28
Jessa
Six hours, forty-five minutes buried
We could just leave them down there, you know.
Those terrifying words Sage had whispered into my ear as she leaned over the edge of the mattress stack thawed something in me.
And that thawing felt truly awful. Burning and prickling like I ’ d just plunged frostbitten feet into a tub full of warm water.
I wanted to slink away from the mattress stack and tuck my body back into a ball, like I ’ d been doing until Sage called down from the top of the mattresses. I ’ d somehow even managed to fall asleep for a little while. But now, the panicked voice in my mind was fully awake, screaming that there were no more good options, so I might as well try to disappear inside my head. That, at least, I could do.
You can ’ t win. Just find a way to get through this.
There was another voice though, too. The same one I ’ d listened to three years ago. A dangerous, urgent voice that had come alive when Sage told me what she ’ d heard. It insisted, You won ’ t make it through the night. You have to try.
I gritted my teeth. Sometimes, the consequences of trying—of fighting—were just as bad as the thing you were trying to escape.
I let the painfully hot fear wash over me until the frozen feeling unclenched a little more.
“ Sage? ” I stood on my tiptoes and ran my fingers along the edge of the top mattress until my hand found her arm.
“ Yeah?” she asked in a tiny voice, but she didn ’ t move.
The other kids were impossibly quiet, except for the sound of their breathing. I squeezed my eyes shut. The darkness made it impossible to see, anyway.
“ Can you stand up again?” I asked. “ Try to reach the ceiling?”
More silence. Her warm arm shuddered beneath my hand.
“ What if I can ’ t do it?” she asked, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear every word. “ I ’ m scared. ”
This wasn ’ t the defiant Sage I ’ d heard whispering to the other kids a few hours ago.
I swallowed. “ I ’ m scared, too,” I admitted, not remotely sure I was doing the right thing by saying it out loud.
She didn ’ t reply for a long moment.
I squeezed her arm gently, not sure what else to say.
“ Maybe you were right,” Sage finally whispered into the silence between us, still not moving. “ Maybe we should do what the men say, and we ’ ll be safe. Like you told us before.”
A tear leaked from my squeezed-shut eyes and rolled down my cheek. She sounded almost apologetic, like a contrite child.
Because she was a child.
I knew that if I wanted to right now, I could lean into the reprimands I ’ d given her earlier, coax her down from the stacked mattresses, hug her, let her cry, tell her and the rest of the kids to get some sleep and that the men would let us go soon.
I could almost feel the weight of her tired, sweaty frame lean against me in surrender. My arms ached to stroke her hair, tell her that yes, we ’ d be okay. We ’ d get through the endless hours like that.
I ’ d gotten through that way before. Tucked flat underneath Soph ’ s bed with a blanket like a game of hide and seek, counting on Matt to stop pacing the hall outside her room and retreat for another finger of whiskey at some point.
The nights he reached under the cupboard for that amber-colored bottle were the nights I headed upstairs to Soph ’ s room. I ’ d wait to hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs then down the hall to stand outside her door. He knew I was in there.
Every few minutes, he ’ d mutter threats just loud enough for me to hear through the door. Never loud enough to wake Soph.
He didn ’ t want to hurt her, disturb her sleep.
Only me .
It ’ ll be worse tomorrow …
Coward …
I knew you had something to hide …
I ’ d never dared put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of his voice. Because every once in a while, he would put his hand on our daughter ’ s bedroom doorknob to jiggle it a little, letting it catch against the flimsy privacy lock that we both knew he could open with a coin or a butter knife in a matter of seconds.
I ’ d always told myself that I wouldn ’ t respond to him unless he actually opened the door. Then I ’ d have to go with him wherever he wanted, so Soph wouldn ’ t wake up.
Sometimes, even now, I still wondered if things would ’ ve turned out differently if I ’ d stuck to my plan. Just stayed frozen underneath that bed with the sound of my daughter ’ s soft breathing in one ear and the ominous sound of the doorknob clinking in the other.
However, each night it happened, Matt stayed outside her door a little longer, clinked the knob back and forth a few more times. Sometimes he stayed perfectly still until I relaxed, thinking he ’ d finally gone to bed.
Sometimes, he had. Other times, right as I was about to close my eyes and give in to sleep, he ’ d stomp a few steps so I knew he was outside the bedroom.
Then one night, the pins inside the privacy lock clicked to release the bolt.
The doorknob turned freely.
I held my breath and tensed my muscles. No, no, no.
Soph shifted in bed above me like she was waking up. “ Mommy,” she murmured, and I prayed she was talking in her sleep.
Matt snorted softly but didn ’ t push the door all the way open, like this was a game he was enjoying and wanted to last a little longer. Suddenly the thought of Just get through the night switched in my head to What if tonight is all you get?
That was when something in me snapped, and I scrambled out from underneath Soph ’ s bed and across the floor toward the sliver of yellow light coming from beneath the door.
He still hadn ’ t actually opened the door yet. Not fully. I just knew he would, though. And if he was willing to come for me in the one sanctuary I had left, that meant he was willing to show our daughter a glimpse of the face he ’ d only shown to me so far.
It was only a matter of time, and time was running out.
“ I thought that might flush you out,” he said in a soft, almost kind voice when I stood face to face with him in the hall. “ Maybe after tonight, you ’ ll behave.”
My knees nearly buckled. Instead, I gently closed Soph ’ s door and let him grab me by the arm.
That ’ s when I saw the fireplace poker in his hand.
When Matt raged, called me a bitch, pushed me sideways as he rattled off the supposed evidence that revealed I ’ d been cheating on him, he was scary. But those outbursts were predictable, at least. They flared and peaked, then slowly fizzled out like the threats and insults themselves had a half-life of destruction.
It was when he got quiet and measured that I knew something truly awful was coming.
It was always the veiled, unspoken threats that were the most dangerous ones, in my experience. So when Matt said, “ Maybe after tonight, you ’ ll behave,” in that ultra-calm voice, part of me lit up. A blinking danger button reserved for when things were about to go off the rails.
It was the same part that had lit up down here in the bunker, when Sage told me what the kidnappers said.
We could just leave them down there.
Those words repeated like a heartbeat, louder and harder in my mind.
I swallowed past the sticky grit in my throat. “ No, Sage. You were right. I was wrong. I ’ m sorry. I ’ m here for you now.”
She sniffed, like she was crying, too. Then the mattress pile shuddered as she shifted to her hands and knees. “ Okay. I ’ ll try to stand up again.”
I spread my arms and braced my body against the folded mattresses. “ Come on, kids,” I whispered. “ I know we ’ re all tired, but let ’ s make a circle around the stack to keep it steady, okay? Everybody lean in so Sage can stand up and reach for the ceiling.”
“ Oh my gosh. Ms. Jessa, I can touch it,” Sage suddenly hissed from above my head, sounding triumphant.
For the tiniest fraction of a second, I let myself feel the excitement in her voice.
Then came a fresh breaking wave of terror.
Because even if we did manage to claw our way out of here, we weren ’ t free. We ’ d just come face to face with the men who ’ d put us down here in the first place.
And when that happened, the quiet threat of, We could just leave them down there, would reveal its true colors.