rest Justin, just calm down. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” they said. My eyes started to close and I thought maybe this was his hospital, maybe I hadn’t been rescued, maybe momma had been taken, too.

 

I thought Sarah was dead.

 

I thought he had killed her.

 

But she was alive and uncle was the one that was dead.

 

Patrick Beckett was his name, and a son of a bitch he was. He was an evil man I have no doubt about that, but he was messed up, addicted to drugs and with psychotic tendencies. Apparently, he had been a wannabe crime lord in the states in the 80s, gotten in some trouble, almost got caught and decided he’d take his revenge and he did.

 

It blew my mind when Lieutenant Davidson came to my room a few weeks ago to talk to me about her. I had told him my side of the story and asked him if he would let me know about Sarah, if he would tell me all he could when he found out. My doctor advised him not to, telling him that my mental stability was already fragile and that I needed to worry about myself and not some Jane Doe.

 

But Sarah is far, far from a Jane Doe.

 

Sarah Young had been a very intelligent, five year old girl living in northern Virginia with her parents. She was an only child, her young brother had died when he was two of leukemia. That was a year before, a year before he took her. Her mother had taken her to a park, a busy, crowded park near the Potomac. Her mother had set down at a table and talked with some of the other mothers while Sarah attempted to swing.

 

And she had swung right in a mystery. Patrick and some of his followers had been parked in a van by the park dressed as yard maintenance workers. They had snatched her up easily, put her in the back of the van and driven off. Sarah’s dad was the US agent assigned to Patrick’s case, determined to find him and put him away. He was close, so close.

 

But Patrick threw him a curve, made his daughter disappear and he disappeared as well. He fled over seas, to South Africa, and with all the governmental and racial problems plaguing the country he was able to slip under the radar and build up his empire. Patrick was able to disguise himself quickly as a business man, whose business just happened to be hard drugs and illegal weapons. He claimed Sarah as his young niece and told everyone her parents had happened to die tragically. But Sarah’s parents did not die. Instead, they searched and searched and it ended up tearing her parents apart. They divorced, her mother moved on, remarried, had more children.

 

Her father didn’t end up so lucky, and after creating a dangerous addiction to alcohol, he finally crashed his car into the tree of his front yard, killing himself instantly.

 

And I thought I had it bad.

 

Most of Sarah’s injuries were, well I guess still are, mental and deep. After sixteen years of brainwashing I wonder if what I’ve decided to take on is going to be too much. Mom doesn’t agree with it, Trace thinks I really am crazy and my doctor doesn’t really know what to say. The Lieutenant thinks if I can provide for her it might not be so bad. Sarah can’t function on her own. Her mental ability is fucked up. She’s smart, brilliant, they say her IQ is high. But she’s not a five year old, she’s twenty one and she doesn’t know…anything. And I’m not about to let them put her in some facility where they drug her up and put her down.

 

I haven’t seen her since we were down in the basement, in our prison.

 

It’s not a question of whether I can or not, or of whether I want to. But, becoming her guardian, that’s something I’m not sure I should be doing. Sure her mother was contacted, stunned, and didn’t know what to do. I talked to her even, and told her way, way to quickly that I’d take care of her, that I had the money, I had the means and that if she ever wanted to see her daughter she could. But when I got off the phone with her, for some reason I got this feeling. I don’t think she wanted to see her daughter.

 

I was angry, I still am. But I guess I understand. I guess she’s scared. Maybe she thought that part of her life had died and now its back to haunt her. But dammit, Sarah is no fucking ghost. She’s alive and needs people. She needs her mother, I’m sure.

 

But I don’t care about her mother. I care about Sarah and I’m sure, after being alone for a month and a half with strange people asking her questions, bothering her, scaring her, with no familiar face around, she’s not doing good. I hope, I hope when I see her in a few minutes she’s ok. I hope she knows who I am.

 

“You alright?”

 

I look over at Mike and try to scratch my back under my brace. He hasn’t left my side since I asked momma if any security was down here, my security. The only time he leaves me alone is to shower or pee, and even then I make sure he’s in the next room and I leave the door cracked so I can talk to him. I make him sleep in my room. I know that’s weird but…but I just can’t take any chances, ya know? We’ve already made changes for the house in LA. We’re building the wall around the house higher, putting in a better camera system, a device that detects body heat, movement and sounds. I also had Trace call up Marty and have him take my pups to class. I babied them, made my Boxers sweet and loving, but when I come home they’re gonna know what to do with strangers and how to attack by word command.

 

We’re staying at this nice ranch-styled resort house here in South Africa, all of us, momma, me, security, Trace and Elisha, Johnny’s here, everyone, Cameron was here but…but she left.

 

I shake my head and tap my hand against my knee that’s bobbing up and down. I can’t think about that right now. “Yeah, why?”

 

“You’re jittery.” Mike eyes me carefully. He’s been very observant of me lately, I know he’s just worried but he’s here to protect me, to be observant of other things. If he’s only concentrating on me he won’t be able to see if someone comes up and tries to take us.

 

Stop it Justin. No is going to take us.

 

“Mr. Timberlake?”

 

I jump and clutch Mike’s arm. I won’t have them take me again! I’m not going for tests, or for medicine or for ransom or to the basement again. I won’t. “Calm down…”

 

I breathe deep when he says that to me. Ok, so, so I still have my moments. I mean, it’s only been a month or whatever. They can’t expect me to just be happy and perfect and not scared ever again. I’m still scared. I’m…I’m fucking paranoid. I just, I can’t wait to get back home, back where I know no one will kidnap me, or, or if they do maybe the paparazzi will be there and catch the guy on camera or they’ll stop him. And, and I have a security gate around my house so no one can get me. And they’re doing all that work with my dogs and the alarm systems and maybe see if Mike wants to live in the guest house.

 

So no one can get us. No one will touch us. And it’s going to be an us.

 

“Y-yes ma’am?” The nurse eyes me cautiously and then looks at Mike for a moment. She then stares back at me.

 

“She can see you now.” I stand up with Mike and the nurse looks at him before leading us down the hall, “You’ll have to wait outside, sir.”

 

I nod at Mike, telling him I’m ok with it. At this point it’s not the fear that someone might capture me, but that she might not be ok. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her and I pray and hope she still remembers me. If she doesn’t, well I’m going to have a problem. The nurse opens the door and I see her.

 

I almost break down. It’s been way, way too long. I know it’s crazy, I know I should want to be as far from her as possible after how I met her, who she was, how insane everything has been. But I’ve missed her and I’m glad I’m here now.

 

She looks pale still, but somehow has a bit more color to her face. Her body is limp and small in the hospital bed, dwarfed under blankets. Her hair is pulled back from her face, something I’ve never seen. She’s beautiful and pitiful and terrible to look at. But I’m so relieved she’s ok and I’m so happy she’s alive and going to come home with me.

 

“If you need help there is a call button beside her bed. She’s still in restraints because she was being pretty violent last night.”

 

I stare at the nurse as she nods towards the room as if she’s wondering if I’m going to actually go in. I can’t believe they restrained her. She wouldn’t hurt anyone and here they are doing just the same thing that bastard did: making her powerless. I shake my head and march straight into the room, pulling up the chair beside her bed and watching her face as she sleeps.

 

I don’t really know how to react. I’m happy for her, so happy that she’s safe and rescued. I know I’ll make sure no one will ever, ever hurt her again. But she’s not ok. She’s so far, far from ok and I know that we’ve got a long way to go before we get her to some state of maturity, if that’s possible. I feel it’s my responsibility to take care of her. She’s fragile and impressionable and I only trust myself with her. She needs to be around someone she knows and believes in and that’s me. Not someone that will contain her and not love her. Like these fucking doctors and nurses strapping her into this bed. They can’t do things like this to her.

 

I quickly work to get the leather bounds from her wrists and I hear her take in a deep breath in the process. Her eyes open and she focuses on me for a moment.

 

Her brown eyes, so deep, in misery, they focus on me.

 

They stare, and stare, and stare. They stare me back into my seat and I just look at her. Her eyes search mine, she seems to focus only on me and finally, finally her eyes begin to smile.

 

“Justin?”

 

I feel like crying. To hear her say my name in that perfectly sweet way that only she knows how, it makes my heart melt. She’s alive and she seems happy to see me. But she also seems very tired, languid, sedated almost. I start to think maybe she is sedated. God, they’re just as bad as he was. Fucking putting her to sleep with medicine. I gotta get her out of here.

 

“Yes, it’s me. Are you ok?”

 

Her smile fades and she cowers a bit in her bed. “Where have you been?”

 

It’s been a while since I’ve been with her and I almost forgot how childlike she really is. I mean, in that situation we were all forced to kind of act like children, and I guess I was losing it near the end, but now, now that I’m better, or almost back to my old self, if...if there is any going back, it really is weird to see her like this. She still acts like she’s five. I thought they’d be able to fix some of this by now, but in a way, she seems worse. “I…I got sick, so they made me all better and now I’m here to see you.”

 

She’s quiet for a minute and looks at the door. She looks terrified and nervous. She whispers, “They ask me things I don’t know here. I don’t like it.” Her eyes move back to my face and she smiles a little bit. “But they let me watch movies.”

 

“They told you about uncle.” I don’t know why I’m bringing this up now. God, Justin, you idiot. That’s the last thing she needs to discuss right now. But something in me needs to know if he still has power over her, if he still controls her. I guess he always will to some extent, or at least until she gets over her whole child thing.

 

“He was a bad man.” She frowns and then looks away from me. She use to be able to look at me directly, now, now it’s like she’s ashamed. I’m gonna kill those doctors and nurses and agents that probably pried her with too many questions. They’re making her worse. Can’t they see that they are making her worse! This…this is why I have to get her out of here. No one else understands, no one else knows her like I do.

 

Fucking idiots.

 

“At least, they say he was bad.”

 

I grab her hand. It feels nice to touch her, to know she’s there and not just in my mind. It’s comforting. “He hurt you Sarah, and me and Trace and lots of other people.”

 

Once again her eyes avoid me. I start to wonder, is it me? Maybe, maybe I’m causing her to be so nervous. But all I’ve ever tried to do is help her, make her life better, love her. She can’t think that I’m mean or bad. She just can’t.

 

I nod slowly and sigh. I get it now. I bet she wanted me, I bet she called for me. I made her feel safe and I made her happy. And she’d call for me and I wouldn’t show up and a nurse would come in, or a doctor and I bet they told her to not think about me. I bet they told her she shouldn’t depend on me. They tried to make her feel like she didn’t need me.

 

But she does needs me.

 

“I like my old room better.”

 

I suck in a sharp breath and focus in on her. She’s sunk down into her bed almost completely under the covers, and she’s smiling at me a little. I smile back. “Would you like a new one?”

 

Her eyes widen a little and she nods.

 

I bite my lip and smile. I’m getting her out of here, dammit. I fucking have to. “Would you like to live with me?”

 

Her eyes widen even more and she sits up quickly. “Really? Like you lived with me!”

 

I start to feel a little sick. No, not like I lived with you at all Sarah. I won’t force her into one room and block things about the world herself from her. And I won’t force her to do things with me or take drugs. And I’d make her free and happy. I wouldn’t keep her as my fucking prisoner like that piece of shit did. Because that’s what he was. He was worse than that. He was beyond any description. He was filth.

 

“But it’ll be much more fun, Sarah. I promise.” I smile watching her smile widen and her eyes begin to water a little. She’s so happy and it makes me feel amazing to know I’m doing that for her. I bend down closer to her. “And guess what?”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m gonna take you flying.”

 

“Really?” She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck. “I wanna fly now!”

 

I laugh a little and pull back. “We can’t leave just yet. But I’m gonna come see you everyday until we can, ok? It won’t be long. I promise.”

 

“Really?” I start to realize that she’s been promised a lot of things over the course of the past, demented sixteen years of her life. 16 fucking years. Her whole childhood was taken from her, her whole time to grow up, learn about life and the world and herself. There’s no coming back from that. I just hope that one day she’ll be ok, and I hope I can make that happen. I hope I can help her start to mature and help her realize who she really is.

 

Patrick had promised her and promised her and he must have broken a lot of those promises. I make a vow right then to myself to make sure to try my hardest never, ever to do that to her. She’s opened my eyes to a lot of things about this world, about life, and I hope I can help to show her how to live, how to actually fucking live.

 

I grab her hand. “I promise Sarah. Nothing’s gonna happen to you anymore. I won’t let it. It’ll just be you and me.”

 

“Forever?” She whispers.

 

I wonder for a moment, can I deal with this forever? If she doesn’t get better, if she remains just like this, would I be able to handle it. I’d have to. I’d just have to. “Yes Sarah, as long as you want.”

 

She smiles at me and snuggles deep into her hospital bed. I know this is dangerous and I know that, that…honestly, I might not be able to handle this on my own. I might need help and I might not be able to just do this the way I want to for a long period of time. I know there might come a point when she’ll need to go off, find herself and be away from me. But right now that doesn’t matter. Right now, she’s smiling. She’s happy and that’s all that matters and it’s enough to give me the courage to take this on.

 

I just hope I don’t screw up along the way.

Chapter 15

 

It was pretty damn amazing how everything happened this morning. I’m still not really sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. For me it meant a lot, I found myself on the verge of tears when we landed and I saw it all. But Sarah, who’s face had been plastered against the window from the moment we got into the plane until we landed, didn’t know what to do. I’m not sure if she slept on the plane, but I think I remember feeling her head on my shoulder at some point. I slept most of the flight, but when we landed and there was a huge crowd I realized this was going to be much more difficult than I thought. Sarah has no idea about fame. I wanted to try and explain it to her using some Disney analogy but her doctor in South Africa told me I needed to steer away from that, to stop playing on her old habits. They gave me a crash course in handling someone with a mental illness.

 

That’s what they say, like she’s fuckin’ retarded or something. I’m finding her a new doctor in the states. They recommended one for her but I might just have to find her a doctor my own. I don’t really know if I trust those South African doctors.

 

She just stared at all those people, all the fans that were lined up outside of the fence near the tarmac, all the press that was there. Hell, there were even some official army type people standing there all saluting like I was a fucking hero. I was kidnapped, I tried to save my life and that’s it. Neither Trace nor I are heroes.

 

It was a hassle getting off the plane. Mike was there waiting and it was good to see him. They let her go first. I told my momma to hold her hand and walk out with her and security had told me it would be better to let her go first so she wouldn’t be coming out with all the screams. But people were already screaming. It felt really good to know that people cared about me and were praying for me while I was in trouble.

 

I still didn’t like it that she had to walk out without me. I know my mom is a little freaked out by the idea of her, by the idea of me taking care of her. I can see the look in my momma’s eyes, knowing she has to treat her like her mental age and not like what she looks like. But see, that’s why I have to take her in. ‘Cause I’m the only one that knows the difference. I know that she doesn’t know everything like most people her age. But she’s not stupid. In fact, she’s smart as hell. Most people just think she’s mentally handicapped and I hate that.

 

But I know momma would never hurt her or say something to upset her, so I trusted momma to walk with her. Trace and Elisha went next and finally I came out and waved and smiled and it was nice, really nice to get that kind of welcome. We’ve been on the road, driving back to the house, my house I haven’t seen in…hell, almost two months. I just got off the phone with the fucking president. I mean I’ve met him before and the conversation was only like two seconds long, but he welcomed me back to the states and I don’t know. I don’t know why everyone’s making this huge deal about it.

 

I guess…I guess the more time goes on the more serious I realize how this situation was. I knew it was serious when I was in it, but I didn’t really realize what was going on outside that basement, what my momma was thinking, what the police and agents were doing, what MTV was doing and CNN. They had a fucking CNN special about it, continuous coverage on that ticker thing. I knew I was famous, but I didn’t realize that I was important. I guess it was because I disappeared. They didn’t know where I was. They thought I was missing, dead, something. Then the ransom came out and the Polaroids. Momma said that was the best and the worst part when they saw those. She knew I was alive but she knew I was in pain and she knew I might not be alive much longer.

 

She’s been through too much and I reach over and hold her hand in the car. She smiles at me, puts her arm around me and kisses my head. “Hey baby…”

 

I’ve heard rumors that they’ve got this big welcome home bash planned. I just hope it’s not today. I actually don’t want a party at all. It’s gonna be awkward and I don’t want the first moments in my house to be, “welcome home from being locked in a basement, Justin!” I sigh. “No party, right?”

 

She tenses a little. This isn’t a good sign. “What do you mean?”

 

I look my mother in the eyes. “There’s not gonna be a big welcome bash or something when I get home, right?”

 

She smiles and shakes her head. “Of course not.” It makes me relax a little bit and I look over to the woman next to me. Well, I don’t know. I don’t know if I can call her a woman, but I guess that’s better than a little girl. I nudge her and she looks at me, her eyes bugging out. She’s sweet.

 

“You alright, Sarah?” She gulps and nods and looks back outside.

 

I don’t know if she’s scared or just shocked about everything and trying to take it all in. She gasps and points, “Ronald McDonald!”

 

I stare at her. She looks at me and smiles. I guess, I guess she remembers McDonald’s. It’s weird. The doctor said she has a pretty damn good memory of her life before she was kidnapped. She remembers the park, when “uncle” took her. Now she’s remembering places. She remembers Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street and got really excited one day when I went to see her in the hospital, just last week. She was watching Sesame Street and recognized Big Bird. She pointed and said, “I remember him. He’s nice.”

 

It’s also really nice to see her in normal clothes. No longer shorts and a crappy t-shirt or a little girl’s pajamas or a hospital gown. I had mom go out and buy her some clothes and made momma call up Rachel and have her go out and buy a closet full of clothes for her here in LA, at my house. She’s wearing jeans and a pink t-shirt and has her hair pulled back and looks rather pretty.

 

“You excited to see my house?” She nods. It’s something I’ve noticed; when other people are around she becomes very, very quiet. When it’s just us she’ll talk my head off about nothing. I know she’s not use to all these strangers and I told her, talked to her before she was released from the hospital about all this. I told her that things were going to be very different, that she was going to meet a lot of people who are really important to me and that it’s ok if she doesn’t know them or is a little uncomfortable around them. I reassured her they’d never hurt her and that I’d always, always be with her. And I have been. I’ve been with her every moment since we left the hospital. We drove back to the house and I introduced her to mom and Elisha and Johnny and Tiny and Eric and everyone. She was ok, shy. She hid behind me like a little kid. It was good to have Trace there, ‘cause she would act like normal Sarah around him, too. She’s still not as comfortable with him as she is with me, but still, at least she knows him.

 

After a day at the ranch we left that evening for the airport. I didn’t want to hang around in Africa any more. I wanted to get the hell out, get her out, get her back to reality. If there is such a thing for her.

