Amelia
Madison and I sit on the rough carpet, talking in hushed voices.
I can feel the relief radiating off her, this strange buoyancy that comes from simply having another person to speak to after all this time.
It’s hard to fathom how lonely she’s been here, trapped in silence with no one to confide in. No one to confirm she’s truly alive.
I told her about Bodhi. How he’s suddenly obsessed with reading but isn’t so great at math. This brought a laugh out of her. I told her about my day, my little investigation that brought me here. I
told her about Wes, about Mom’s death, about all the new music she’s missed—the plethora of breakout pop stars. She was particularly sad to have missed out on Charli xcx’s Brat Summer.
“God, I miss my job,” she’d said. “I miss live shows. I miss listening to music and walking through the rain. I miss… life.”
Her hair is brushed, her pajamas chic, which makes the whole thing feel somehow more grotesque.
When I comment on it, she explains in a voice flat with defeat how Parker still bathes her, how he fusses over her like she’s his doll, how he’ll massage lotion into her arms before ordering her to use the bucket in the corner.
He has convinced her to play along with his illusion, to pretend she still cares for him, even submitting to sex sometimes.
Because she believes it’s the only way to stay alive.
“Will anyone be looking for you?” she asks me. “Will anyone know you’re here?”
Wes will notice when I don’t call him tonight. We always talk before bed when we’re apart. He’ll probably worry enough to act by morning—especially with the recent break-ins. My students will notice I’ve vanished. The school will scramble for a sub. But Imogen… I think she’ll act first.
“My phone,” I gasp. “It’s in my car. Which is right outside the house. Maybe someone will see it and make the connection.” But then my face drops. “Parker took my keys. He’s probably already moved it. Or thrown my phone into the lake.”
I drop my head into my hands, relief dissipating fast enough to give me whiplash.
Madison cups her jaw in her palms, elbows braced on her knees. “There has to be a way. Now that you’re here, maybe we can overpower him next time he comes down.”
Even the thought of having to fight him worries me. Especially when I picture his mother dutifully trailing behind him. What if they have weapons? If we try and fail… it could be a death sentence.
“I wonder about the padlock,” I say, thinking back.
“That package I told you about today, the one addressed to Cale. If Parker’s been using his name, it had to be for him.
And from what he said to his mom upstairs, he sent it to the wrong address.
Which means… the padlock outside this door is broken. He told her he hasn’t replaced it yet.”
Madison tilts her head, studying my face. “There’s no way the door’s just… unlocked.” A dry chuckle slips out.
“Have you ever tried it?” I ask.
“No… not for a while,” she mutters. “I’m weak. I haven’t felt the sun on my skin, gone on a real walk, done anything in ages. I don’t even know if I could run if I was given the chance.”
We both glance at the door at the top of the narrow staircase.
It’s too good to be true. We both know it. But it’s worth a test.
“Why am I scared to try it?” Madison continues.
“Part of me feels like I have nothing to lose—if he’s going to kill me anyway.
But I don’t want to die.” Her voice trembles.
“Maybe that’s part of his manipulation, though.
Like… maybe I’m not really trapped in here anymore. He just knows I think I am.”
“How about I do it?” I suggest.
She pauses, biting her lip. “We have to be careful.”
I move across the cellar on quiet feet, ascending the steps like they might crumble under me.
At the top, I wrap my hand around the bronze knob and twist slowly.
Then… I push. Nothing happens. I try again, harder this time.
On the third attempt, I hear the faint clack of something metal on the other side, the padlock slapping against the wood.
I sigh, defeated, and return downstairs.
“I think the lock’s sitting in place,” I mutter. “Not clicked shut but wedged there. If we slammed hard enough, maybe it would jump loose.”
I look at Madison, her luminous eyes in this rotten place, and wonder how many times she’s let herself believe rescue was coming.
All I can do now is sit here with her, trying to come up with a plan. And hope that the rest of our lives won’t be spent inside these claustrophobic walls while the world goes on without us.