10
Jessa
Jessa Landon deserves to rot in hell.
That ’ s what my ex-brother-in-law said when he ’ d testified at my court hearing a little more than three years ago. Looked right at me and spat it, like he hadn ’ t asked me whether I wanted cheese on my burger at backyard barbecues over the years. Like he hadn ’ t silently side-eyed the scratches on my arms and the purple-and-yellow bruise on my thigh, where his brother had slammed me into the wall.
His words ran through my mind on a loop now. Jessa Landon deserves to rot in hell.
Because here I was, rotting in hell.
I ’ d lost track of how many kids had vomited and peed themselves. The dark, boiling interior of the airless van smelled so bad I couldn ’ t tell anymore whether I was more afraid of breathing or not breathing.
Some of the kids were still crying.
I wanted to hug them, comfort them, but my arms and hands were zip tied so tight, I couldn ’ t feel my fingers or toes anymore. I kept opening my mouth to tell them it would be okay. I could ’ ve done that, at least. My mouth wasn ’ t taped shut. I could ’ ve said something nice, instead of just yelling at them to shut up when one of the little girls first started screaming.
I wasn ’ t going to tell them everything would be okay, though.
I ’ d been down that road before.
“ It ’ s all right, Soph. I ’ m sorry the yelling woke you up. It was just the TV … Daddy and I had it on too loud. Everything is fine. Go back to sleep, baby.”
Sophie rubbed her eyes and lay back down in bed. “ Okay, Mama.”
She believed me. And there was a relief in that, even a sort of righteousness, that made everything waiting for me outside her bedroom slightly more tolerable.
“ When will they let us out of here?” one of the kids asked, and the words hung in the cave-like darkness of the cargo area unanswered. None of the other children responded. The question was clearly meant for me.
I kept my lips shut and put my head on my knees.
I lingered on the edge of Soph ’ s bed a few seconds longer until her breathing deepened and her rosebud lips went slack in sleep. I lay my hand, smarting from where he ’ d dug in his fingers, on Soph ’ s perfect, tiny arm. I gently brushed her smooth dark hair, still feeling the sting of my own scalp where he ’ d grabbed my hair as I tried to pull away from his vise-grip. He ’ d wanted me to “ look him in the eyes” instead of “ being a shame-faced bitch” by walking away from him.
Soph loved her daddy. So did I.
When the argument started downstairs, he ’ d been making us late-night grilled cheese sandwiches, wearing the Godzilla boxers that made me laugh.
That was the real Matt. The Matt who carried spiders outside the house instead of smashing them. The Matt who wrote me a love letter every birthday, every Valentine ’ s Day, every Christmas. The Matt who made me late-afternoon alphabet soup while I was pregnant with Soph because it was the only thing I could eat without vomiting.
The van took a corner fast, knocking all of us to the right.
“ Ms. Jessa? Our moms and dads will come find us, won ’ t they?” one of the little boys asked.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, thick with all the comfort—and lies—I wanted to reassure him with.
“ Just hang on a little longer, okay?” was all I could manage.
And really, that was the best any of us could do now. Accept the shitstorm, curl up in a ball, and take it until it was over. Like I had so many nights when Matt was drunk and angry.
You didn ’ t poke the bear. You didn ’ t fight back.
When I tiptoed back into the hall and closed Soph ’ s door, the downstairs was quiet. I thought maybe Matt had gone to sleep.
That was good. Sleep usually reset the bad nights.
He wasn ’ t asleep, though. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, ready to take up where he ’ d left off when Soph had started crying.
“ That guy on the Ring camera? I saw his face when you answered the door, Jessa. Don ’ t tell me that ’ s the first time he ’ s been to the house. You know him. Are you fucking him?”
I shook my head, hoping he could see the tears brimming in my eyes. Sometimes that snapped him out of it. Not this time, though. “ And why do you need a gym membership so bad? Who are you meeting there? Don ’ t you dare lie to me, Jessa …”
The driver of the van hit the brakes hard, jolting me out of one nightmare and into the next.
The engine cut off.
My head felt like a lead balloon, empty and so heavy I could barely hold it up.
Were we finally stopping? What was next? Who were these psychopaths?
They ’ re bears. And they ’ ll tear you apart unless you play dead, my brain shot back.
“ Ms. Jessa, ” Ked moaned, his monotone voice one of the few I recognized.
“ Just do what the men say,” I snapped at him, fear slamming the words out harsher than I meant to.
Everything and everyone was quiet for half a second.
Then I heard a noise. Thud, shuffle, thud.
The movement was coming from the other side of the van. Was one of the kids getting up?
I blinked in the darkness and whipped my head around, trying and failing to see who was moving around. Someone had stood up. “ Stay sitting down,” I hissed, panic making my chest tingle with dread.
The pinprick of dim light, the only thing cutting through the darkness in the back of the van, suddenly blinked out.
Then came a scratching sound.
The pinprick of light got bigger.
One of the kids, I couldn ’ t see who, had gotten up and was picking at the black paint on the window.
No, no, no, no.
The men were going to walk back here and open up the van doors any second now.
And that kind of defiance was exactly how things spiraled from bad to worse.