 

I can’t wait until I get out of this brace. My side really doesn’t hurt any more. I mean there’s a dull pain every now and then but it’s ok. It itches like a bitch. Ya know, having Sarah here has actually helped me out a lot. I know if she wasn’t here, if I didn’t have the outlet to put all this energy into her, I’d be flipping out. Having mom and everyone around me has kept me rather calm about being back out in the world, but I know, I know once I get in my house and I get alone and it’s just me and Sarah, I’m going to have to take some time to get everything straight.

 

I know it was an isolated case. The damn bird took us to evil. If we had just gone back to the truck after we peed nothing would have happened to us. It was just an evil road that we should have never taken. I know that type of thing would never happen to me here in the US, that situation would be completely unable to manifest in the US. There would be no African plain where I would be alone where mobsters would be killing people. I mean, I’m sure there are bad people like that in the US, but that whole situation would never happen…not to me.

 

But it did happen, in the most unlikely places and it fucked with my mind and I can’t help but be very, very cautious with everything I do. And I’m not just looking out for myself any more. I got Sarah to worry about. I have to make sure no one takes her or hurts her again.

 

“There’s so much…” she whispers. “So much to look at.”

 

“You’ll be happy here Sarah, I know it.”

 

“With you?” She asks, those brown eyes staring up at me.

 

“Yeah, with me.” She smiles and giggles a little bit and turns back to look outside, her face plastered to the window. I hear my mom clear her throat and look at her. She’s not looking at me but I know that there’s that look on her face, that look that tells me she doesn’t approve.

 

In fact, she tried to talk me out of it. She tried to tell me that it wasn’t my responsibility, that she needed help beyond my care. She told me I had no idea what I was doing when I agreed to be her guardian. And maybe I don’t, but somebody’s gotta try, and I’m not just going to let the government take her to experiment on her or whatever and put her in a damn home. She’s not a freak and she’s not ill.

 

She’s just been hurt. She’s wounded and I’m gonna make her better.

 

Dammit, I have to make her better.

 

We pull off of the main road and start working our way back to the familiar streets near my house. Johnny’s driving us and Tiny’s in the front seat. It’ll be good to be home. I just hope everyone kind of stays out of my way and lets me get readjusted. I hope they let me get Sarah settled, let me have the chance to show her around. It’s weird, I almost feel like I haven’t really gotten to hang out with her since they’ve all been around.

 

I guess in a way I’ve been quiet too, quiet when other people are around. I know they don’t understand. I know they think I’m crazy, but I don’t care.

 

I’m thankful when we pull up past the gate into the entrance of my neighborhood and start up the hill. I feel a hand on mine and look over at Sarah, she’s smiling at me. “It’s pretty here.” I smile at her. “You’re excited.”

 

I laugh a little, happy, no relieved is more like it. “Yeah, I am.” It’ll be really nice to be home, to be in my bed, to be able to fucking sleep in my bed. Not the bed at the ranch or on the plane or on a basement floor, but actually my fucking bed.

 

Freedom, I haven’t felt it yet. I never felt it at the hospital and I started to feel it at the ranch house, but…but now, now that I’m almost home, really home, I feel light, like…like this is really special. And I mean it is, it’s just that I haven’t had this feeling in a while. I’m free. I’m fucking free.

 

I laugh to myself and wipe the corners of my eyes. I don’t wanna cry. I’m so damn tired of crying. I haven’t done a lot of it since we were rescued but, but still, I feel emotionally drained and crying just seems to be so draining. Shit, there it is.

 

“That’s it!” I say and point and Sarah looks. It looks empty though, no cars around. Shit, I’m gonna get to see my dogs. I bet Franco will jump up on me and Roscoe will just drool. My leg starts to bob up and down and I feel like a little kid going to Disney…

 

No, no…I feel like a man, a man who hasn’t been home in a long, long time. We pull up to the house and Sarah’s staring. “Wait till you see the inside.” I say to her and she just continues to stare. Everyone gets out of the car and momma gets out and I get out, too. Sarah stares. I laugh a little and come around to her side and open the door. “Come on out. It’s safe.”

 

She takes a breath and glances at me and then at my house.

 

“Justin!” I turn and smile at the brunette running towards me. She’s got two dogs following her, barking. She attacks me in a hug and I laugh.

 

“What up, Rach.”

 

“I’m so glad you’re home.” She squeezes me tightly. I haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to her yet, just for a moment on the phone a few weeks ago. I can tell by the sound of her voice how much she’s missed me, how much she cares. She pulls back and smiles at me and then hugs me again. I’m glad she does it so I don’t have to look at the tears in her eyes. “How was the flight?”

 

“Long as everything…” I let got of her and bend down because both of my dogs are barking at me and licking me and jumping up on me. “Hey pups!” Shit, I love my dogs. They’re so awesome. They’ve gotten big, not any bigger since I saw them last but I guess I still imagine them as puppies.

 

“Justin…” I look up and see my mom staring at me. She nods over to the car and I realize I left Sarah just sitting there, chewing on her lip. She’s curled up in the car staring at the dogs.

 

“Oh, don’t be scared.” I say and walk over to her. “This is just Roscoe…” I point to the one trying to get around to sniff my crotch. Nice boy. I pull him away by his collar and laugh as Franco looks at Sarah and barks and then looks up at me and licks my hand. “And this is Franco. My dogs I told you about, remember.” She nods. “And this is my cousin Rachel.” Sarah stares and Rachel sticks her hand out. I clear my throat. “Uh, no Rach.” Rachel looks up at me and bunches her eyebrows. “Let’s just go inside, ok?”

 

She nods at me and they all start to lead the way to the front door. I step around my dogs and grab Sarah’s hand. “It’s ok. No one’s gonna hurt you, ok?”

 

She pulls herself out of the car, but doesn’t let go of me. “Cousin?”

 

“She’s related to me. She’s part of my family.” I shut the car door behind her and she jumps a little and then clutches to my arm. She’s been really jumpy, too. She was never this way when we were in the basement, but now, ever since we were rescued and uncle got shot, loud and sudden noises seem to frighten her.

 

“Are you my family?”

 

I look down at her and she’s staring up at me. I don’t know how to answer this, I don’t want her to think that I’m replacing “uncle” because that’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want her to look at me like she looks at him. I just want to be her friend, I just want to help her and have her help me. I want her to be my family, but I don’t want it to be a negative thing for her. “I…I am now.”

 

She smiles at me and leans her head against me. “I hope you don’t mind…” I look up and Rachel is turned around smiling at me and going up the few steps to the door. “There’s a little surprise.”

 

“Surprise?” It takes me a moment to register what that means. If it’s just everyone that’s already here and a cake or something I can deal, but if it’s something else. “I don’t…”

 

The door is swung open and I’m pushed inside, practically dragging Sarah with me. Yells and whistles come from the house and it takes me a while to focus and to realize what’s going on.

 

“Welcome back!” They all shout.

 

‘He’s here!!” I hear running footsteps and get my eyes to focus just in time to see my brother Stephen clobber me in a hug around my waist. Jonathan walks up to me in his cool middle school attitude and shakes my hand.

 

I’m shaking.

 

“H…hey...” I pat Stephen’s back and then realize that Sarah is behind me, clutching onto my shoulders, peeking out. She’s terrified of my family. And that’s all it is, just my family, my grandparents and my dad and Lisa and few other people, some of my good friends like Marty and Jason, JC is even there. But it’s too much, I can’t handle all of this. I can’t handle all this right now. Not them and Sarah. I wanted to be able to come back and have peace and quiet and be able to show her around and get her settled into the real world. I didn’t want her to be hiding behind me like some frightened child. “Um, mom?”

 

She shrugs and smiles. “I couldn’t resist. They all wanted to see you so badly.”

 

“Can…” I sigh and reach down to pull my brother off me and look up at Jonathan, then the rest of my family. “Can you guys just hold on for a second?” I turn and squeeze Sarah’s arm for a moment and then look at Trace who’s got his arm around Elisha. “Trace, will…will you take Sarah to the upstairs guest room.”

 

“But…”

 

I look in her eyes, she’s so scared. She doesn’t know what this place is, who these people are. She’s lost and I’ve done this to her. I feel like I’m the one that’s frightened her. But no, it was me. It’s my mom, and her damn insistency to force me back into a life I’m not ready for yet.

 

“I’ll be right there, there’s nothing to worry about.” I nod at Trace and he says, “come on, Sarah” to her and waves her with him and starts to pull her upstairs. She stares at me and then at everyone else and runs up after him. Once they disappear I look back at everyone. They’re all staring at me, wondering what’s going on, wanting me to come to them and hug them and tell them I missed them, but there’s only one thing I can do right now.

 

Something I have to do. Clearly, she didn’t understand me when I told her about Sarah. I narrow my eyes at my mother, “I need to talk to you…”

 

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see everyone, this is your family…” She says to me as I march off down the first hallway towards one of the downstairs guest rooms. She follows me and I shut the door behind me and stare at her.

 

I throw my hands up and she sits down on the bed. “Mom you can’t do that!! You should have told me so …so I could prepare her.”

 

“Her?” She shakes her head and narrows her eyes at me. “Her?”

 

“Yes mom. I know you don’t agree with it. I know you think I should just come back here alone and go back with Cameron and be my old self again. But I can’t.” I point to myself and just stare at her, staring at me. “I can’t. I was fucking… fucking…” She sucks in a breath and I know she can’t deal with me saying it, so I shake my head. “Shit happened to me momma and she was there, and she has no one else. I don’t care if you guys do call me crazy, but I have a connection with her. She doesn’t trust anyone but me. You know what that man did to her?” She doesn’t say anything and I start to pace, thinking about Patrick, how evil a person has to be to do the things he did. I run my hands through my hair. I need to get it cut. “He pretended he was her uncle and then fucked her, mom. Not fucked her over. He’d take her upstairs and make her do things with him, sexually. He put his hands on her, I saw him do it. And, and if she did something he didn’t like, like I don’t know, forget to put her maxi pad on wrong and get blood on her sheets or say she didn’t want to have sex with him, he’d beat her, mom.” She’s not looking at me, staring off at the wall, biting her lip. “He beat her. He kept her like this, kept her locked in a basement only watching Disney movies. He wanted to do that to us, too. He wanted to control us, too. And he almost…”

 

She snaps at me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Shut up, Justin. I know what happened.”

 

I sigh and walk over to her and sit down on the bed with her. “Then why don’t you understand?”

 

She puts an arm over my shoulders and pulls me into her, then puts her other arm around me to keep me there. “It’s not your responsibility. You worry about yourself, make yourself better. Let your family work with you, let me help you. It’s not your place to help her. Let her family deal with her.”

 

“She has no family…” I say, putting my arms back around my momma. Maybe, maybe she’s right, not in giving up on Sarah, but maybe I do need to let my family help me. I know I’m not back to my old self, if there is such a thing. I know I’m weird now, fucked up in the head or whatever, but they love me and they were worried about me and I at least owe it to them to spend some time with them.

 

“You’re not it, though baby. You can’t just be her savior.”

 

I shake my head. She still doesn’t get it. “But I am momma. I’m all she has. ”

 

My mom drops her arms from around me. “She’s a child, Justin. Do you even know what you’re taking on here?”

 

I glare at her. How dare her say that? I told her, I fucking told her not to treat Sarah that way, not to call her that, not to bring her down like he did. I get off the bed and pace a little. “She‘s not a child! She’s a woman who was tortured and manipulated.” I shake my head. This is ridiculous. I’m in this horribly decorated guest room that mom decorated with floral patterns and pastels trying to explain something that she’ll never be able to understand. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see what he did to her, to us.

 

She wasn’t there when I had to teach her how to clean herself when she was on her period or have to hold her at night because she was scared of a mouse or have to sit and watch Disney movies with her all fucking day. She wasn’t there when I thought trace had died or thought that I was going to die. She wasn’t there when I had to spend the dark nights and days wondering what he was doing to her upstairs, if he was hurting her, if she even knew what he was doing was wrong. I had to sit there and watch him drug her, watch him touch her.

 

She might know every detail of what happened, but she doesn’t know what it did to me, what it’s still doing to me.

 

She wasn’t there.

 

“I’m worried about you.”

 

I stop and realize that I was pacing a hole in the floor and that she’s been staring at me, watching. I sigh and roll my shoulders, it hurts my side a bit and then I remember I have the brace on and my skin starts to itch under it.

 

Dammit.

 

“I gotta do something, mom. “ I say. “I can’t just send her off and wish her the best. You weren’t down there, you don’t know.”

 

“Then why doesn’t Trace do this or want to help you. Why is Trace getting engaged and you’re pushing away your girlfriend and housing some mentally challenged…”

 

“Don’t call her that.” I bite at her. She knows better than that. I don’t know what she’s trying to pull with all this name calling, trying to reduce Sarah down, but it’s not gonna work. I’m not giving her up.

 

“But Justin she is!” She stands up off the bed and marches over to me frustrated. She grabs my shoulders and shakes me a bit. That’s not gonna work, either. Keep shaking me, shake me till I die. I’m still not giving her up. “I feel sorry for her. It breaks my heart to know there are people in this world that can do that to someone, to an innocent little girl, ‘cause that’s what she was Justin and it’s what she still is. So what if she has grown up, she’s still in that mindset. She’s still a little girl and you can’t do this on your own, you can’t just cure her miraculously.”

 

“I’m not going to.” I pull away from her and go and sit on the bed again. “She’s gonna go to therapy and everything.”

 

“I love you. I love you, Justin. I can’t describe to you how I’ve kept it going the past few months. ‘Cause I’ve been a wreck, a fucking wreck.” I look up because my mother doesn’t curse. “But you’re home now, and you’re safe and I just want you to be happy and to live your life and to do what you want, I don’t want you having obligations or feeling guilty or…”

 

“Momma…” She wipes at her eyes and I reach forward and grab her hand and pull her over to me. I hold her other hand as well and stare up at her. “I wanna take care of her.”

 

“Do you really?”

 

“I have to. I know I do. But I also want to. Mom, I…I know it’s crazy, but I care about her. She…she saved my life, momma. She gave me the drive to fight back, to not give in. I mean, you guys were already on your way, you had already found where we were when we called you, but still, what if you hadn’t? What if you didn’t even know I was alive? Our plan would have worked, and we did it together, the three of us. Sarah saved us momma. You heard the doctor. I didn’t have much time left. She saved me. She’s my savior, why can’t I be hers?”

 

She shakes her head, breaks away from me and turns her back to me, crossing her arms and looking out the window there. “I’m worried about you Justin.”

 

I stand up and go put my hands on her shoulders. “I’m safe, I’m home, remember? You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

 

She shakes her head and continues to look outside, out where Eric and Mike are unloading the car. “I can’t lie to you and pretend I like this, that I like her living here. And I can tell you that every day and you’re not gonna change, are you?”

 

I laugh, she knows me too well. She knows I have this set in my mind and that nothing is gonna make me give her up. I wrap my arms around her and lay my head on her shoulder. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this affectionate with my mother, but now, now that I’m back, even if she disagreed with everything I decided on in my life, I’d still need her here. “No I’m not. You’ve never steered me wrong. You’ve always known what exactly to do and to say. But this time, you can’t. And it’s not your fault, but you haven’t been here before. This is a situation we’re both unprepared for, and I’m doing what I feel in my heart is right.”

 

“Promise me if she’s not getting better in a few months you’ll rethink. They have places out there Justin, places for people, women who have been traumatized.”

 

I suck in a breath and start to pull away. “Looney bins.”

 

She turns and looks at me. “No Justin, communities, camps I guess you could call them, where people learn to live again. It’s like rehab.”

 

“I can’t send her off to strangers.”

 

“Just promise me that you’ll consider it, look into it.”

 

I nod, I figure if I agree she’ll get off my case. “I’ll see.” She smiles at me and nods and pulls on my hand to the door. She opens it and then closes it almost all the way again and looks back at me.

 

“Justin…I know you wanna run upstairs right now and talk to her. And I’m sure she’s scared. But you have a lot of family here, your grandparents and your father and your brothers are all here. I think you owe some time with them.”

 

I sigh, “Can I just go make sure she’s ok? I’ll be right down.”

 

She shakes her head. “I don’t like this Justin. I don’t like this at all.”

 

I lean in and kiss her cheek. “I love you, momma. I know what I’m doing.” I open the door for her and march out and go to the steps, waving at everyone and telling them I’ll be right back before running up the steps. I didn’t want to give her the chance to talk me out of it and I need to see Sarah. I need to make sure she’s ok.

 

I go into the room and they aren’t there. I thought Trace would take her to his room that he stays at when he’s here. But I guess Trace didn’t bring her here. I don’t think he’d take her to my room so I go and check the other guest room upstairs, the room that’s now her’s. They’re there. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed and Trace is looking out the window, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair in the corner. Elisha is looking through her closet. “Hey, sorry…you guys go down and hang out. I’ll be there in a second.” Trace sighs and gets up and Elisha comes around and passes me a small smile before they disappear. She shuts the door on her way out, but leaves it cracked.

 

I sigh and look over at Sarah. She stares at me. “I’m sorry I had to leave you.”

 

“Who’s those people?”

 

I sit down with her on the bed and turn towards her. “That’s my family.”

 

“Who were those people that hugged you?”

 

“My brothers, the little one was Stephen and the other is Jon.”

 

“Are they nice?”

 

I laugh a little and nod. “Oh yes.” I look at her and she’s looking around the room. She looks curious, and I’m thankful that she no longer looks frightened. “This is going to be your room. Do you like it?” This is the room I had Rachel set up for her. It looks like a normal room, nothing grimy. Not a strange small bed with Disney characters and a small TV with VHSs lined up. Not a dirty bathroom with a pull string light. No this room is light, pale blue walls and a white comforter on a large bed with yellow and lavender flowers. It’s grown up, and it’s feminine, and I hope she likes it here.

 

“It’s pretty and bright. I like the color. I like blue.”

 

“And guess what? My room is just down the hall.”

 

She smiles and then it drops and she looks down at her fingers. “Do I have to stay here all day?”

 

I suck in a breath, “No…” God no, don’t do this. Don’t pretend I’m him. I’m different, I hope she can see that. I hope she knows that I’m not a bad man and I’m not going to trick her. “No Sarah, you can do whatever you want. You can go all around the house, but don’t go outside unless you ask me, ok? Not because of the sun or anything. It’s just…for the first little bit that you’re here I wanna go with you, so you don’t get lost.” It’s true, there’s a gate and everything but if she somehow wandered out or walked around my back yard without me and got scared she might hurt herself. And I know that sounds horrible, like I’m trying to cage her, but I just want to make sure she’s safe.

