Chapter 31
The white columns of the monument—a formal Grecian portico, a row of columns leading nowhere and sheltering nothing—rise at the back of the deep, blank field.
This used to be a farm, I learned when Ella and I came here a while ago with some friends from Blossom and Twig.
And then it was an impromptu battlefield during the Revolutionary War.
There are soldiers buried here. Men—some so young they were really boys—who fought during a harsh winter.
That’s why there’s a monument, which looks eerie, and maybe even mistaken, with the almost-full moon faintly lighting the space to grays only just outside the bounds of color.
I shut the car door and it claps a single loud clap against the distant swish of cars on another road. The field lies in a dark sheet, textureless, an erasure of space.
It seems that I am completely alone.
I force myself to take measured, regular steps.
Here’s the path, the grass mowed just a little shorter, so it appears in front of me only moments before I step onto it.
I force myself to go deliberately. I feel like a racehorse just behind the starting gate.
I want to shatter through it, chest first. I want to charge.
Is Ella really here? What if she’s— What if?
My mind can’t go that far; it shudders back, curls protectively around itself in a ball.
This is my fault, I think again.
The whole thing is my fault.
I hit her. She left the house alone, distraught. She put herself in danger. And danger was waiting.
I had to do the thing again. The Dick Face thing. To Dee. I had to hypnotize her. It will probably wear off soon. Mom is supposed to stop her in that case.
I had to do it. She was demanding to be here, too. She wanted to call the police. But whoever took Ella wants just me.
I feel a little like I felt when I walked into that underground speakeasy to meet the demon hunter. Before I knew who he was. Those last few moments, approaching the enemy. Walking willingly to meet my fate. But this time I am strong. This time I know I am strong.
I wipe my hands quickly on my sides. I’m close now, thirty feet from the empty portico with its shallow stone steps. White pines rise fluffy and normal, whispering reassuringly as the cold wind stirs their boughs together. Just as it would any other time, when everything was safe.
Is it a trap?
Obviously.
But what else can I do, except what I’ve already done, what I’m already doing?
I should be more afraid.
A car whooshes by on the road far behind me, then another, as distant and useless as spaceships. It seems much later than it is: like midnight. Like no one will stop and try to help if I scream.
My foot touches the first step and a voice says, “That’s close enough.”
I stop. “Where is she?” I ask. I can’t see anyone. The sweat from my run has dried cold on my skin.
“Don’t speak. She is here, but first put this on.” Something flies at me from the dark, I catch it. A cloth bag. Something inside. “Put the rag in your mouth. Duct tape on it. Zip tie your wrists. I want to see you do it. Then she’s free.”
“Where is she? Talk to me.”
“Don’t speak or she gets hurt.”
If I can’t speak, how will I do anything here?
“I’m here,” comes Ella’s quavering voice. It sounds like she’s about to cry.
“Hi, baby,” I call. And to the kidnapper: “I’m just talking to her!” And to Ella: “Sweetie, you’re okay.” I don’t know if she’s okay. People are always telling children they’re okay without really knowing if it’s true. “I’m here.”
“Titi— ” She yelps in pain, falls silent.
“Speak again, I really hurt her.”
I nod. Shit.
“Do what I said. Get it out of the bag. Everything on, now.
No tricks.”
I reach inside the bag. Take out the cloth. I wad it, stuff it in my mouth. I pull out the tape, break off a piece. I tape my mouth shut. Next the zip tie.
“Hold the tie. Now put the bag over your head.”
Oh, nope. First the bag. Every step is accounted for.
I take a breath through my nose and the air is heavy, tepid—I can’t seem to get enough. I look up, toward the place where the voice is coming from. An enormous column blocks its owner. I want to see Ella. I feel for a second as though this is my last chance to see her face.
I put the bag over my head.
“Turn around, hands behind your back.”
I turn around.
“Keep them behind your back.”
I fumble with the zip tie, sweating, the plastic slipping.
“Faster, demon.”
I blink.
“No tricks. Do it now or she dies!”
Demon.
I understand. I know who it is.
It takes a couple tries before I secure my hands. And now I am totally helpless.
Now there is no way for me to escape.