Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The night had been long and now morning finally came, light seeping inside from the hairline crack of the narrow, boarded up window, just above the bed. I could hear the birds outside beginning to sing. It was the only sound left now. The house was silent.
Since the time Emery had barred my door, I sat listening. I could hear his footfalls throughout the house, going up and coming down the stairs many times. I heard thuds and bangs of things being moved around. Then I heard the vibration of a drill from above in the garage and every so often the sounds of hammering. The closest neighbor on either side was beyond a set of woods which surrounded the house. And at the back was the river. Still, whatever he was working on, he did it at night.
I heard a door shut upstairs and didn’t hear him again for several minutes. I guessed he had gone outside.
The room was bare of most things. I hopped into the bathroom and nudged the cabinet door below the sink open, finding nothing but pipe cleaner. There were a couple of towels and a few rolls of toilet paper. I went back into the bedroom and went through the drawers. Nothing.
Even if I couldn’t find something to cut the binds, I made use of what was around me. The corner of the drawer was pointed if not exactly sharp. I tried sawing against that first. With no luck, I looked around and then lowered myself onto the ground at the foot of the bed. Underneath it was empty. I looked for sharp edges everywhere. I sawed against the metal frame, then I tried the drawer again. It was a slow process, but the thread was beginning to fray. At one point, I even started to use my teeth, gnawing and biting at the rope, spitting pieces of thread out. My hands loosened a little, but it still wasn’t enough.
Eventually a door slammed shut upstairs, making me freeze. Then, the sound of drill again.
When I took a break from my binds, I sat on the bed to listen and let my mind wander. I imagined he was shutting us in, turning the house into a tight little box where no one could get to us. Or it was just me he wanted to shut in. Fortifying the cage he had built.
When he eventually moved upstairs and it was quiet again, I returned to trying to saw at the ropes.
Soon, exhaustion took me. I still didn’t close my eyes, but I laid myself in a corner, far from the door. From that point, I didn’t think much. My mind mostly ran through everything that had happened up till now, what I could have done differently, how stupid I felt for returning to Lena’s and not just continuing to drive on, drive out of the state till morning. But then I came to realize he had to have been following me from the moment I had left Whiteleaf. He wouldn’t have stopped no matter how long I ran.
Every move was staged—taking me north, letting himself be seen at the gas station, driving up the main highway, throwing the phone out the window. He wanted to throw Liam and the others off course. It might take the police days, if not weeks, to realize it was a dead trail before they started to even consider he would bring me to the one place no one would expect.
The morning was quiet which meant he was done until nightfall. But he was still somewhere. Somewhere close. I didn’t understand what he was waiting for or why he was putting in all this effort. I didn’t like where my mind wandered in trying to find the answer. I’d seen and read my share of awful crimes. Of women taken and the horrifying things the men did to them. For some reason my mind lingered on the toy box killer. Jamie had once done a paper on him. A man who tortured his victims in a trailer he had built into a soundproof box, filled with his fucked-up torture devices—his toys. I didn’t want to believe Emery would do such a thing, but I also knew he was capable of many things I didn’t think he’d ever do. He’d shown me that last night. Hell, he’d shown me that six years ago. I just had been too blind, too desperate to pay attention.
Somehow, as I slipped deeper into the nightmares my mind conjured up, I must have dozed off because I jumped, nearly hitting my head against the wall, when I heard the door to my room open.
Emery walked in, wearing his red skull mask again. In his hand was a large duffel bag. One of mine. He stared at me as I sat in the corner of the room, then he dropped the bag by the dresser. He stalked toward me, and I cowered against the wall.
He picked me up and put me on the bed again. Now that I didn’t have the cloth in my mouth, I was determined to get him to listen to me, but I knew I had to be very cautious so he didn’t shut me up again. The last thing I wanted was to be hogtied again and to have something shoved in my mouth before duct tape got slapped across my face.
He took out a hunter’s knife that had once been my brother’s.
I tensed as he knelt before me, gripped my ankles, then slowly began to cut the binds. I hardly felt any relief despite the fact. I let him free my feet and move on to my wrists before I opened my mouth.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He didn’t respond but I noticed him slow for a moment before continuing to cut the rope.
“Tell me how,” I said. “Are you going to make me suffer?”
He freed my hands and picked up the ropes, turning to leave.
“I’ll kill myself before I let you torture me, Emery.”
He stalled by the doorway.
I slowly rose from the bed. “I’ll find a way,” I said quietly. “Is that what you want?”
I saw his fingers move against the rope, looking at it as if regretting freeing me after all. Maybe even contemplating tying me back up.