 

I’d love to get her to the point where she could do things for herself, but she’s not there yet. She’s got a long way to go. And I’d be terrified if I lost her. “Cause I don’t want you to get lost.”

 

“And never be found.” She whispers.

 

I gulp. She might be tortured and she might be messed up, but fuck anyone who says she’s not smart. She knows what’s going on and she knows what happened to her was wrong. “R...right.”

 

“So we don’t stay in the same room?”

 

This is taking a lot to get use to. She keeps bringing up our time in the dungeon and I don’t know why I was hoping she wouldn’t. It’s all she knew for most of her life. Hell, it was her life, of course she’s going to bring it up. I just, I wish she wouldn’t. Maybe, maybe this is gonna make it harder for me to get past all that.

 

But it’s worth it. ‘Cause I will. I’ll get better, I’ll move on with her. And she’ll be ok. I’ll make her ok. “We stay in the same house. But at night you will sleep here and I’ll sleep down the hall.” She just bites her lip. “But…but if you get scared you can come stay with me.” I watch her and she looks like she’s thinking hard and then I see fear comes over her eyes and she backs up and curls up at the head of the bed, staring off to the right of me. I look over and see one of my dogs shuffling in. I laugh a little as he puts his paws up on the bed, stretching and then looks at me with his tongue hanging out. I scratch his head and he sighs. I look over at Sarah and she’s staring at him. “It’s ok, he won’t hurt you.” I reach over and hold her hand and slowly bring it forward and let him smell it. He licks it and she laughs and then she takes it on her self to pet his head. He scoots over, still standing on his hind legs, knowing he’s not allow to jump up on beds, but wanting to so bad. “See, he likes you.”

 

She smiles and scoots forward and lets him lick her other hand. “Franco.” She smiles. I’m surprised she got that and stare at her. She smiles at the dog and pets him some more and I can tell he’s already fallen in love with her. Silly pup. Most people can’t tell Roscoe and Franco apart, but she got it on the first try. I guess it’s part of that special memory she has.

 

“That’s right.”

 

“And Roscoe has the black under his eye.”

 

“Yeah...” I smile at her and then figure since the two of them are getting along so well that he can get up with her. I pat the bed and he jumps up and goes and lays right beside her.

 

“I’m sleepy, Justin.” She says and as if on cue, Frankie, as I call him, lays his head down and sighs.

 

I pat the bed. “Take a nap, girl.”

 

“Will you tuck me in?”

 

“Sarah…” I collect my thoughts and stand up off the bed. “I’m not going to. That’s…” I don’t want to bring him up. I’m trying not to mention him at all, trying to erase him from both out memories. I take a deep breath. “You’re a big girl, you can do it yourself.”

 

“I can?” She seems shocked, like she never knew that.

 

“Yeah, just pull back the covers and take off your shoes and lay down. And I’ll come up and check on your soon, ok? If you need to go potty there’s a bathroom right here.” I point to a door that’s closed on the other side of the bed.

 

“Are you gonna lock me in?” She says, trying to take off her shoes, finally getting one to slip off. I found out in Africa while we were taking her from the hospital that she didn’t know how to tie her shoes. She said she thought she use to try but it was hard and Patrick never gave her shoes. We got her some slide-ons. I’ll have to work with her on the tying thing later.

 

“No…no Sarah. If…if you wanna come down stairs you can. You can go wherever you want, ok?”

 

“Ok.” She smiles and reaches to pull off the covers. “I like that.”

 

I watch her slip between the covers. Franco picks his head up for a minute and then lays it back down and looks at me for a moment before shutting his eyes. I pat his back for a second and sit up off the bed. “I hope you understand that I’m not uncle, Sarah. I’m not that man. I’m not gonna tell you what you can and can’t do. You can do that for yourself, ok? I’m your friend.”

 

“You’re my Justin.” She snuggles deep into the covers and smiles at me, a bright, genuine smile and I can’t help but think that she looks beautiful against the covers and I know that’s wrong. But it’s not like I’m thinking about her sexually. It’s just, she’s a very very pretty girl and I sometimes wonder how she would be if she wasn’t this way, if she hadn’t been messed up and kidnapped. I wonder if she would maybe, I don’t know, like a guy like me.

 

“Right.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I know I should get down there and visit with my family but I could really go for a nap and right now. All I want to do is push Frankie to the foot of the bed and slip in beside her. But I know that wouldn’t be good and mom would be pissed at me forever for not coming back down. “And you’re my Sarah and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Ok?”

 

She nods and I smile at her and tell her to get some sleep. She closes her eyes and I stare at her for a moment before turning and going out the door. I leave the door cracked so Franco can get out if he wants. Maybe, maybe momma was right. Maybe this is going to be more than I thought I could handle. But I have to try. She’s my responsibility, I took it upon myself to help her and protect her when we first met her.

 

I had to figure her out and I did. I figured out her past and why she is the way she is and now that I know, I know it has to be me. I have to help her and nothing anyone says, not my mom, not Trace, no one, nothing is going to change it. She needs me to take care of her and, maybe, maybe I need her. For some strange reason, I just might need her around.

 

So I’m gonna keep her around, no matter what anyone says.

Chapter 16

 

I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep. I want to lay right here, in the middle of my bed, staring at my ceiling in the dark, breathing deep, hands out to either side on both of my dogs’ backs. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to go back there. I can’t. He was, he was hurting me. He had killed Trace, he was going to kill her. He kept forcing bologna down in my mouth. And he kept laughing and laughing. I can still hear his laugh. I sniff but don’t take a hand off one of my dogs to wipe the tears away. I need to feel my tears to know that I’m awake and I need to feel them there, feel my dogs breathing in their sleep. If, if someone was around, someone bad, they would jump up and I could feel it and get prepared and turn on the lights and hide or call the police. I can’t sleep.

 

I cry a little harder. But I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired.

 

It’s been three days since I’ve been home and I haven’t been able to sleep since. I’ve tried but he’s there, he’s always there. I didn’t have this problem the last month in Africa. I slept all the time, I slept well. I wouldn’t dream. I’d just pass out and wake up nine or ten hours later. Shit, I shouldn’t have told momma to leave. I shouldn’t have told her I was fine, that I was ok. I know she didn’t believe me. I know she’s still in town. I shouldn’t have yelled at her either like I did yesterday. That was wrong of me. And I shouldn’t have told Mike to stay in the guest house instead of here in the house with me. What if someone sneaks in? What if, what if someone he knows wants revenge? What if he didn’t really die and the police people just told me that so I wouldn’t worry?

 

What if he comes after her?

 

I gulp. “Please be ok.”

 

She’s in the next room. I know she’s probably fast asleep, dreaming of Aladdin taking her on a carpet ride, or of Genie making all her wishes come true. Franco sits up for a minute and makes a noise. I gasp. I think my heart stops, I don’t breathe. He sits up, licks my hand, I feel him move and then sigh.

 

I’m a wreck. A fucking nut job. I suck in a shaky breath of air and when I let it out I start to cry, hard. I’m so, so tired of crying. I cried last night so bad that I ended up getting out of bed and locking myself in my bathroom and sitting on the hard floor doing a crossword puzzle that I had in the basket by my toilet. I completed five puzzles and then I reorganized my bathroom toiletries. I took a shower, put on new clothes and then peeped out of my bedroom and walked through the house with both my dogs at my side, turning on every light as quickly as possible.

 

But there are too many windows downstairs and I was terrified someone might be looking in, planning on how to take me. So I ran back upstairs, shut my door, got in the bed and covered up completely. I watched an old Steve Martin movie on Comedy Central and woke up this morning with a rerun of The Daily Show blaring at me.

 

I’d turn the TV on tonight and watch it and try to tone out his voice in my head but I’m too scared too move. The remote isn’t on the nightstand. I tried reaching for it earlier and felt nothing. And I’m not about to get out of this bed.

 

Someone might grab me.

 

Suddenly there is a noise and I sink down into the mattress. Shit, why aren’t my dogs moving, why aren’t they attacking? I fucking told Rachel to have them trained. She was supposed to do that before I got home! Did she lie to me!? Franco lifts his head and I hear him make a small curious whine before getting up and hopping off the bed. There’s that noise again. I turn my eyes from the ceiling to the door.

 

Fuck, oh fuck, it’s opening. I’ve been staring at the ceiling too long, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. I can see it. Someone’s there. Someone’s going to take me.

 

It’s him. He’s here.

 

“Justin?”

 

I sob.

 

It’s just her. Roscoe wakes up. I hear him yawn and he rolls over a bit on his side. I finally reach a hand up and wipe at my face roughly, trying to throw the tears off. I’m pathetic, sad, a sorry ass human being. I gulp and force myself to sit up and blink.

 

“Justin?”

 

“Yeah?” I lean over and turn on the light on the nightstand and I see her. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts and a pair of my boxers. I didn’t want to get her flannel pajamas and have her roasting and everything else seemed too girly or too sexual. What Rachel bought for her were these cotton slip type things, the looked too sexy for her to wear. I figured boxers and a tee would be safe. She’s staring at me and there are tears streaming down over her cheeks. For a moment I panic, thinking something’s happened to her, maybe something or someone has scared her.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I had a bad dream.”

 

She sniffs and runs her hands under her nose and moves her eyes from me to where Franco is rolling on his back in front of her feet. It makes her smile and I gulp and push the covers off of me. Roscoe gets up and goes over to his dog pillow by the window. He circles around twice and then plops down. I realize now how hot I am. It’s so warm in this room and I’m glad to have the sheet and the blanket and the comforter off of me, though I was happy they were my shield moments ago.

 

How pathetic. I need a fucking shield.

 

She immediately comes over and slides beside me on the bed. She keeps a good distance between us and just stares at my face. I reach over and brush my fingers over her cheek. “What happened?”

 

She shakes her head, a silent way to tell me she doesn’t want to say.

 

“Stay right here. I’ll be right back.” I say to her and then slide from the bed and go to my bathroom. I would go downstairs and get her water out of my filter, but I’m a little scared and I don’t think she’ll care about tap water anyway. At night, when I get thirsty I’ve been using this same cup, my water cup. It’s a big plastic mug styled cup with a Lakers logo all most completely washed off. I’ve been too frightened to go downstairs. I fill it up with water, take a big gulp and come back to the room to find her curled up with Franco, letting him lick her face and neck. He’s in love with her. His tail is smacking against my bed.

 

I snap my finger and point to the pillow that Roscoe is on and he jumps down and goes to lay on it. Sarah pouts and I hand her the cup. “Drink some water, ok?”

 

She nods and takes the cup from me. She drinks just like Stephen, holding the cup to her face with both hands, drinking slowly, breathing into the cup with each gulp, staring at me. I just stand there and watch her and then go over to the door to shut it. She hands the cup back to me silently. “All done?” She nods and giggles and sinks against the pillows.

 

I smile at her and walk back into my bathroom and set the cup on my sink.

 

Then I realize what I’m doing. I’m supposed to be teaching her. I should have told her to do that herself. I shouldn’t have asked her “all done.” And shouldn’t have said it in that tone that my mother use to use when I’d wake her up in the middle of the night and whisper to her that I was thirsty.

 

I was about eight years old when one night she said, “come with me.” We walked down to the kitchen and she pointed to the cabinet: “open that”. I had this little stool and pulled it out, stepped on it, opened the cabinet and she proceeded to tell me to pull out my own cup and go to the sink and get my own water. She even told me that if I spilled something to get a paper towel and clean it up.

 

I never again went to my momma to get water for me at night. She told me I was a big boy, that I could do that myself.

 

And I yelled at her yesterday. I told her she didn’t know anything, that she was clueless as to what was going on with me. I told her to leave and not push me or pressure me. I yelled at her, told her I’d call her if I needed her, if…if I wanted to see her. She left trying not to weep. I told her to stop treating me like I was a child, like I was lost. But she was right. I am lost. And she knew this would happen. I want to treat Sarah like an adult, but every time I try to she just gets this blank look on her face and draws into herself. She did it tonight at dinner. Mike brought us over some steaks. I told him I was craving red meat. She had never had it. I had to cut her steak for her. She seemed to have a hard time chewing at first, but finally figured it out. I had to show her how to put her plate up in the sink. She was amazed by the dish washer.

 

And momma knew. She knew this would happen. She knew that I’d want to treat Sarah differently than I would be able to. I have to treat her like a child because that’s what she is. But dammit, she’s not a fucking child! And the more I treat her like that, the more she’s gonna get stuck. I wanna pull her out of that.

 

I’m not doing a very good job.

 

As her guardian I need to protect her and provide from her, but I get now why momma was so concerned. I also have to raise her. It’s like, I don’t know, she’s my child now or something. I don’t feel like her father or her brother or anything like that. It’s different. But she’s my responsibility and I’m in charge of raising her up, making her grow and I don’t know how in the hell to do that.

 

For the past few days I’ve tried to teach her things, but most the time she gets confused and I get frustrated and I give up on her and let her go back to watching TV. And she does that a lot, but I’ve also found her exploring my house, looking at things, through things. I found her staring at my awards one day in my office. I was going to tell her about them but she didn’t ask. She rarely asks and that bothers me. Most kids have so many questions it’s annoying, Sarah has so few that it’s worrisome.

 

I’m starting to think that maybe, maybe I can’t make her better.

 

I think that’s why I got so mad at my momma yesterday. I should have never done it. I should have never hurt her feelings like that, and I should have never done it in front of Sarah. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. She just stared at me. She’s always fucking starting at me.

 

But this is the first night she’s come to my room. The first night I kept checking in on her and finally gave up to sleeping in my bed. I thought it would happen easily, ya know first night back in my bed and all, but I was restless. Last night I had my nice little romp around the house and in fact she was the one to knock on my door this morning and ask me if it was ok to go downstairs. She still asks me things like that, still asks for permission. But tonight, tonight she’s scared.

 

It’s like she was the first day here, after her nap. Everyone was still at the house, we had eaten the “welcome back from being kidnapped” cake and I had awkwardly talked to my family trying to pretend that I was ok. She slowly came down the steps and was terrified of them. I tried to introduce her but then realized it was best for her just to keep to herself. My brother’s stared at her and she stared back, like kids do when they don’t know each other. I was pissed at my family for ignoring her at first, but then took it as a blessing realizing that if they did try to converse with her she and they would be more confused. She’d get upset and they’d probably think I’m crazier than I already am.

 

During the little party I took her outside with me to walk my dogs in the back yard so she could get away. She clutched to me but seemed ok. She freaked out the first time we took her out of the hospital.

 

I didn’t know why she was doing that and it scared me horribly. I thought they were gonna make her go back in, but we rushed her to the car and she plastered her face to the window and looked up at the sky and the trees. I realized then that she hadn’t been outside. The last time she was outside they had carried her to an ambulance and the last time before that, well, I guess was when she was taken.

 

Maybe I’ll take her on a walk tomorrow, around my yard. Maybe I’ll do that before I take her to the doctor.

 

“Justin?”

 

I suck in a breath and realize I’ve been standing there, holding onto the counter and staring at the drain in my sink. I walk back into my room and find her curled up under the covers. “Yeah?”

 

“I…I thought you left.”

 

I shrug. “I just went to the bathroom. Remember…” I point over my shoulder to the doorway. When I showed her around my house, she became amazed by the marble and the shower and then giggled and laughed at the big footed tub I have. She said that she wanted it and I promised her she could use it. Then I realized I should probably teach her how to shower, but…well I’m not quite sure how to do that without seeming like a pervert. “I showed you yesterday.”

 

She shakes her head and sniffs. “I’m my dream. You left. And I was here alone. And I didn’t know what to do….and…and…”

 

That look comes over her face, that ‘help me Justin’ look, that ‘save me Justin’ look. I sigh and quickly slide in the bed and pull her into my chest.

 

“Shh…”

 

She grabs my shoulders and buries her face in my neck. It’s then when I realize that I’m only in boxers. I took my brace off to sleep. It itches and I feel like I don’t need it anymore. But I guess it kind of hurts lying on my side like this. Oh well. It’s weird having to hold her. Her body is that of a woman, yet she’s not. It’s confusing, sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that she is an adult and needs to not be treated as a child. Then in other moments like this I have to remind myself that she’s still a child, she knows nothing about the world, about herself. I’m usually pretty nervous being around people I don’t know with my shirt off, like in photo shoots. But, but this is ok. I just hope she doesn’t think since I’m not fully clothed I’m trying to do something like ‘uncle’ did.

 

I try not to do anything like him. He was a bastard, psychotic, but I don’t want her comparing us.

 

“And he found me.” She’s crying. Fuck, I hate it when she cries.

 

I run my hand over her hair. It needs to be cut, like professionally done, not the chopping job he must have done. Maybe I’ll take her one day, get her a nice adult make over. I bet she’d like that.

 

“Sarah…” She pulls away and looks at me. Her eyes are huge, staring at me, not blinking, praying that I’ll make it better, that I’ll make it all go away. God, I wish I could all make it go away.

 

Why can’t I just make her better?

 

I suck in a breath. I hate that she dreams about him like I do. I feel like it lets him win, ya know? It still lets him take over. But he’s dead and he’s gone and he can’t hurt her or me any more. I just have to believe that and I have to get her to believe it. I have to. “You know, you know he was a bad man.”

 

She shakes her head and moves her hands and arms to grab me around the waist. “I don’t know…”

 

It’s been the hardest part I guess. It’s hard to figure out if she really has any idea of what happened to her. The doctors in Africa said she has some type of idea, but that her anxiety and stress levels were high in the hospital and well, I don’t know because I didn’t see her for so long and I’m not sure what all went down in the hospital. From what I could find out, the first few weeks she was there, she was…she was insane. Like not, ‘oh, she likes to watch Disney movies and has the ability of a 5 year old even though she’s 20 something.’

 

No, she was…she was screaming, yelling, crying, hitting. They couldn’t calm her down. They had to sedate her...like he did. He was shot dead while holding her, holding a gun to her. The man she had trusted, the man who had brainwashed her into thinking he was God, the man who fucked her up, the only man in her life was killed in front of her. And even though he deserved it and she deserved to be free of him, I can’t imagine what that’s done to her mind, how much more that’s fucked her up. And she was alone, I wasn’t there and Trace wasn’t there. I can’t imagine how scared she was.

 

I shake my head. I shouldn’t blame the doctors in Africa and I shouldn’t blame myself for not going to see her sooner. I wanted to, God I did. No, no all of this is his fault.

 

Fucking pathetic shit that he was.

 

And I still don’t know if she realizes he was a bad man, that he took her from her family, if she even knows she has a family. I don’t know if she misses him, or if she knows how he kept her locked up, the lies he told her, the drugs he gave her, if she knows that having sex with him was wrong. If she even really knows what sex is.

 

Today she was watching TV, I was on the phone with Trace. She was watching a soap opera. I thought she had fallen asleep on the couch, but she hadn’t. I was going to turn the TV off but the phone rang. Halfway through I noticed some horribly cheesy sex scene about to happen. One of those really impassioned ones with the cheesy music behind it, where the man is ripping off clothes. I don’t know what soap it was, I’m sure it’s one my mom watches. I remember shaking my head at how corny it was but then realizing she was sitting up, staring at the TV. I went over to her and looked at her and she was just staring.

 

Her eyebrows were bunched and her mouth was open a little, like she was in shock. I turned the TV off and asked her if she was ok. She just stared at me and didn’t say a thing.

 

She didn’t understand it.

 

I focus in on her now and wipe her tears away with my fingers. “Do you understand that he did things to you he should not have?”

 

She gulps. “I don’t like it.”

 

I don’t know what she means. I don’t know if she meant to say ‘I didn’t like it’, or if I’m doing something wrong. I hope I’m not pushing her too much. I know I get impatient. It’s only bee three days and I’m already impatient with her, but I’m trying. God damn, am I trying.

 

“What don’t you like?”

 

She licks her lips and then pulls away and stares at the ceiling. She wipes on her own face and sighs. In that moment she seems suddenly so much older. “I’m not like you.”

 

I breathe deeply. Well, that…I guess that’s a good thing that she realizes that. It means she has some sense that something is wrong with her that needs to be fixed. But, I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little broken myself. Being able to invest so much time and care into her helps me forget that a little bit, helps me keep going, helps me look forward, helps me not think about myself so much.

 

It’s just when I’m alone, like at night, when I start to freak out. Maybe, maybe we should start sleeping together…like not in the bad way, just in the same room. I guess, I guess that’d be wrong. I guess being independent is something she needs to learn.

 

“No, no you’re not like me. But we can work to make you like me.”

 

“You saved me.” She turns and stares at me and for a moment I forget who she is and what has been done to her and see her as the beautiful woman that’s laying in my bed, looking at me like I’m her everything. But as soon as it’s there, as soon as I start to feel that maybe she might be coming around, she smiles and giggles and curls into me and says, “You’re my prince.”

 

And my heart breaks and my hopes are drowned and I’m back to the beginning.

 

I sigh. “I don’t have a horse or a castle.”

 

She looks up at me and smiles, “You have doggies.”

 

But I’ll take this. I’ll take innocent, childish, happy Sarah over scared and upset Sarah any day. She’s happy with me and right now, that’s...that’s all that matters.

 

And I’ve stopped thinking about my own nightmares and I think she’s forgotten hers. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” She nods, her forehead moving against my shoulder. “Ok…”

 

I roll over and cut off the light and then lie on my back. I pull up the covers over us and pray she’ll stay on her side, curl up and start to breath deeply. I pray she’ll just go to sleep.

 

But she curls up to me, throwing her arm over my stomach and resting her cheek against my chest. It forces me to lift an arm around her and I can feel her bare legs against mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve lain with a woman in my bed, but this isn’t a woman. Dammit Justin, stop thinking that!

 

I take in a breath and put my arms behind my head, hoping that if she just holds on to me I can’t be to blame for anything. I can’t touch her in the wrong way or anything if I’m lying like that. I also try to get my mind off the way she’s pressing into me and bring up the appointment we have tomorrow with her therapist. “Tomorrow I’m going to take you to meet this lady who’s going to be your friend and help you, ok?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Her name’s Lisa.”

 

“Lisa.” She whispers.

 

I talked to the woman on the phone after spending a lot of time researching therapist in the LA area that deal with supremely traumatic patients. At first this doctor thought I was the patient, but when I told her about Sarah she didn’t say anything. She knew who I was, knew the story. There was a good 20 seconds on the phone that neither of us said a word. I knew she was going to turn me down. I knew she was going to say that she didn’t do that type of work, but then she sucked in a breath and said “Bring her in Thursday at 11. And we’ll talk.”

 

Sarah is silent for a bit and I start to think she might have fallen asleep. So I put my hand down against her head and smooth her hair and the touch her back. “Do you not want me to be your friend anymore?”

 

I sigh. “No…” I guess she’s not asleep. “No Sarah… I’m your best friend, remember.”

 

“Always.” She squeezes me and sighs.

 

“A…always.” I start to feel my eyes water and I swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat. I don’t know why this is making me want to cry, why it’s hitting me so fast. I guess everything makes me cry now, ever since I’ve been kidnapped and turned into a pussy. I guess it’s comforting to know she’ll always be my friend, that she’ll always need me.

 

But she doesn’t even know what that means. She doesn’t even know that she needs me. I reach up and wipe at my face roughly. I’m being ridiculous. I’m being pathetic.

 

I feel her move and for a moment I don’t know what she’s going to do. Then I feel her lips press against my skin on my face and I can feel her smile there. “You’re the good guy,” She whispers and then leans back down against me and sighs.

 

She falls asleep quickly and I don’t know how she does it. My body shakes with sobs and finally she rolls away from me, slinging an arm over her face. I curl up on my side, my back to her and cry into my pillow. I force myself to stop, to suck it up, to be a man, but I break even more, and force my face into the pillow to quiet myself. I’m trying so fucking hard to be the good guy. I’m trying to do everything right. I’m trying to do what my head tells me, what my heart tells me.

 

I’m trying to make this better for her. And I know its stupid and I know I have a small chance of making it right, but I gotta try. And I am trying. I’m trying so hard. But it’s so lonely. I’m in this on my own. I have been for a long time, before I came home, before I was rescued, hell before I was kidnapped.

 

They all thought I was fine, my momma, my family, Cameron, Trace, Johnny. They all thought I was great, that I loved to be independent, that my world was perfect.

 

They were wrong.

 

I look over my shoulder and see her in the dim light, breathing deeply, her arm now over her chest. I roll over and curl up to her and watch her sleep, so gentle, so peaceful. I carefully rest my head next to hers and wrap my arm over her stomach. I need to hold her, I just have to. She sighs and leans her head towards mine. I stare at her. I stare at her and realize I’m not alone anymore.

 

There’s Sarah. And she won’t leave me and she’ll always need me and…and I won’t be alone. I’ll never be alone. She calls me her prince, tells me I saved her.

 

But she’s wrong…she’s so wrong.

 

She saved me.

Chapter 17

 

The office is utterly boring. The walls are stark white and there’s only a few frames on the wall, all of her degrees and certificates. There’s not a plant in the room, just a huge desk and two chairs in front of it, one behind and another small one in the corner, closer to the door. Her desk is impeccably clean, barren almost. I’ve been in doctor’s offices before for random things, vocal chords, breaking my foot, my arm, hell Johnny made all of us go to therapy when all the TransCon shit went down. That guy’s office was cool. There was color on the walls, nice scenic paintings of the country, even two plants. It was comforting and welcoming.

 

This, this feels like we’re about to get some sentence, some final outcome thrown down on us. This lady holds Sarah’s future in her hands and she knows it. She’s all business, no frills. She’s scary. She’s not even that old, maybe thirty-five, very attractive. And it’s weird because I know if I was here and none of this had happened I’d probably hit on her. I’d probably pull out the suave Justin, the cool Justin, lay it on thick and make her laugh. But shit did happen, and I’m here on Sarah’s behalf. I think I might be more nervous than she is.

 

I glance over. No, no I don’t know if that’s possible and I’m starting to regret this. I should have made the doctor come to the house. I shouldn’t have taken her outside. As soon as we got in the car and Mike started driving us she was tense, unsure, fucking terrified. It was like as soon as I pulled her outside and helped her buckle her seatbelt she was scared. She looked at me with those big watery eyes, breathing sharply.

 

She knew this was happening. She knew she was going to meet someone new, a friend I called her. The lady seems nice enough but, she’s pretty hard core and she’s freaking Sarah out.

 

But I guess it’s a little unfair to say that Sarah is the only one afraid. I woke up this morning feeling wonderful, refreshed, actually rested and I realized that she was beside me, awake, staring at me. I got her up and let her bathe in my bathtub and, and I guess it was a little weird because while she was sinking down into the water, only letting everything from the neck up stand out of the water, I was, I was in there, too. I was in the bathroom jsut shaving and getting ready for the day. It wasn’t like I was staring at her. I just got the water ready for her and then put out some towels and when she got in the tub and I finished doing all my stuff. I didn’t stand there and watch her undress or anything.

 

I put a robe on her over her towel when she came out and took her to her room so we could go pick out her outfit for the day, together. I want her to start making some of these small decisions herself. But she only giggled and laid on her bed and kicked her legs and smiled at me. I could barely eat my breakfast that morning and instead I watched her slurp up her cereal while I forced down a bit of orange juice. I didn’t get the chance to take her out on a walk like I had thought I might. We had both woke up late, too late. When I woke up and saw she was staring at me I wanted to ask her how long she had been up.

 

Then I remembered that Sarah couldn’t tell time.

 

But I can and I’m getting damn tired of looking down at my watch to see the second hand tick and tick and tick away while this lady just sits behind her desk, glancing over this folder with her glasses about to fall off her nose. I glance over at Sarah. She’s chewing on her finger. I reach over and touch her arm for a moment. She stares at me and then bows her head.

 

Shit. She thinks she’s in trouble.

 

I almost say something to her. I almost tell her that it’s ok. I almost ask her if she wants to leave. She’s not ready for this. She’s not fucking ready for this! I’m an idiot and I should have known better than pushing her into a situation she’s no where near ready for.

 

This is too much. It’s all just too damn much.

 

“I appreciate you faxing over these records before hand. It really helped me get some sense about the situation before you came today.”

 

“Oh, sure.”

 

“I will have to say that this isn’t going to be easy for either of you, but we’re going to try. I don’t know enough yet to be able to tell you much, but I’m hoping after a few weeks we’ll be able to start seeing a path to progress.” She says all of that while looking at me and then she moves her eyes to Sarah, takes off her glasses and smiles. “You’re a very, very special girl, and you’re very lucky to have someone like Justin to take care of you.”

 

I look at her. She doesn’t understand. Dammit lady, can’t you see? She doesn’t understand. She’s terrified.

 

“I’d like to uh, spend a bit of time alone with Sarah, if that’s ok.”

 

I dart my eyes to the doctor. Ok, I…I have to start thinking rationally here and I have to stop freaking out. I take a deep breath. I’m not sure if that’s the best idea. I mean, I figured it would happen when I talked to her on the phone a few days ago. I know she wants to see how Sarah is when I’m not around, but can’t we do that another day? What if she flips out and the doctor like puts her in a hospital for crazy people?

 

She’s not crazy. She’s not.

 

“She gets scared very easily.” I say slowly.

 

“I can see that,” Dr. Cantapolis nods and then turns to smile at Sarah. “But I’m here to be your friend and talk with you.”

 

I reach over and rub Sarah’s shoulder. She’s cowering in her seat, still chewing on her finger, staring at the doctor. “She doesn’t like it when people ask her lots of questions.”

 

“How about this…” She stands up and comes around the desk closer to where we are. “Sarah and I will sit here and have a talk and Justin’s can go outside…” She sits on the front of her desk and looks directly at Sarah. “And if you want him to come back at any time you just tell me and we’ll ask him to come back in.”

 

I nod. That’s a good idea. I’ll just be right out the door and if I hear her get upset I can come right in and make it better and we can leave. I don’t want to leave her by herself, but I know she needs this. Dr. Cantapolis is supposed to be phenomenal, and she at least needs a chance to figure Sarah out and see if she can help her. I stand up out of my seat and the next thing I know Sarah is hugging me.

 

“I don’t want you to go.”

 

I look at the doctor and she tries to smile at me, but I can see the worry in her eyes. I pat Sarah’s back, pull back from her and bend down to look her in the eyes. “Sarah, Lisa is really nice. She’s not like the doctors before.”

 

“I don’t want you to go.”

 

Shit, she’s crying. And the doctor isn’t even helping. She’s just staring at us, staring and…and I guess trying to see how I handle situations with Sarah, how we interact.

 

“I promise I’ll be right outside the door.” I smile at her and wipe her face for her. “I won’t be gone long.”

 

I pull away quickly and walk to the door. Dr. Cantapolis holds it open for me and smiles. “Thank you Justin. It’ll just be a few minutes.”

 

It closes behind me and I fall down into the chair beside the door and sink into a slouch. I cover my face and shake my head. “Shit.”

 

“You ok?”

 

I suck in a breath, sit up and lean forward with my elbows on my knees. I blow out the breath and shake my head before looking over at the man squeezed into the chair beside me. He’s flipping through a Newsweek. “What the hell am I doing, Mike?”

 

He shakes his head and moves his eyes back to the magazine. “I’m staying out of it.”

 

I sit up and turn a little to look at him. “Don’t.” He sighs at me and rubs his forehead. Everyone else has given me an opinion, told me what to do. He hasn’t. He hasn’t said a damn thing, just been there as a support and as protection, like always. But I need someone else to say something to me, to give me their opinion. As much as I hate it, as much as I want to scream every time someone tells me I’m crazy and say to me that I don’t know what I’m doing, right now I…I just need to hear it. I need to know what he thinks of me.

 

Of her…

 

“I mean, I’m crazy, right? What the hell am I doing trying to take care of and change someone like her?”

 

“I don’t know. But what else can you do?” He shrugs. “Ya know, the first time I saw you back in Africa and I heard that this was what you wanted to do, I seriously thought you were nuts.” He chuckles but I don’t. “But I kind of understand now. She definitely is attached to you and no one else. Not even Trace. She’s more comfortable around him than anyone else and I think she might be warming up to me. But you are her rock and maybe she needs to be taken away from you to be able to grow up or fix whatever it is. But maybe she can’t be fixed, Justin. You just handing her over to the government or a hospital as a special case, someone to study, well I kind of think that’s wrong.”

 

I take a deep breath. Shit. Finally. Someone’s on my side. “So you agree with me.”

 

“When she’s not being scared and weird she’s kind of charming, and she’s been through more shit than I can imagine. She needs to be around people that care about her.”

 

“I care about her.” I say and then realize I said it all defensive like, like he was accusing me of not caring about her. Shit, I’m jittery. I clamp my hand down on my knee so it quits bobbing up and down. Why am I such a nervous wreck right?

 

I hope she’s ok in there. It’s quiet. I hope she’s not freaking out.

 

“I know just, don’t let that take over, ok? I know you don’t want me to say this, but you’re not all better and fine. You’re still messed up over this, and you’re going to be and don’t assume you can just do this all yourself. You got a lot of people that care about you and want to help you. So let them.”

 

I take a few deep breaths. I could use a vacation, a getaway, hell a day golfing with Trace. But I can’t just do that anymore. I know he’ll ask me questions, he’ll want to talk, and when I say I don’t want to he’ll start talking about his wedding plans and I’ll get upset because, because I just will. I’ll be jealous that he can move on so quickly and that his life has become fucking perfect and mine’s torn apart.

 

And I’ll keep looking over my shoulder just to see if maybe someone’s watching, or if someone’s trying to get us. And then I’ll be paranoid that I’ll see something like a dead body floating in the algae covered golf lagoon and I’ll close my eyes and I’ll want to go home.

 

So yeah, maybe a vacation or golfing wouldn’t be a good idea. Maybe I just need to go home.

 

“I just can’t stand it when people keep telling me that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I’m taking on to much, that I should just send her away. They don’t even know! They weren’t there! They…they don’t know what happened, what I saw him do to her.” I shake my head at the mental images that are replaying over and over in my mind of him…him touching her. That bastard fucking touched her. “She doesn’t trust strangers and neither do I. I shouldn’t even let her be in there by herself. She’s probably freaking out!” I start to stand up but a firm hand pushes me back down.

 

“Breathe, calm down.” He says to me.

 

I cover my face and I try not to cry. Shit, this is bad. I shouldn’t be like this. The lady’s gonna think I’m a freak and unsuitable to take care of Sarah. I wipe my eyes quickly and sit up and ask him to hand me a magazine.

 

I read every fucking word of this damn Literary magazine, trying to pull my mind away from all this bull shit. ‘Cause that’s what my life is now, bull shit. I’m a fucking paranoid freak who’s scared to leaves his house. Yeah, ok I admit it. This morning Sarah wasn’t the only terrified one. I knew Mike was there, but what if someone had a gun and killed him and took us.

 

It’s just like, yeah this shit could happen, it probably won’t but it still could, to anyone. And it really does happen to people. People get shot and killed and kidnapped and tortured and most people don’t think about it and don’t even let it phase them and don’t worry about that kind of thing. I use to be one of those people.

 

I use to be a fool.

 

“Justin…” I force in a shaky breath and Mike puts his hand on my shoulder again. I look over. Oh…oh it’s just the doctor.

 

I’m still a fool.

 

I walk into the room and Sarah’s there, curled up in her chair, staring at something on her knee. She’s white still. I guess I’m kind of pale, too. Maybe I should take her outside more. Ya know, maybe teach her to swim or something, get some color on her. I bet she would look nice. She looks up at me, but doesn’t smile. “You ok?” I ask.

 

She just looks back down at her knee and starts to pick at it.

 

I plop down beside her and the doctor comes around and sits down at her desk, “Yeah, she’s fine. We talked a little bit and I think I’m ready to tell you my plan of action.” She laughs a little bit. Why the hell is she laughing?

 

“Ok…”

 

She turns her smile to Sarah and leans a little against her desk. “Sarah, I’m going to talk to Justin and you might not understand what I say, but we’re not saying anything bad, ok?” Sarah nods, but doesn’t look up from her knee. She has a scab there. How the hell did she hurt her knee and I not notice? Maybe when she shaved this morning. Yeah, I noticed that. She shaved in the bath. It was weird to see her do that and I’m not sure why.

 

Her legs were all covered with shaving cream, dangling over the edge of the tub. It…it made me feel strange. I wasn’t sure how to label the feeling.

 

I suck a breath and look back at the doctor. She’s now talking to me. “She’ll need to come by at least once a week for several, several months, if not more. I know that some of her previous doctors suggested that Sarah go to a rehab-type facility where she can learn to be a more mature person. But to me, it’s clear that Sarah has problems socializing and I know you don’t want to put her in a mental hospital. In fact, it’s not really that she has a chemical imbalance or that she’s even sick or anything like that. I don’t know if I would even call it brainwashing.” She puts her glasses back on, leans back in her chair and rocks for a bit. “In some factors Sarah has matured and she has an extremely high IQ, bordering genius, which might help explain the photographic memory. But as far as putting her in a hospital or a home, at this point I do not think that is a good idea. At all.” I let out a deep breath and look at Sarah. She’s smiling and staring at my sneakers. I look down. What the hell is she staring at? “Sarah needs to learn some basic things first. She needs to learn to be ok out of the environment that she was in and I’m happy that she seems really comfortable at your house. That’s a positive. But we don’t want her relying on you for everything and right now, that’s what she’s doing.”

 

It’s quiet and I nod. Well, that seems simple enough. Just continue with the talks and stuff. That…that’s not so hard. “So we’re just gonna keep bringing her to you?”

 

Doctor Cantapolis nods and smiles, glance at Sarah. Sarah’s now staring at her own shoes. “We had a nice talk and I think I might be able to help her. I’m not use to doing this but we need to get her some sort of tutor. She needs to be educated in the basic things. In most societies school is a tool that molds children and helps them grow and mature. Kids that do not go to school in other societies usually go off to work and that helps them mature. Sarah has had neither and I think getting her into an environment and routine of education will really help her. You’ll have to be a big factor in helping her with that. We can get you some lessons and materials that start on a kindergarten level. Actually, I think with her ability and IQ she probably will be able to learn very, very quickly. I will help as well in my sessions with her, but maybe once she gets a little more comfortable and accepting of other people, we can get someone that specializes in tutoring adults on a child-like level.” I had never even thought about that. I mean, I figured learning was part of it but not like an education. I mean, yeah, fucking idiot. The girl doesn’t even know how to write.

 

It seems that every time I think we’re figuring this out or we have a plan, suddenly there’s more to do and more I haven’t even thought about. I’ve got a migraine. “It’s going to be the hardest part Justin, the treating her like an adult. There are going to be times when you’ll almost have to resort to an authority figure with her to help her learn, but you need to try to treat her as an adult as much as possible. The more she is continued to be taught and talked to and treated as a child. the worse this is going get.”

 

“I’ll do everything I have to and everything I can and more.” I say. She smiles at me. It’s a nice smile, pretty I guess you could say. It kind of makes me at ease and comforts me a lot. Sometimes I feel like no one is on my side and now that I know Mike believes in me and that this doctor thinks I’m doing the right thing, that…that makes me feel better.

 

“I know you will and that leads me to something else.” Her smile drops. She swallows pretty noticeably, and looks down at a folder on her desk. She’s not looking me in the face. “I know I’m Sarah’s therapist and I have little place to ask you about this, but are you getting help Justin?”

 

“I…I have a doctor.”

 

Her brown eyes cut into me and force me to sit back against the chair. “Not for your physical injuries. Are you going to therapy?”

 

I look away and roll my shoulders back. Shit, I need to get this brace off. It’s really starting to itch. “I haven’t really had time to think about that yet.”

 

“Because I’m Sarah’s therapist, not yours, but I’m going to need you here. And there are going to be times when you are going to feel like I’m trying to be your therapist, but I have to do this because you are her guardian and you are her leader in this.” I nod. I feel like I’m being lectured by my mother. I’m starting to feel hot and lightheaded and that migraine won’t go away. “And she needs a strong leader and if you aren’t doing well, you need to get some help. You’ve been through a traumatic experience and don’t think that helping out Sarah and concentrating on her is going to push all that happened to you away. It’ll come back to haunt you and you do not want that to happen.”

 

“I’m taking care of myself.” I mumble.

 

“Good. Because you’re all she has. I’m here to help her but she depends on you and needs you and we’re gonna try get her out of that so she can grow and become her own self.”

 

I suck in a breath and look over at her, “Sarah would you like that? Would you like to watch some movies and get some books where you can draw in?” I look up at the doctor for a moment before moving back to Sarah. “She likes to draw. She’s really good...And you can learn some new stuff and I’ll help you.”

 

She smiles and nods. “Ok…”

 

I touch her shoulder a bit and rub it. She just starts to pick her scab again. I’d tell her to stop but I don’t know if I should or if she should learn it by herself. I…I don’t know anything. I look back at the doctor. “I think that would be good. I’ve just let her watch TV the past few days, ‘cause well, I didn’t really know what to let her do.”

 

She makes a strange face like she’s thinking for a moment and then nods quickly. “That’s probably not a bad idea. Granted it would be better to start her on a educated regime, and as horrible as television is for most kids, I think it’ll kind of shock her into another world and let her see other things other than a basement and a fantasy cartoon world. Maybe try to keep her on the more learning type channels, Discovery Channel and perhaps kid programs like the ones on PBS but…” She sigh and cringes slightly. “I think for Sarah’s case, stay away from the Disney channel simply because of the connection that has to her. It might spark her back into a routine and a mindset that she needs to get out of.”

 

I nod. That’s easy. There’s that channel blocker stuff on the tv. I’ll do that. “I can do that.”

 

She smiles at me and taps a pen against her desk. “Just a few more things and then I’ll let you guys go. Um, I’d like you to start keeping a journal.” She says to me. I kind of give her a shocked look. What the hell? “I know, I know this is a hard thing. But I think for your own self it’ll help you get out some frustration or emotion you have. But also you can keep a record of what Sarah does or says that confuses you or if makes progress or acts out. It you write it down, when we come back to our meetings you’ll be able to remember and let me know and that’ll help so much. And you can always call me, especially if she asks you something that you don’t know the answer of.” She bites her lip for a moment and starts to look uncomfortable. I don’t like that. She’s the doctor. She should be able to say whatever she wants. She’s the one in charge. She shouldn’t look uneasy. “Which leads me to something that uh, is a hard subject to approach…”

 

“And that is.” I say quickly.

 

She licks her lips, looks at Sarah for a bit and then turns and stares right at me. I feel like I’m about to get in trouble. “I’m sure you are aware she has no idea about sexuality.” I suck in a breath. Oh. “I don’t think she knows what the word sex means. And as a 21 year old she does have sexuality, its part of being a human being. It’s a physical thing we all have to deal with. She is going to have desire yet her brain might not recognize that as sexual, so she might act out. With Patrick…” I gulp. Why did she say his name? She just said it so casually. What the hell? What’s this bitch on? “He initiated all sexuality with her so it might not be a problem and she might not act out. But for you, as a man in his mid twenties, you need to make sure that you keep a strong distance from her in the sexual sense. I think if I had one worry about this situation it would be that. You’ve been through hell Justin and that can change people’s mind and not blaming you or saying you might try something on Sarah, but people can get very confused. Sitting here talking to her at times she seems like her age but she is clearly not at the capability of a twenty-one year old.” She looks at a notebook she has and runs a pen down it and then taps it against it. I wonder what’s on the notebook. I want to ask to see what she’s written down. “I probably won’t start discussing sexuality with her for a while because we have a lot to get through until we can tackle that, but if something comes up where she asks a question or behaves in a sexual way, just give me a call or write it down and we’ll figure out how to handle it, ok?”

 

I nod. I need to get out of here. I need some air. I need to go home and take a nap and lay with my dogs and maybe with Sarah and tone out today. Wait, I guess I can’t lay with Sarah cause that’s too close, that’s sexual. Shit, have I been doing things wrong? I don’t want her thinking I’m uncle. I need to calm down. Yeah, I just need to sleep. “O…ok.”

 

The doctor sighs and pushes back from her desk and smiles. “Well it was great finally meeting you two…” She stands up and sticks out a hand to me. I stand up and shake it and then she turns to Sarah. “And I’m really looking forward to helping you both. Sarah, I want us to become good friends, ok?”

 

She just stares and I pat her back and she scrambles up from her chair and stands next to me, looking up at me. I smile at her. “Lisa’s nice, isn’t she?”

 

She stares at me and nods, but doesn’t smile. “She doesn’t ask questions.”

 

I smile at her and look at the doctor, thankful we’re free and we’re going home and that it’ll all be ok. “Thank you Dr. Cantapolis.”

 

She smiles at me. “It’s Lisa to you both. I’m serious Justin, call me if you need me. And I will make house calls if necessary, but she needs to get out of the house so let’s try to keep bringing her here. And don’t fool yourself. Get someone you can talk to objectively, ok? I can recommend a lot of wonderful therapists if you need some help.”

 

I open the door and Mike stands up and looks in. Sarah laughs at him, pointing at his feet. He gives me a weird look and I just shrug. I don’t know what she’s doing. I have no idea what’s going on in her head and that reminds me of something and I quickly turn around and quietly say, “Ok, can…can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.” She nods, holding onto the door.

 

“Is it really, really bad?” She bites her lip and I rub my forehead a little. Shit, I need some Advil. “Like, is there a chance everything will, ya know, be normal?”

 

She sighs and shakes her head a bit. “Justin it’s never going to be normal. She’s never going to be a regular woman out in the world, but I believe we can help her become independent. And I think there is a good chance if we all work really hard, we can get her to think like her age. She’s a very special case and very special girl and we’re gonna get her some help. I promise you that.”

 

“Ok.” I just nod and start to walk out. I look at Sarah and put my hand on her back and she gives me a hug, a big one, squeezing me tight and smiling and singing my name to some melody in her head.

 

“You guys have a good afternoon. It was nice meeting you Sarah. I can’t wait for us to hang out again next week.” I smile and wave, thankful this is all over with. Until next week. We walk down the hall, past the front desk and out into the parking lot. It’s bright as hell out here, and I pull my sunglasses from where they are hooked into the neck of my shirt and put them over my eyes. Sarah’s still hanging onto me, singing to me.

 

She clutches me tighter when we get outside and I look at her. “Are you ok? Was that ok?”

 

She nods and says in a quiet voice, “She was nice.”

 

“She’s gonna help you, ok? She gonna help both of us.”

 

We get to the car and Mike unlocks the doors and I get in the backseat with her and see that she’s figured out her seatbelt herself. That makes me happy. Maybe she will be a fast learner. “I’m hungry.” She says to me.

 

“Me too. What do you want for lunch?” She shrugs, bounces a little in her seat and looks outside. Wow, she’s like a new person, not even terrified of outside. Maybe the therapy stuff really does work. I smile at her and whisper, “I kind of want pizza.”

 

She giggles and leans back against the seat and closes her eyes like she’s tired. She really is a pretty girl. I run my hand over her head and slide over to the middle seat in the car and put my arm around her to hold her. This isn’t sexual. I’m not even thinking sexual thoughts. I don’t know what the doctor was saying but this has to be ok. She sighs against me and laughs when my stomach rumbles and she puts her hand over my stomach. I tell Mike to take use home and he starts up the car and we start moving.

 

I amazed how quickly she falls asleep against me and I touch her arm and her head. I’m glad she’s getting help and even though Dr. Cantapolis said that she’ll never be fully ok, never be normal, it’s some peace of mind to know that she’s gonna get better. I want her to get better. I...I want to get better myself.

 

I know I’ll never fully be ok, either. I know that for the rest of my life I’ll probably be a paranoid freak, but I’ll have Sarah and we’ll get better together and one day everything will be all right. It just will. Everything will get better.

 

It has to.

Chapter 18

 

It’s quiet.

 

Lately, I don’t mind the quiet. Noises make me jump, make me question. Silence lets me think, think about what’s happening to me, what I’m becoming. It lets me wrap my brain around Sarah and try to really figure her out and figure out how to get in there and make her better. It’s like a blanket. It’s warm and comforting, except at night. At night it becomes cold and biting and it eats me alive. I’ve started to sleep with the TV on for just a dull noise to drown out the quiet. I still sleep with my dogs, but I’ve…I’ve made Sarah sleep in her own bed. She’s had a couple nightmares, but, but I was afraid of having her near me after what her therapist said about trying not to be sexual.

 

I feel like every time I look at her or I get near her I’m gonna do something and she’s going to attack me and start kissing me. I mean, I…I know that won’t happen. But I just can’t take the chance of doing something that he would have done, or something that would remind her of that. I mean, I haven’t even been able to get it up since…since before we were kidnapped. I guess that’s sick. I guess that means I’m more messed up than I realize. Just another piece of evidence that Justin is a freak.

 

Great.

 

But then again, I guess, if I was jacking off all the time I’d be fucked up, too. I’m sure Dr. Burke would love that.

 

The TV starts showing some people kissing so I pick up the remote and turn it to ESPN. I hear a sigh from the person sitting in the chair a few feet away. I look at him.

 

He’s quiet. Everyone is. And this, this is the type of quiet that I hate. The nighttime silence is horrible, but this makes me angry, this gets on my nerves. This doesn’t make me want to hide but makes me want to scream. It makes me want to hit something and run out and get in my car and drive as fast as I can, going nowhere, just going. I’d love to get away. I’d love to take Sarah and get away. I told that to Dr. Cantapolis. I think I scared her. She said that would mess Sarah up even more. I know she’s right. But, but I just want to get away. A vacation wouldn’t be that bad.

 

A vacation got me here, in this hell.

 

She said I was running away. She’s right, but it doesn’t make the desire for it lessen. Running away isn’t always a bad thing.

 

But I guess with all the progress Dr. Cantapolis claims Sarah is doing it would be bad. But I’m not making any progress. And it’s only been a fucking week. How much progress can happen after two therapy sessions?

 

I shouldn’t be complaining. I should be rejoicing that she’s getting better, that she’s improving more in her lessons and opening up more than her therapist thought she would. I should be happy. But I haven’t seen a change, yet. She’s still shy, quiet Sarah to me. Sometimes seems like she’s my age, especially when she stares at me, but then she opens her mouth and starts to smile.

 

And it’s clear she’s a five or six year old or whatever she’s supposed to be.

 

I stretch my arms over my head, glad that the pain I normally feel with that movement on my right side is finally starting to really fade away. I’ve got a week more in this damned brace. I yawn, making a loud noise that makes her giggle. I just can’t stand that silence. It’d be ok if it was just Sarah and I, if we were just here on the couch together, the dogs under the coffee table, watching TV. But no, we aren’t alone. Trace and Elisha are here and they aren’t talking. They’re just sitting, watching TV with us and it really, really annoys me. Trace is on the chair and Elisha is on the other couch barely paying attention to the TV, but not looking at me. I know they want something. I knew as soon as he called me and said, “Hey, can we come over to hang out,” I knew right then something was up. I should have told him “no” but then Sarah asked what I was doing. I told her I was talking to Trace and she squealed and said she missed him and wanted to see him.

 

When he came in the house she cowered behind me, smiling, but wouldn’t say hi or hug him or anything. She hasn’t even talked to him. She’s only stared blankly at Elisha.

 

She seems weird around other women. She’s ok around her doctor, but we actually talked about it, Lisa and I. She feels much more comfortable around men, yet at the same time men scare her more than women. It’s almost as if she had no real connection to her own sex. She’s still just kind of staring at Elisha. I mean, it’s not creepy, I don’t think so. She’s not staring her down, but I’ve caught her looking at her a little bit.

 

At one point she sat up on the couch and made herself sit just like Elisha was, with one leg curled under her and the other hanging off the end of the couch. It weirded me out, so I got her attention by petting the couch and making the dog jump up in between us so she would be distracted. It worked. Her and Franco seem to have some bond. I think he likes her more than me now.

 

Dr. Cantapolis said Sarah’s connection with the dogs is a positive thing. She was also happy that Sarah seemed to have some memory of the alphabet and of numbers. Apparently she had gone to pre-school and kindergarten and had some retention of that knowledge. But it’s strange, she has no real memory of colors and can’t distinguish them by word. But she knows how to color a picture. She knows to use the green pencil for trees and grass and the light blue one for sky. In fact, the doctor has told me to encourage her drawing. Last night we went out on the porch and I sat there with my guitar, something…something I haven’t done in months and she sat on the floor with a pad and some pencils and sketched my backyard and some other scenes that must have been in her head. Then she drew me lying in the lounge chair, strumming and humming along. I didn’t figure out anything new, I just played some old songs. Nothing original would come to me. I almost freaked my self out about that. What if nothing original ever comes again?

 

What if I can’t sing again or write music?

 

I…I hadn’t even really thought about playing music until that night. I hadn’t listened to a record or the radio or anything. I almost freaked myself out. I stopped playing and almost had a panic attack. But Sarah smiled at me and told me not to stop playing.

 

I think she liked my singing and my guitar. At least I hope so. I played for hours.

 

It was nice too, to be outside, even though we were only five feet from the door inside my house. Maybe, maybe we’ll do that again tonight. I guess it’ll depend on how long the happy couple decides to grace us with their presence.

 

They might be sitting several feet apart on separate seats but damn, it’s like just fucking rub it in my face that your damn lives are perfect. Shit, shit I know that’s unfair. It’s not like I’m not happy to see Trace, I mean, sure we’ve been through so much together and ya know, he’s my best friend.

 

But I just can’t talk to him like I use to because I know he doesn’t approve of what I’m doing with Sarah. There’s been times before when I’ve done things he hasn’t agreed with but, but this is different. For some reason this is a hell of a lot different. This is serious and I just, it’s not fucking fair that he gets to come back and be happy and laughing and shit and get married to his dream girl and everything while I’m stuck all alone with a girl who doesn’t know a damn thing.

 

I suck in a breath.

 

I don’t mean that. I really don’t. She knows a lot. For her situation and everything that’s happened to her, she’s so fucking smart and she’s trying. She really is trying so hard. And I’m not alone, I have Mike around a lot and my mom calls me even though I sometimes avoid her and…and I got Sarah. So I’m not alone. And I could have had my dream girl with me and been happy if I was a selfish asshole and if I could just forget everything that happened down there. But I can’t. I can’t forget about it like he has. I can’t just move on.

 

I’m trying my best and, and I can’t just forget about Sarah like he has. I can’t just leave her to make her own way. I have to be the one to help her. I just do.

 

But it doesn’t mean that he and Elisha should rub it in my face that they are so fucking in love and shit. I mean yeah, they aren’t even looking at each other or sitting together but I can just tell, just sense it that they are all perfect together. They always have been. Even before it all happened. I was always the one with problems. I was always complaining to him about Cameron or always telling him how I fucked up with her. And he’d listen and be great and then laugh and say he had to go meet up with his girl for drinks or had to go fuck her or something because their relationship was fan-fucking-tastic.

 

I hate it.

 

I hate it because I know better. I know that there is nothing in this damn world that perfect, and one of these days it’s gonna blow up in their faces and he’s gonna be alone and fucked up just as much as I am. I just wish he could know that now because it’s gonna be harder to deal with later.

 

I take my attention off the screen that’s playing some shampoo commercial and look at Elisha. She’s sitting up off the couch glancing at Sarah and then smiling at me and then Trace. “Anybody want anything to drink?”

 

I need a moment myself and wave at her before sitting up and stretching. “I’ll get it, what do you guys want?”

 

Trace glances at me, but he doesn’t really look at me, just moves his head so I assume he’s acknowledging me. He hasn’t acknowledged me since I opened the door. “A beer for me.”

 

“Water’s fine.”

 

I ignore Elisha and glare at Trace’s head. He’s still staring at the TV, paying me no mind, like he just doesn’t even care. Whatever. I can’t believe he comes here asking for a beer. I don’t keep alcohol in my house anymore. I’m not…I’m not allowed. Dr….Dr. Lisa and Dr. Burke say it’s not good with Sarah around and with me being…unstable. Bull shit.

 

I don’t know why I followed through with it. I deserve a night of getting fuck faced. Too bad I got bigger responsibilities now. “I don’t have beer. You’ll have to settle for water, juice or coke.”

 

“Water’s fine.” He shrugs and continues to stare at the TV.

 

I walk into the kitchen and lean myself against the wall there where they can’t see me. I wish they would leave. I wish they’d just do whatever they need to do to make themselves feel better. I know they feel like I’m some old lady or some kid that has cancer and they are “visiting” out of obligation. I use to have to do that shit with my mom when I was a kid. I hated it. And I wish they’d just stop and get over it and get out. I wanna help Sarah with her lessons and those DVDs to help her learn stuff came in the mail today and I wanna pop them in and see what they are all about and work on them with her.

 

I push myself off the wall, the sooner I get them drinks the sooner I can make up some shit that I have to do and get them out of here.

 

I pull out some glasses and walk to the fridge.

 

“Lemme help, ok?”

 

I jump at the sound of her voice and glance at her with narrowed eyes before turning around again and opening the door. “I’ve got it.”

 

The cool air feels good and I just stand there for a moment with my eyes closed, letting my body relax. I ignore her and finally open my eyes and pull out the carton of juice and a couple bottles of water.

 

“Justin…” I hear her say my name and then I feel her touch me. I jump and look down at her. She’s beside me, looking up at me with this face full of concern, her blonde hair pulled back just like Cameron use to do. She doesn’t even know. She doesn’t care. She’s just faking it. Her lips let out a sigh and she smiles at me. “How are you doing?”

 

Ya know, I’ve always found Elisha attractive. I always told Trace he sure did land a pretty one with her. But right now she’s a little too close to me. It’s not like I ever thought she’d want me that way and I’ve never thought of her that way, but now, it’s like she’s trying to come onto me. Fuck, I don’t need her. I don’t need Cameron. I don’t need some girl ruling my life and shit.

 

“I’m fine,” I say to her and start to poor Sarah and I some orange juice.

 

“Why won’t you talk to him?”

 

I set the carton down a little harder than I intended and look down at her. Her eyes are rounded. They blink at me and I say very slowly because it seems like whenever I try to explain myself to anyone lately they don’t understand and they can’t comprehend. “‘Cause I can’t just forget it like he has, ok? I can’t just move past it. I’ve got more important things to deal with now with Sarah around. I have to worry about her, not him.”

 

She shakes her head. “He hasn’t forgotten it. He’s not past it. He barely sleeps. But he’s trying. Dammit, Justin you should try, too. How’s therapy going?”

 

I rub my forehead and turn so I’m resting back against the counter. “She’s doing great. The doctor thinks she….”

 

“Not her, you…”

 

“Oh…..”

 

I lick my lips and cross my arms over my chest, staring at the clock on the microwave on the other side of the wall above the stove. They’ve been here two hours, it’s been too long and I want them out. I don’t want her prying, hell I don’t even want him prying. I know he doesn’t give a shit. I don’t care if she says he barely sleeps, neither do I. At least he’s getting fucking married.

 

“Well?”

 

“It’s alight.” I shrug and lie through my teeth. I hate therapy. I hate it with a passion. I’ve been twice, well the doctor’s come here twice because I told him I can’t leave Sarah. He thinks that I’m stupid for keeping her. He hasn’t said it but I know he thinks it. He tries to make jokes, tries to get me to smile. It doesn’t work. And he’s always fucking disorganized, always looking for a fucking pen, always sitting on my couch, shifting around like he’s unsure and scared. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He says I’m in denial. Denial over fucking what? It’s not like I don’t admit I was kidnapped. I know I was, I know I was down there. I know what I saw and what I experienced. Doctor fucking Burke doesn’t know shit. All he’s knows is what he got to get a fucking degree, what he read in a god damn book. He doesn’t know anything about me, or Sarah or my situation.

 

I think I might cancel therapy tomorrow. The last thing I need right now is one more person telling me I need help, that I’m not well, that I’m fucking nuts, that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

 

I’m fucking trying, aren’t I?

 

“Have you even gone!?”

 

I lock my jaw. I could hit something. I could just punch something until they bleed. I wanna see him fucking bleed. It’s not fair that they shot him easily with one fucking bullet. They should have kept him alive so I could have killed that son of a bitch with my own hands. I suck in a breath through my nostrils and let it out, speaking low, “Yes, I’ve fucking gone, so back off ok? I’m not your fiancé and you aren’t my mother so stop treating me like it.”

 

“Calm down. I’m not attacking you.” She’s right. I need to just, just fucking calm down. I take a few breaths and turn to grab my oj, gulping it down quickly. Shit, I almost really lost it. I need to stop that. I need to keep myself in check. I just, sometimes I just get so mad and…and seeing Trace and Elisha, it…it makes me fucking jealous as hell.

 

Elisha leans up beside me and nudges me, smiling again, “Look, Trace and I are going to Hawaii in a few weeks. He wants to get away and just live his life and…and we want you to come with us…” She smiles again, a far off sparkle or something in her eye, something I haven’t seen since we’ve gotten back, something, something I haven’t seen in a women before all this. Sometimes women get this look in their eyes, maybe it’s just the reflection, maybe men have it too and I just don’t notice it. But I haven’t seen it in my mother, and Sarah doesn’t have it, but now, now Elisha is getting it back.

 

I frown. I should be happy for her. I should hug her and tell her I’m so glad she’s gonna marry my best friend and make him happy, but I’m not. I’m not happy for her. I can’t stand it.

 

“Wouldn’t that be great? Remember when we all went last time,” she says.

 

“I’m not with Cameron anymore. It’s not gonna be like it use to be.”

 

She bites her lip, and I know she’s trying to choose her words carefully, “I know that. But you could use the rest and the relaxation. I promise you won’t be the third wheel. Plus, when you guys go golfing I’ll be as far away as possible.”

 

I stand there for a minute and think about it. Maybe, maybe it wouldn’t be bad. I mean I’ve always loved Hawaii. Maybe, maybe I’d have the energy to go surfing or golfing like she says. And I could just sleep in and enjoy myself. If I could get the doctors in on it. It…it would be nice, get Sarah away from this, show her the world. I chew on my lip and nod, “I wouldn’t be the third wheel. That…that might be a good idea. I mean I’d have to clear it with Dr. Lisa, but yeah. Sarah can come too, and she can see more than just my house and maybe get out. Go to that same private place we were before so it’s more secluded. Yeah…that’s…”

She cuts me off. “Sarah can’t come Justin.”

 

I just stare at her. What? I know she’s not about to do this. I know she’s not about to pull this on me. She has no right, no place.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know how to say this but, but you’ve changed.”

 

I could kill her myself. I close my eyes and clench my fist, calm down Justin, calm the fuck down. “I was fucking kid-”

 

“No Justin, don’t use that as an excuse. Trace has changed too, but the guy I love is still there. You….you’re different. What do you think you can do with her? Do you really think you’re the one that can bring her back to reality? She’s nuts Justin…she…”

 

I turn and stare right at her, inches away. She’s short just like Sarah, but she’s not helpless and she’s not unsure. She should know fucking better than to mess with me right now. “Shut up, Elisha. You have no fucking…”

 

She breathes deeply and inches out from me and away, walking over to the sink and gazing out at the window that looks out over the side of my yard. “I’m worried about you. We all are.” She looks at me. “I talked to your mother, she’s a fucking wreck. She….we went to lunch, her and Trace and I and she gave us these pamphlets…” She reaches behind her and I’m surprised I didn’t notice them until now. She’s got a couple pieces of paper folded up and sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans. She hands them to me. I don’t want to take them. I don’t want to. “She wanted us to see if we could just, get them in your hands. She wants you to look at them.”

 

“What is this?” I glance down at them and read, “Brooke Farms Rehabilitation Community” I look at the next one and see, “Sunrise Ranch: Home for Women.”

 

I glance up at Elisha. She has got to be kidding.

 

Dear God, please tell me she’s kidding before I lose it on her.

 

I’m seriously about to lose it. I can feel it bubbling up. I can feel myself, like I’m watching it in slow mo, I can feel myself get angrier and angrier and angrier and angrier.

 

I can’t stop staring at her and I clench my teeth so hard it starts to hurt.

 

“Come to Hawaii with us Justin and leave her at one of these places. Let them help make her better. They’re professionals, they know what they are doing. It’s their job. She is not your job Justin. She’s not your daughter or your sister or your girlfriend. She’s not related to you, she’s not a part of you. You need to work on yourself before you even attempt trying to work on anyone else. And even then she’s not your responsibility.”

 

I blink at her. “Get out.” I can’t think of anything else to say, and she needs to get out of my face, my house, my fucking life before I do something I sure as hell am gonna regret.

 

“What?”

 

“Get out of my house.”

 

She shakes her head and touches my arm. She fucking touches my arm. “Justin…”

 

I yell at her, I know I shouldn’t but…but I do and I shake those stupid pamphlets at her until she takes them. I don’t wanna touch them. I don’t want them even near me. “Get out! Take your fucking pamphlets and tell my mother that until she has the guts to talk to me and tell me she thinks I’m a freak herself, then she needs to stop using you as her little messenger. Until then I don’t want to see her, or you, or Trace. You got that? I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do. You don’t know. You weren’t there. You have no fucking clue what went on. So don’t preach to me about scampering off to Hawaii to run away and forget everything. I can’t just forget her. I can’t just drop her off at fucking adult daycare and say ‘good luck’, and go get a fucking tan and golf with you and Trace. I can’t do that! And if you don’t understand that, that’s fine, then you can just get the fuck out of my life.”

 

She stares at me and takes a breath and then says slowly, “You’re right, I wasn’t there Justin. I have no idea. But that man in there, he does. He knows what went down. He was there with you every minute and you’re shutting him out and you’re breaking him a part.”

 

I step closer to her, feeling good about myself when I tower over her. She’s just a little girl, she doesn’t even know anything. She knows nothing. So fucking naïve. “But he’s got you, right? He seems fine to me, all smiles and happy and getting fucking married. Next thing you know you’ll be popping out a few with a nice house and a fenced in yard, perfect and everything. He can run away from everything for all as I care, but I have more important things to deal with. I’ve got Sarah and I’m not just gonna hand her over like some puppy to the fucking pound. You’re right she’s not related to me, but she is a fucking part of me that I have to make better Elisha. I have to make her better, for my own sake.”

 

She laughs at me.

 

She actually fucking laughs at me. “You’ve lost it.”

 

I smile in her fucking face and call out, “Trace….”

 

A moment later I can see him approach us out of the corner of my eyes and he says casually, “Yup?”

 

I grab Elisha’s shoulders and push her towards Trace. She stumbles a little bit of the way and I just shake my head. “Get your girl and get the fuck out of my house.”

 

“What….whoa,” He grabs her a little bit and she just shakes her head like she’s trying to brush me off, like I’m a fucking disease. He gets a protective look in his eyes and comes up to me and pushes me a little bit. What the fuck is he gonna do? Really? Trying to protect his fucking girl from some big bad Justin who’s gone crazy? He’s naïve as much as she is. He couldn’t do shit to me. “Back the fuck off, ok?”

 

“Get out, now.”

 

“What the hell are you on?”

 

I lick my lips and tower over him, staring him down. “Don’t do this right now, Trace. I’m serious.”

 

“R-right…” He crumbles. The protective, angry face he had on fades and he shifts his eyes to the ground and cowers away.

 

That’s what I fucking thought.

 

“Well, I’ll…I’ll call you later,” he stumbles, grabbing Elisha’s hand and walking out of my kitchen and towards the foyer.

 

“Don’t bother….” I go to walk in front of them and hold open the front door for them, glad they are leaving, happy they are getting the fuck out of my house, out of my god damn life. “Go have a nice fucking vacation. Hope it’s all that you dreamed of!”

 

They walk out and Trace turns around to look at me or say something.

 

I slam the door in his fucking pathetic face.

 

It echoes in my house and I turn around angrily. I need to hit something, or run, or I don’t know. I just need to do something physical and…

 

I look up. She’s staring at me, those brown eyes huge and staring right at me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did she see that? Did she see me get in that rage? Fuck, I can’t…I can’t do this. I can’t just blow up like this because she’ll…she’ll freak out.

 

“J-Justin?”

 

She says my name in a question, like she doesn’t know if it’s really me, like I’m possessed with someone she’s afraid of. Like, like I’m him. Fuck.

 

I step towards her and she steps back. “Sarah…” I sigh and look right at her. God, please don’t cry. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You got mad.” Her voice is small.

 

“Yeah, yeah I did. But I’m ok now.”

 

“Did he do something bad?”

 

“Wh-what? No…” I shake my head and come closer to her, moving quickly so she can’t back away. I want her to know I’m not bad. Shit, just…just ‘cause I got upset and mad doesn’t mean I’m bad. “No. I’m just, I’m just frustrated.”

 

“Because of me.”

 

I pull her into me, tired of watching her look down at the floor, defeated and depressed. I don’t care if I’m getting to close, I need her with me. She latches onto me tightly, like she’s been needing this and missing this. “Sarah, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just trying hard to make you better, and not everyone understands that because they think I need to get better before I can help you. But, but why can’t we do this together, like as a team? I think that’s the best way, together.”

 

“I like that.”

 

“Me too. I’m sorry I got so upset.” I run my hand over her hair. I’ve been meaning to get her that haircut. I haven’t yet, but her hair is different than it was before. She brushes it now. Dr. Lisa told me she was going to try and teach Sarah some basic female grooming things that as an adult woman she needs to know. I didn’t even think about things like that. Her hair is silky now and smooth, instead of limp and stringy like it was before. “I want you to know that, that I’d never hurt you. I get angry and frustrated, but, but I’m not gonna turn into him.”

 

“I know. You’re my friend, you’re good.” She keeps her arms around me but pulls back and smiles up at me brightly, her eyes…her eyes shining. “Me and Lisa talked about how you are different.”

 

I stare at her and she buries her face in the front of my t shirt. I don’t know what that means. “Oh…”

 

I don’t know if I like that. I don’t know if I want to be different. I don’t want to be him, I don’t want her to think I’ve taken uncle’s place or that I’m trying to be him, but….but I don’t want to be different. I want to be normal again, I want to be me.

 

I guess I was never normal to begin with.

 

“Can I work in my books some more?”

 

I nod at her. She really does like her workbooks. I normally have to tell her what she has to do since she can’t really read directions yet. I have this workbook that goes along with it to like, help me teach her. It’s weird, it’s really like teaching a child. Maybe, maybe we can sit outside and she can work on that and I’ll write in my journal and help her. Yeah, yeah that’ll be relaxing.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll help.” I nod at her and feel her pull away, but she holds my hand in hers and it makes me feel safe and it makes me feel comforted. I’m glad that, that even though I can almost lose it, she’s there to pull me back. Shit, why is she pulling me back?

 

I thought that was my job. I thought I was supposed to be helping her, not…not the other way around.

 

I’m a mess a fucking mess.

 

And it’s just getting worse.

 

Why is it getting worse?

Chapter 19

 

I honestly can say that right now, in this moment I’m at peace. I guess that’s a strange thing for someone to say, but I think when you’ve been through what I have, when—when you’re still going through what I am a moment of peace is a monumental occasion. It’s warm outside, very warm, and the sun is harsh. But it’s quiet. There’s a small breeze ruffling the trees and I can hear birds and insects scattered about my back yawn.

 

Roscoe barks and I open my eyes behind my shades and see that he’s chasing a squirrel.

 

She’s laughing.

 

I’m sure no one else has noticed, ‘cause no one else has heard, but it’s changing. Her laugh is changing. It’s fuller now. She still giggles, but her laughter is louder now, deeper. I stare at her back. I made her put on this straw hat I bought her and I made her sit underneath the table with the large canopy umbrella overhead. I can’t have her getting burnt again.

 

She’s still rather pale, but last week we came out here and did this for the first time, we came outside and sat all afternoon. I fell asleep in my lawn chair and when I woke up she was asleep as well on the lawn chair next to me. She got burnt pretty bad. We spent the next few days inside and I had to show her how to put lotion and this aloe cream stuff on her body. She was wearing a tank top and shorts outside and she was lobster red. I even had to help her put some of it on her upper back because she couldn’t reach back there.

 

The red has finally turned into a slightly darker shade and now, amazingly, she doesn’t look so ghost-like. She’s still pale, but she looks healthier. She’s gaining weight, too. It’s not like she’s getting fat, but she has more of an appetite now. I don’t really keep junk food in my house so she’s eating better food than CapriSuns and Cheese Balls. I think she’s gaining muscle, too.

 

I haven’t really had the desire to work out much, but I’ve done it a few times this past week and she’s liked to watch me. One time she wanted to get on some of my equipment so I put it on the lowest setting and helped show her how to do it. After about five lifts she looked at me with a worried face and asked, “Why do you do this? It’s not fun.” I laughed so hard, harder than I have in a really, really long time. I didn’t try to explain it to her, I just told her it helped your body be stronger. I wasn’t able to do any type of physical or strenuous stuff with my brace on, and I know I’m still not supposed to do it for a while now that my brace is off. But my weights and machines have been an outlet kind of.

 

That and my journal. I always thought that it was a gay idea and even though Dr. Cantapolis was the one to suggest it and even though it was mostly supposed to be about Sarah and her progress and setbacks, I’ve found myself writing about everything, about what happened to me, about what happened to my relationships now that it’s over, about how I use to be, about shit that happened to me when I was little that I didn’t realize I had kept with me. I’m halfway through my second journal already.

 

Sarah likes to draw a lot, and most of the time when she does I’ll write in my journal. I ordered her some supplies a few weeks ago and they came last week. Well, I made Mike go get them and had Todd come over and spend some time with us. I figured Mike probably would want to go on some errands, get away, get out of the guest house. Since Trace is in Hawaii or wherever and hates my guts, I can’t really ask him to do anything for me or run any errands. And my mother has given up on me. Now I’m waiting for the day when Mikes tells me he can’t do it anymore either; he can’t just be a watch dog. The next thing you know I’ll go through all my security, everyone I trust and I’ll be alone with Sarah and terrified. Maybe, maybe by then I’ll be ok, I’ll be able to be out in the world without someone protecting me.

 

I doubt it.

 

I spent almost 700 dollars and two hours on the internet and then on the phone ordering paints and canvases and charcoal and top of the line paper and colored pencils. She was amazed. She acted like it was Christmas, ya know, when a kid gets something they’ve really wanted but had convinced themselves they wouldn’t get. She was shocked and wouldn’t touch them at first. But she’s learned how to use them easily. I helped her set up the easel. It’s what she’s been doing all afternoon today, painting. It’s amazing though, she never paints anything she hasn’t seen. Today she’s painting my backyard, the other day she charcoaled the back of my house, though she doesn’t really understand how charcoal blends and bleeds yet. She still did better than I could ever try to do.

 

She’s changing, slowly. She’s losing a lot of her childish behaviors faster than I could ever imagine, but I can’t really say that she’s growing up. Dr. Cantapolis got Sarah a tutor, Ms. Donley. She’s really old, but she reminds me of my grandmother and treats Sarah with respect and is very sweet to her. She doesn’t come to the house but meets at Lisa’s office twice every week. We spend almost six hours there every week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. The first hour me and Sarah have sessions together with Lisa and then I go out for about an hour. I usually sit there with Mike and write in my journal or read whatever magazines are there. Mike has started bringing books with him. I just don’t like to read as much as him, maybe I should try and start. I usually go back in after a while and Dr. Cantapolis wraps up our session. Ms. Donley shows up and the four of us all work together for a bit, and then Dr. Cantapolis does paper work and I sit in the corner and watch them or write while Ms Donley helps Sarah. We tried another location, a bigger, more comfortable meeting room down the hall from Dr. Cantapolis’s office, but Sarah clamed up and did better work in the office.

 

Ms. Donley wasn’t the first tutor, though. There was this gentleman in his 40s who I didn’t really find anything wrong with. But Sarah wouldn’t look at him, or talk to him. Lisa said that maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was around the age of…of him.

 

So we got an older woman and it’s worked. Ms. Donley never, ever asks questions.

 

Sarah really is improving.

 

It’s quiet again. Sarah’s stopped laughing, Franco is under the table where she is and Roscoe is over in the flower bed near the south side of the lawn, taking a shit. I wish I were a dog. I wish I could just eat and sleep and play and breathe and be happy.

 

I bite my lip.

 

Dammit, not again you pussy.

 

I suck in a breath and sit up. Don’t fucking do this.

 

Lately…lately I’ve kind of had this problem. I don’t know what it is, but sometimes I just get watery eyes and I can’t stop it. I mean, I think I’m ok, as ok as someone can be after what happened to me. I guess I get lonely. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m fine, I’m fucking fine. I have Sarah and Mike, and even though my mom left me, well I guess I kind of pushed her away, whatever…She still calls and leaves me messages. And I know Mike keeps her updated.

 

They think I’m blind. They think I don’t realize. But I know damn well Mike’s a spy.

 

I push my index fingers under the rim of my sunglasses and wipe roughly. I gotta stop this. I’m good when he’s not around. I haven’t cried in front of Mike, but he’s not as clueless as Sarah. Sarah can be so into the TV or her artwork or the dogs that she won’t notice me sitting there, staring at her, bawling my fucking pathetic eyes out.

 

And when I see her start to notice me I can always get up fast and make a dash into the other room.

 

It’s just not fucking fair. It’s not fucking fair that my mom can just go back to Tennessee and be ok and that Trace can go off to Hawaii and be ok and I’m stuck and I can’t go anywhere. I can’t go anywhere.

 

And all I fucking want to do is get away.

 

Oh God, stop it.

 

I pull my legs up and bend forward, my arms over my knees. I hate it when it comes like this, just waves and waves of sobs that I can’t stop. I try to be as quiet as I can. But I feel like I can’t breathe.

 

I can’t breathe.

 

They all just, they just expect me to get over it like them. Even my fucking management that calls me every week, wondering when I’m coming back into the studio, wondering when I’m gonna make an appearance, wondering when I’m gonna get back to my life.

 

Well this is my fucking life now!

 

She’s my fucking life and…and I’m god damn tired of everyone telling me otherwise.

 

Live your own life, Justin. You can’t help her. You can’t change her.

 

Oh hell fucking yes I can!

 

You have to think about yourself.

 

I’m really just waiting for the fucking day my mom comes up here with two men, a gurney and a straightjacket. She knows I haven’t gone to my therapy. I went once, hated it. Went twice and didn’t make another appointment.

 

I don’t need fucking therapy. What the hell can he do for me? What the hell could he do for a fucked up mind like mine.

 

I’ve got bigger things to worry about. I’m the least of my worries.

 

I just gotta…I gotta figure out how to stop this sudden stupid crying that’s been happening to me.

 

A distraction, I need a fucking distraction. Maybe, maybe I’ll call someone. Maybe mom can just talk to me about random stuff. No, no I’m the last person she wants to be bothered with I’m sure. I can’t call Trace even though Mike told me I should, told me that he’s the only person I can relate to. Yeah, right. Trace thinks Sarah is a retard and is all getting married and shit. And he’s off on vacation, in Hawaii, getting tan and surfing and eating good food and fucking his little fiancée every night.

 

And here I am, going to therapy and tutoring lessons for Sarah, in LA, annoyed with the hot sun, anxious every fucking second of my life, trying my best to form some appetite and trying to feel normal again. But I can’t. I can’t be normal ever again.

 

The other night I was in bed. Sarah had gone to bed early and I went to my room and laid there forever, unable to sleep. I turned on the TV and channel surfed. It landed on Showtime and I know, it’s pathetic, but I started getting so angry with myself because I couldn’t even get slightly amused or aroused by it. I mean, I’ve never really enjoyed porn. I always thought it was ridiculous. So I shut it off and laid there and tried to think of all the hottest times I’ve ever had sex. I know it sounds so fucking weird, but I tried my best to jack off.

 

I couldn’t even get hard.

 

And Trace is off fucking his fiancée.

 

And I’m here ignoring Cameron’s calls.

 

I breathe in deep and reach to pick up the phone that’s lying underneath my lawn chair. I put it there so it wouldn’t be directly in the sun. I look at my phone and see two missed calls. I hope they aren’t what I think they are. I also have two voicemails. I debate whether or not I should answer them. Depending on who they are and what they want I just, I don’t know if I can handle it right now.

 

I’ve stopped doing that weird crying thing.

 

Roscoe licks my bare foot and then I hear her say softly, “Roscoe, come here. Roscoe…” It’s sing-songy and I’d give anything to be that happy. He immediately trots over to her and I see her smile and kiss his forehead and pet him.

 

I dial my voicemail and then enter the password.

 

“Message 1. Today at, 10:43 a.m.—” It clicks and it’s silent.

 

“Please, please stop ignoring me.” I grip my fist. You think she’d learn by now. “I can’t…I can’t handle this Justin. I’m fucking having panic attacks. I blame myself for this. I…I’m losing it. I just need to hear your voice and hear that you’re doing ok.” She pauses. “I miss you.” I can hear her crying on the other end and it fucking makes me want to throw up, or throw the phone or something.

 

I hate her.

 

She should blame herself. She should have panic attacks. She should lose it. If she thinks that hearing me say “I’m ok” and lie to her fucking face is gonna make her feel better, fuck her. I don’t need her and her bitchy, selfish attitude. Trace told me I should get back with her. He told me that now’s when I need her the most. Funny, when we were down in the fucking basement he told me he thought she was a shady ho.

 

Fucking hilarious.

 

Mom bothered me about it, about why I broke up with her. She apparently could see through the whole “I just can’t handle it right now” bull shit I was passing her. Even though it really wasn’t bull shit. I finally told her that Cameron was very selfish on the phone when I made a ransom call to her.

 

My mom sided with her of course, claiming that’s how anyone would have acted during such a call. She said I couldn’t have expected her to be all sweet.

 

Sweet?

 

I didn’t want my girlfriend to be sweet.

 

I wanted her to give a damn about me.

 

I erase the message before it’s even finished. She had been rambling about how much she loved me and wanted to go away with me and that she’d do anything and shit. I just couldn’t stand it.

 

“Message 2, Today at 2:52 p.m—Justin! Hey, me and Stephen miss you.” I swallow, hard.

 

Fuck.

 

“Dad says you should come home and stay with us for a while. He says we should go camping. Oh, guess what? I made the basketball team. I know, I’m pretty awesome. I worked really hard because well, I promised you that’d I’d be pro by sixteen. Maybe you can come see some of the games next fall. Mom says hi and that she loves you and, hold on. What…” I can hear background noise. The sound of a TV and of Stephen singing and yelling. “Ok mom! She says call her or something.” He sighs again and I can hear him and Stephen arguing. “Hold on, hold on!”

 

Suddenly Stephen’s laughter feels my ear and I hear a deep breath expel into the phone and then really quickly, in a loud voice he says, “Jon smells like poop!” I can hear Lisa yelling at him in the background. “Stephen Timberlake! You bring your butt back here right now!”

 

Jon comes back on the line and says quickly, before hanging up, “I gotta go, mom’s about to spank Stephen.”

 

“You have no more new messages, press star for more options, press pound to—”

 

I snap the phone close.

 

I’m shaking.

 

I bite my lip and try to swallow the heaviness in my throat, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this.

 

I drop my phone on the brick beside me and pull my knees up against my chest and start to cry. I can’t control it. I’m shaking and I’m sobbing, and…and holy shit.

 

I…I fucking miss my brothers so bad.

 

I miss my family so, so very bad.

 

I don’t know why I haven’t just gone back to Tennessee, yet. Gone and hid from the world there, instead of here, where I’m all fucking alone. I miss my grandma and granddad.

 

I miss my momma.

 

I just don’t want them to see me like this. I know they know I went through shit but, but I just don’t want them to know this…this. I don’t want to pull them down with me. ‘Cause it’s a place you can’t come back from. It’s a place that sucks your soul out of you. I can’t do that to my brothers.

 

I started to do it to my mom and that’s, that’s why I pushed her away.

 

But now, now I am lost.

 

I’m a lost fucking cause and there’s no reason for me to be here, be alone, be fucking depressed or whatever the hell I am and be crying to myself.

 

I try to breathe but my lungs won’t work, and I suck in hard and pull my face from my knees to try and inhale the fresh air.

 

“Justin…” She scares me. I jump a little and look at her behind my glasses. She looks frightened and worried and she’s close to me.

 

She touches my shoulder and leans down and clutches my arm with both her hands. I don’t know how it happens, but somehow she winds up next to me on the lawn chair, curled up to me, still clutching my arm and whispering my name.

 

I finally am able to catch my breath and I wipe angrily at my eyes and I pull off my sunglasses and press my palms into the sockets.

 

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

 

I take a huge breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

 

“You’re crying.”

 

She knows crying is bad. She’s done enough of it herself.

 

“I’m alright.”

 

She’s quiet and remains beside me, holding onto my upper arm, staring at me with those wide eyes. Suddenly she lays her head on my shoulder and says softly, “You cry a lot.”

 

I take my free arm and pull my hand up to my face and wipe at it some more. This is ridiculous. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You shouldn’t be sorry.” She snuggles deeper against me, turning on her side and moving one of her arms to clutch my torso. “Dr. Lisa says I shouldn’t have to apologize for how I feel. You shouldn’t either.”

 

It’s quiet again and I find it amazing that I’ve calmed down, her holding me has calmed me down. “Sarah…”

 

“Yes.” She looks up at me. It’s weird. I know she’s not, I know she never can be. But she is pretty and if…if we were normal, if none of this had happened I’d probably be her boyfriend and I’d probably kiss her right now. But I can’t. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to kiss anyone again.

 

Can’t even fucking get it up anymore.

 

I breathe. I need to stop thinking about that. “Are you happy with me?”

 

“Yes.” She thinks for a moment and then smiles to herself, staring down at my bare feet. “Happier.”

 

I sigh and pull my arm that she was clutching and put it around her shoulders and pull her tight against me. She feels good there. And she makes me feel better, less like a fucking freak. She makes me realize that there are some things in this world that are worth it. I lean in and kiss her forehead before I even realize what I’m doing. She doesn’t flinch and that makes me happy. “That’s…that’s all that matters. I’m so glad.”

 

“Are you happy?” I stiffen in her arms. Of course I’m not happy. I’m a fucking mess, but…but I can’t let her know that. “‘Cause I want you to be happy with me. Sometimes I think you aren’t.”

 

“Sarah, that’s not…”

 

“I know, I know I’m different.” She pauses after interrupting me and when I look at her she looks like she’s thinking really hard, putting the words together in her head before she speaks them. “I even told Dr. Lisa, I told her that I feel bad for you and that I…I worry?” She questions the word, as if she’s unsure that’s the right word to use. “Worry about you. And that I love you.”

 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got you here and we’re safe and we’re getting you help and you’re happier.”

 

“What about you? Do you need help, am I helping?” Her eyes are wide and looking up at my eagerly. God.

 

“Yes…yes. You help me, you help me a lot.” She has no fucking clue. She has no fucking clue that without her I’d be lost. Completely, utterly gone.

 

This right here, this is where I need to be. If, if I went home I’d have to take her with me and, and well they don’t understand it. They can’t and it’s not their fault. And if I ditched her, or didn’t help her, or left her in that damned psych ward in South Africa, I’d never, ever be able to live with myself. She gives me purpose. She gives me drive.

 

When I wake up in the morning and I lay there wondering if I can just lay there all day and not leave and not eat and not get up. Then I realize I can’t. Because I have to wake her up, I have to help her with her day, I have to be there for her. She keeps me going. And no one back home understands that.

 

I can’t go home even though I miss it. ‘Cause if I was at home I’d miss her. And if she were with me it’d bring problems and drama and I can’t handle that right now. I can’t handle another person questioning my actions.

 

I don’t need another person doubting me.

 

“Are you ok now?” She sits up beside me and smiles at me and pats my head a little bit, almost like I’m one of the dogs.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, whenever I get upset you always hold me and make me feel better. I thought it might work with you, too.”

 

I smile back at her as she keeps rubbing her small hand over my head. My hair is getting long, longer than I let it get. It’s starting to curl again, but I just haven’t felt like shaving it. Plus I think she likes it. Sometimes I’ll catch her staring at my head, like now, with a curious smile on her face.

 

“It did. It does. Thank you.”

 

I wrap my arms around her middle and bring her closer and tighter against me and press my face against her shoulder. She smells good, too. She smells clean. God, she’s doing so well. She’s learned how to take a shower and the other day I taught her how to make a sandwich and yesterday for lunch she said she wanted to try to make one for us both and she did and it was good and…and God. Ya know, like I’m just so proud of her, and here she is holding me, making me better.

 

I though I she was the one that needed me, that she was the one that would freak out if I left.

 

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

 

She’s the only thing that’s keeping me together.

Chapter 20

 

It’s raining outside, which is odd for SoCal.  But I guess every once in a while we’ll have a cold front come through and all day it’ll rain and rain.

 

And rain.

 

I’m surprised I know what a cold front is.  I guess cause I’ve been watching a lot of TV lately. The Weather Channel is usually the only thing late nights that gets me to sleep.

 

It’s kind of chilly outside, too.  Not that I would know.  Still, I put on a hoodie and sweat pants and socks.  It really wasn't cold in my house, but I felt cold.

 

I haven’t left my house today, just gone downstairs to make Sarah and I breakfast.  She came in earlier and I was asleep.  I felt something moving beside me in my bed and at first thought it was one of my dogs, but it was her.  She touched my bare shoulder and called my name.

 

I didn’t answer at first because I thought I was dreaming.  I had just had a dream that we were back there, but it wasn’t scary and none of us were afraid.  And in a way, this is probably bad to admit, but, in a way I kind of liked it.  I guess part of me wanted to go back.  Because while I was there I was tortured and abused and everything, but I didn’t have to deal with it, I didn’t have to think about it, I didn’t have to try and fake it through my life.  I was scared and seriously thought I was going to die, but I was alive.  I was trying.  And I wasn’t constantly, always in pain like I am now.

 

In fact I don’t think I felt anything while we were there, sure there was physical pain, but I find myself not remembering parts of it now.  Right after it happened it would replay in my mind over and over perfectly clear.  And now, now it’s just a fog of confusion and fear and weight, god the heaviest fucking weight in the world. 

 

And I can’t push it off of me.

 

The memory is worse than the experience in a way.  And I wish the memory would just go away.

 

Sarah shook my shoulder a little more and said louder, “Justin?” and I woke up from my dream.

 

I turned over and rubbed my eyes and asked, “What is it?”

 

She did nothing more than lay down on the bed beside me, curled up to me, holding onto my arm and she said, “Hi.”

 

I didn’t say anything to her at first and finally just sighed. I wasn’t annoyed that she was woke me up I just wished I could go back to sleep, she was nodding off and I was now wide awake, her body pressed against mine and making me a little nervous.  When I looked over at her she was lying beside me, eyes half open, smiling.  Her hands were clutching my bicep and her chin was pressed against my shoulder.

 

“You want breakfast?”  She nodded. And we walked downstairs with my dogs trotting behind and I popped some Eggos in the toaster and fed my pups who ate greedily out of their metal dishes.

 

She says she never had Eggos before.  But she’s lying on her stomach on my bed, her feet up in the air, eating them drenched in syrup.  I know she’s already gotten some on my sheets but I don’t mind.  She’s happy, staring at this Wild Discovery program on the National Geographic channel.  It’s about underwater life and she’s fascinated.

"It doesn't look real."  She says, putting a piece of the waffle that’s way too big into her mouth. 

"I've done that before."  I say to her, pointing to the scuba diver.  I haven’t been that deep and it was probably more like snorkeling, but I had an air tank and it was amazing.  I swear it's like the most eerie, peaceful thing.  You can't hear a damn thing but your own thoughts swimming around you and you feel weightless.  It kind of reminds me of what heaven would be like, in a way. 

If there is a heaven.

I heard too that apparently before you die by drowning you get into this very zen-like, peaceful state.  I always assumed you'd panic and be choking on water and trying to swim.  But I read or saw somewhere that you just kind of float there and then you fall asleep and die. 

But...but I don’t know how people would know this.  It's not like someone who drowned can come back and say "oh that was cool."

 

I don’t think I could ever kill myself unless I knew it would be painless.  Lately I’ve been getting emotional and uptight about the smallest things, a paper cut, a shaving knick, banging my elbow in the door.  I just hurt, a lot.  Sometimes even sitting or standing will hurt, like deep, deep in my bones.

"That's you?"  She turns and asks, chewing.

"No, but what that guy's doing, I've done."  She swallows her food and turns back around, her bare legs and feet swinging in the air.  It's funny I'm covered, cold, shivering under my covers and she's on top of them in a tank top and some shorts.  She...she looks good.

She's getting color on her more and more each day and it...it looks good on her. And her legs have a little more muscle on them, not a lot.  They’re still thin, but we’ve been walking outside around the house a lot with the dogs and she’s eating more nourishing things that probably help her muscles grow.

 

I’m sure Eggos aren’t part of that group of things, but still.  Whatever. 

 

She has her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she must have done it herself and it doesn’t look half bad.  And her legs look smooth. 

I should stop looking at her legs. I sigh and stare at the TV. 

I've been better, at least on the crying front.  I haven’t been breaking down like I was a few weeks ago.  I mean I still get weird about things sometimes.  Lately I've just been thinking weird shit.  Like about dying.

And about sex.

I jacked off for the first time last night.  It was weird.  I just decided to do it.  I was laying in bed watching some shit on ABC or something and I just started playing with myself, just as something to do and then...then when my dick got hard I seriously think I just stared at it because it hasn’t been hard in forever.  So then I started stroking.  And I came so hard and so fast.  It was like I was thirteen again and I would have been embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking good.  I barely had to touch myself.  It...it was so strong it almost hurt when I came.  I didn’t even think about anyone or anything in particular.  I just concentrated on how my hand felt.  But I kept looking at the door, thinking Sarah was going to come in and see me doing it.

So I knew I had to get it over with fast, and I did.

Then I fell asleep like a brick.

While I was making Eggos I called Mike to see if he wanted to come hang out for the day, but he sounded horrible like he was sick.  Sarah wanted to talk to him and even though she's seen me use the phone she’s never actually used one before. When I put the phone up to her face for her she yelled "Hi Mr. Mike!"

He laughed a little and then started coughing and I told him to rest up in bed.  He asked if he should call anyone to come over...security wise.

I told him no.

And....and I've actually been ok.  I haven’t freaked out about it.  I mean there's a gate right? And my dogs and an alarm and, and even though Mike's sick I'm sure he could take a guy down.  Maybe.

The show goes to a commercial and Sarah flips channels.  She's learned how to do that very quickly and often I find her channel flipping for hours through the TV, just staring, absorbing everything.  She changes it to TBS or something.  Boy Meets World is on and even though I know she doesn’t understand the jokes, she'll laugh whenever the laughing audience soundtrack is played.

It's been a good week for us over all.  Sarah had two really good sessions with Dr. Cantopolis.  Lisa said that Sarah wouldn’t shut up.  She kept talking and talking about anything and everything.  She said that I looked good, too, better than she's seen in a while.  That kind of made me feel better about a lot of stuff.

Momma called.

At first I was a little reluctant to talk to her.  She said she was just asking how I was doing.  But then she asked about Sarah and I said, "Mom it's none of your business."

 

It was quiet on the phone.  And then I heard it.  I heard her crying very, very softly over the phone.  She said goodbye to me and hung up.

I didn't think.

 

It was instinct or something when I dialed her back immediately.  When she answered I said, "Momma please don’t cry."  And she started to cry harder.

 

She apologized for pushing me and said she just wanted me to be happy.  She started blaming herself for things, talking about how she should have done this or that differently.  She started saying things about how she knew I'd never be back to my old self again, that she knew what I went through isn’t going to leave me and that there’s no cure for it.  It kind of made me sick to my stomach to hear my own mother have no hope for me at all. 

 

But then she said she did have hope for me and that she wanted me to be happy again, she wanted me to have a life, to do whatever the hell it was I wanted.

"I know you need your space right now. I know you need to figure this all out in your head.  And I know you don’t want to bother any of your family with your woes, but we're here to help.  And I know you won’t take it and I know you don’t think you need it, but if you ever, ever want to come home, I'm here baby.  Or if you need me to come out there I'll be there faster than you can say it." 

I started to get choked up.

And then she said, "And I don’t even want you to think that I'm ashamed of you or that I think you're making a mistake about this girl, Justin.  I think what you've decided to do is honorable, admirable, it just shows how much of a heart you have.  I just don’t want you to ignore everything that you have going on for her.  You need to make sure you're ok, too.   Because if you aren’t ok, you can’t help her.  And...and pushing away your problems and saying that making her better is all that matters is false and you know it is.  Don’t be afraid to ask for help.  And I guess I'm being selfish but...but I...I want my son back Justin."

At this point I was crumbled up on the floor of the kitchen, listening to Sarah watching the TV way too loud in the other room, hearing the microwave beep when her popcorn was finished.  I could barely speak and when I said, "Momma you aren’t selfish, you’re the most selfless person I know."  I couldn’t say it any louder than a whisper.

"Just make sure you’re helping Sarah for the right reasons Justin, and make sure you’re not using her as a shield.  I want her to get better, too baby.  I know you care about her and I know she looks to you for help, but you can only do-"

The sadness and loneliness and even slight happiness I had for speaking with my mother faded with a snap and I cut her off, pushed myself off the floor and said, "Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this."

"Fine."  She didn't sound mad, or defeated.  She sounded as if she was going to let that slide.  She was compromising with me, trying to figure out how we could work, despite how different we felt about Sarah.  "I just don’t know what to do to help you."

"Just be my momma.  Just tell me all the crazy shit that's happening with dad and grandma and them.  I do miss you momma." The loneliness and sadness came back like sudden wave of dizziness and I went to the table and sat down, exhausted, run down by my own emotional chaos. "I really do."

"I miss you, too baby."

I sighed and watched Sarah walk into the kitchen, completely ignoring me.  She grabbed a soda from the fridge.  She's been obsessed with Dr. Pepper lately and will burp loudly and make herself laugh, not a giggle, an outright rolling on the floor laugh, especially when I do it with her.  One time she clapped for me when I burped so loud it seemed to echo the house.  It made me smile for some reason.  She grabbed her popcorn and I smiled at her though she didn’t see me, happy that even that simple of a task she had learned to do herself. 

 

"I don’t want to lose you from my life..." I said to my mom when Sarah left the room. "There’s just parts of it right now you...you can’t understand and that doesn’t mean anything bad.  It just means that I gotta figure this out on my own.  I have to try, ok?"

 

It was a good conversation over all and she’s called me once every day since then just to talk.  Mostly it’s her talking and me listening, but I’ve cherished it.

 

Now Sarah’s laughing as Roscoe tries to lick her plate and she keeps laughing and laughing, pulling her plate back and tapping him on his forehead. “No Ros, no!”

 

I just watch them.

 

Suddenly Roscoe snaps.  He starts growling and only 2 seconds pass before I hear his nails scrapping against the wooden floor and he’s down stairs.  I hear him bark.

 

I hear Franco bark.

 

I can’t breathe.

 

Sarah’s scrambling up with her plate still in her hand, staring at me, scared and confused.  “Did I do something wrong?”

 

Then I hear it.

 

The last time I heard it was several months ago and it stuns my movement and my brain for a moment.  Trace was drunk and playing with it and set it off.

 

It’s much louder than I ever remember it, like a fog horn.  Not a beeping, annoying blare like a car alarm but more like a fire alarm, constant, deep, ear-piercing, hurting.  I can’t breathe.

 

Sarah is staring at me, crying immediately, sobbing, hands over her ears and she’s shaking.

 

Fuck.

 

I swallow the lump in my throat.  It’s just Mike.  It’s just Mike.  It’s just Mike.  He forgot to call first and tried to get into the house and it set the alarm off.  That’s it. That’s all it can be.  That’s all it has to be.

 

I scramble out of the bed and point at Sarah and yell over the alarm. “Stay here, don’t move.”  She screams and shakes her head and I can hear her whining “no, no no” over the loud noise.  I yank her up and shake her by the arms.  “Sarah please…..please…”

 

She’s sobbing, crying harder than I’ve ever, ever seen her cry.  I can’t hear her now but her mouth moves, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t!  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

 

And I realize I can’t leave her here.  I can’t.  It’ll destroy her and…and…and if someone is breaking in they’ll take her from me.  And they can’t take her from me!

 

I grab her hand tightly and tug her with me to my bedroom door, surprised when she doesn’t fight me but follows me willingly.  I look out of it and I don’t see anything suspicious.  The alarm echoes and booms and throbs in my ears throughout the vaulted ceiling and I tug her along with me carefully down the hallway.  I look out of the window there that looks to the front of my house.  I blink and I peek.

 

I don’t want to see it.  I don’t want to see him trying to get us.  I don’t want to see the camouflage and the guns and the white suit.

 

I can’t see it or I’ll just…I’ll die.  I know I will.  I’ll just crumble. 

 

I see a Prius.

 

And in that moment my fear doesn’t subside but adrenaline runs through me and I drop Sarah’s hand and sprint down the steps.

 

It’s her.

 

She’s there, stylish rain coat over her shoulders, strained face, sunglasses on her head, even though it’s rainy outside, a cute little gold purse on the wooden floor by her gold flats and she’s pushing in numbers, cursing to herself.  My dogs are sniffing her feet and wagging their tails.  They are no longer growling and barking.  They remember her.

 

She turns and sees me and shouts, “You changed your code?”

 

I stalk over to her and literally push at her shoulder to push her out of the way.  I press the code and press cancel into the keypad and after 5 seconds the alarm stops.

 

And the quietness that fills the air is deafening and hurts almost worse than the noise.  My ears ring and feel stuffy.

 

“Shit…” She runs her hands through her blonde hair and takes off her glasses as she goes, dangling them carefully in her hand.  She then starts to smile.  My stomach hurts. “Hi.”

 

I open my mouth to speak, but I’m not quite sure what I’m going to say.  Thankfully the front door swings open and Mike huffs and puffs and leans against it, the broad shoulders of his grey t-shirt are dotted with specs of water.

 

His eyes are wide and he’s breathless not just because he was probably terrified out of his mind but because when he says, “What the fuck?” it’s nasally and he probably can’t breathe out of his nose with this cold he has.  He wipes at his face to get the water off of it.

 

“Mike!”  Cameron squeals and immediately steps over to hug him around his neck.

 

“Girl…shit, hey.”  He laughs quietly and pats her back before she pulls away.  He looks at me and the emotion that washes over his face I can’t pinpoint.  It’s fear and worry and maybe a little disappointment.  He’s being cautious around me, almost like he’s scared of me. “Sorry man, I was sleeping.”

 

“It’s ok.”

 

He sighs and nods, “I’ll call and cancel the alarm.”  Good, good.  I hadn’t even thought about that.  Last thing I need right now is a handful of police swarming up on my property.

 

I take a breath and can feel myself shaking and my heart beat is pounding in my ears.  My eyes are having a hard time focusing and I go to lean against the banister at the bottom of my steps and concentrate on breathing.

 

“Thanks.” I say to Mike when I realize they are both just staring at me.  He nods shortly, waves to Cameron and leaves.

 

Shit, I wish he’d come back. Please come back! I don’t want to be here with her.  God she’s not welcome here.  Who the fuck told her she could come here!?

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Justin…”  She sighs and tilts her head a little giving me this look like I’m a fucking child.  She leans down and drops her glasses on top of her purse and steps forward to me, smiling that smile, that fucking smile I use to tell her I was in love with.  Now I hate it.  It’s too big, too fake, too much.  Nothing’s that good to smile that big about. 

 

“I…I came to check in.”  She bites her lip a little and gives me a look, a look I use to die for.  She’d give me that look from across the room and I’d make my way over to her, and touch her hip and lean in and whisper in her ear dirty things, dirty nasty things I wanted to do to her body and she’d giggle.

 

And then we’d find a room and do all those nasty little things.

 

I feel sick.

 

“You should have called first.” I say and I’m surprised by my tone, how low my voice is.

 

“I’ve tried…”  She rolls her eyes a little, but is still smiling.  “You won’t answer.”

 

“How did you get through the gate?  I changed that code, too.” 

 

She just stares at me. 

 

Oh fuck no!  She keeps staring and then looks down at her toes that are wiggling in her little flat shoes. 

 

I shake my head and say, “My fucking mother.”

 

“She’s just trying to help.”

 

I cross my arms over my chest.  I want her gone, now.  She makes me nervous and makes me think back on a life that I will never….ever have again.  She thinks she can come back here and make everything better.  Well she can’t! And if she expects me to just be with her she needs to think again….because I will never be able to be with her again.

 

Or anyone.

 

“Well you checked in and now you’re done, right?”

 

Her smile drops and I can see her eyes start to get glassy. “Are you serious?  After…after all we’ve been-“

 

“We’ve been through?”  I cut her off.  There is no fucking way I’m going to let her do this to me.  It infuriates me and I feel my face turn red and I clench my fists.  Anger is surging through me and I can’t stop it.  I just can’t. “You mean what I’ve been through, no, no, no, because all that matters to you is what you’ve been through.  Oh poor, poor Cameron.”

 

“Justin…”

 

I bang my fist against the banister and narrow my eyes at her. “Why the fuck did you come here?  Just to make yourself feel better?  Well I’m a fucking mess Cameron, does that make you feel better?  But it’s not because you aren’t with me.”  I step closer to her and the fear that stares back at me from her eyes makes me feel good, powerful.  I’m letting her know that I can’t put up with her shit any more.  I grit near her face and point to my front door violently.  “Fuck you. I don’t want you here. Get out of my house.”

 

“Don’t do this.”  She whispers.

 

“Don’t do what?”

 

“This…”  The fear falls from her face and worry takes it’s place.  “Don’t push me away.  I love you.”

 

I don’t know what happens but I find myself gripping her upper arms and spitting out towards her.  “You love shit.”

 

The fear comes back to her face and she shakes her head at me and says, “Please…please don’t…..”

 

But she stops and I see her eyes move past me to the stairs, and when I turn and look there’s Sarah holding onto the banister staring at both of us with wide eyes.

 

I loosen my grip on Cameron’s arms and says softly, “Sarah go back upstairs.”

 

“Who’er you?”  She asks curiously to Cameron.

 

Cameron lets out a small gasp and I turn to look at the woman in front of me. “This is that girl, isn’t it Justin?”

 

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn and smile at the girl on the steps. “Sarah…I’ll be back in a second, ok?  Just go back to my room and turn on the TV.”

 

She bites her lip and looks at me for only a moment before staring at Cameron.  I turn back and Cameron has her arms over her chest and she’s staring right at me, tight mouthed, eyebrow raised. “Are you fucking her?”

 

I blink.

 

I don’t know how long it takes but it feels like I’m staring at her for centuries.  And finally I can’t stand the sick, antagonizing look on her face.  I grab her shoulder and bring her close to me, gritting out through clenched teeth. “What did you say?”

 

I can’t see.  And I can’t think.  All I know is the Cameron just said…said that, insinuated that.  As if I could do that to her, as if I’m him.  As if I’m evil like that and would do that to Sarah.

 

Her back hits the wall and her eyes are wide and both of her hands on are on my arm trying to pull me away.  She’s whispers, “Justin…” 

 

“Don’t ever….ever say that again!” I yell at her.  “You have no fucking clue what’s happened to me, what happened to her and if you think I’m anywhere near that sick of a bastard as to lay a hand on her like that then you are one fucked up woman!”

 

“Let go of me!”  She screeches and takes on of her hands and smacks me across the face with it.

 

“Get out of my fucking house!!”  I yell and let her go, pushing her away from me.  She scrambles away and I kick her bag at her.  She scoops it up eagerly, forgetting her glasses.

 

The door slams.

 

I let out a breath and run my hands over my head.  I have no fucking idea what just happened but I fucking lost it.  I sigh and walk to the door looking out the windows surrounding to see Cameron turn her car around in my driveway and leave.   I push a few buttons into the keypad by the door and close the gate and lock the house and reset the alarm again.

 

Shit.

 

I lean my forehead against the wall there and let out a moan.  I don’t know what just happened.  Oh god I just lost it.  And…and she’s going to go back and tell my mom.  She’s going to tell my mom that I almost hit her.

 

Great.  Fucking great.

 

I turn to lean my back against the wall and I open my eyes.

 

I gulp.

 

No.  No…

 

She’s clutching the banister, tears are streaming down her cheeks and she’s slowly shaking her head.

 

Fucking hell.

 

I rush to her and she cowers away from me, crumbling down into a ball on the steps.

 

“Sarah…”

 

“You’re mean.”  She sniffs and mumbles from where her head is buried into her knees.

 

“No…”  I start to cry, it all just falls out of me and I can’t stop and I sit on the steps beside her and pull her against me, feeling her hands push at my chest, trying to push me away but I pull her into me and cry and cry.  God, fuck.  No! Now she thinks I’m him!  She can’t! God don’t do this to me!  I didn’t mean to.  I was just so angry…please.  “No, please…no…”

 

She stops pushing and starts clutching and she’s crying with me, crying into my chest and wringing my sweatshirt in her hands, pleading with me, whispering harsh and emotional, “Please…please don’t turn into him.  You’re good, please….”

 

We’re both pleading to each other, pleading to ourselves and I feel pathetic and exhausted.

 

She starts breathing heavier and I try to stop my crying by rubbing my sleeve against my eyes and nose.  She’s still clutching, but I can feel her trying to physically calm herself down by taking in slow, steady breaths.

 

I pull back a little and run my hand over her head, when her deep brown eyes look up at me.  I say softly, “Me and her use to be friends and she became a very mean and selfish person and I just don’t want her anymore.  She scared us, ok?  It’s….it’s fine.  I got angry.  I messed up. I shouldn’t have done that, Sarah.”

 

She nods, sniffs and stares straight at me. And when she says, “Don’t do it again. Please…” She doesn’t sound pathetic or like a child, but like my friend, asking me kindly, but seriously, to change.

 

“I…I won’t.”  I whisper and lean my head against hers.  “I promise.”

 

She sighs and holds me back and I’m thankful she’s there.  Roscoe comes up and stares at us just wagging his tail back and forth and Franco is sniffing on the floor where Cameron had been standing. 

 

It feels good to hold her like this and I close my eyes trying to wash away the images of me pushing Cameron against the wall, of me getting that angry.  I try to forget that feeling.  I try to forget how powerful it made me, how for a moment I felt like I could do anything again.  I wasn’t weak anymore.  I was strong.

 

And I liked it.

 

I shouldn’t like it.

 

I just promised to Sarah I wouldn’t get angry like that again and I pray to God that I can keep that promise.

 

I won’t become him.

 

I will not.

 

I…I can’t.