“Say something to me.” I knew he wouldn’t, but he didn’t leave the doorway, his back turned to me. I took a step closer. I had to think quickly, give him a reason to acknowledge me in the slightest before he shut me out for who knew how long. “If you won’t talk, then listen to me. Whatever you might think, it was never my intention to finish my father’s work. I never came to St. Agnes to put you through that again. I didn’t know what had happened to you until…”
I could see he was shutting himself off again. Or his ghosts were trying to make him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry my father did that to you.”
He moved so quickly I flinched. He jerked his head as if trying not to hear me or to shake the voices that were in his ear. Then he gripped the door handle and took a step out of the room.
“You have my laptop. I know you took it,” I said as he began to close the door. “My password is gingersnap. No caps. Look in the folder named My Thesis, open the file that says FINAL with the date. Read it, Emery, please.”
Shutting the door, he worked at the lock and left.
I backed away and plopped down on the bed with a sigh. I bowed my head and covered my face with my hands. I was not going to get upset, not now. But I was already beginning to hate being locked in here, unable to know what was going to happen. But if he read my thesis, it might save me. I’d written down everything I knew about what happened to him in that paper, but not just that, I opened myself up, poured out my feelings. I’d taken that risk, unthinking or uncaring of the outcome. I’d done it for him.
And if he could see that, then maybe he’d believe what I’d told him. And my last moments wouldn’t be of a blade being shoved into my body and me screaming in agony.
I shuddered at the thought, letting my hands fall from my face. My gaze drifted around, then stopped on the bag Emery left on the floor near the dresser.
Curious, I went over and dropped down next to it. I unzipped the top and peered inside.
I took out one of my shirts, a simple gray top. I searched further and found more clothes, shirts, some pants and my green hoodie with State on the front. My panties and bras were at the bottom and my face heated, thinking of Emery finding them. I doubt he felt anything at all since he hadn’t taken any time to sift through them as none of them matched. There were a couple of socks thrown in too. Then my toiletries—hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. It was obvious he meant to keep me here, but I still didn’t understand his plan for me. Why bother?
There was also a water bottle and a couple of snack bars, all from my kitchen. I uncapped the bottle and drank, then tore open one of the bars.
There was a sudden loud tapping noise followed by a low roar coming from the vents. I jumped, first in surprise, then I moved over and put my hand down to one and felt heat at my fingertips.
Heart fluttering, I moved into the bathroom and flipped on the switch. The light flickered above and then turned on.
Emery must have restored the generator.
I finished the rest of my bar and threw the wrapper on the floor. I brought my bag into the bathroom and shut the door, delighted to find I could lock it too, which I did. I was still apprehensive as I slowly took my clothes off knowing a locked door wouldn’t keep Emery out.
But I needed a shower. Sweat and dirt stain my clothes, making me feel grimy and gross. I kicked my pants and shirt away and turned on the water, waiting for it to heat up. It took some time but eventually my hand warmed underneath the current.
Upstairs, I heard the groan of the floorboards as he walked around. I tensed until he walked off again and a door shut. I took my shower supplies from the bag, finding a woman’s razor in a side pocket too, and brought them into the shower with me. It was going to be a quick shower since I didn’t know how long I had before he killed the power or returned. I didn’t want to reenact the shower scene from psycho if I could help it.
Showered, I took a spare towel from the shelf, dried off, then quickly put on a new pair of clothes, the gray top and a pair of light jeans followed by my hoodie. I used the toilet, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair, flinching at every sound I heard from outside or above.
When I finally crept out of the bathroom, I looked around, but Emery wasn’t waiting in the shadows. Testing the door to my room, I found it was still barred.
I ate the other bars and drank the rest of my water then organized my clothes and everything else stuffed in the bag. I started to contemplate whether Emery did put some thought into the few clothes he took because I also found my silky robe and one of my thigh-high dresses thrown in there as well. No, I doubt in his raged-fueled state he was thinking how cute that would look on me.
The thought of him sifting through my clothes and considering which ones he liked made me want to laugh. Then I wondered what the fuck was wrong with me.
Eventually, I started to pace the room, waiting to see if Emery would come back. I started looking for ways out when I couldn’t think of what else to do. I tried to pry the board off the window with no luck. I worked at the lock at the door, even started to kick at it when I thought Emery might be outside—until I heard his footfalls coming down the stairs and I immediately stopped. They quieted as if he were on the stairs watching the door, then he slowly went back up.
I turned away from the door and sank back on the bed.
As the light began to fade and Emery didn’t return, my tension started to ease.
He won’t come, he won’t hurt me now. Just a small nap. Wake up when it’s dark, when he’s most active.
I decided to trust this thought, though my instincts wanted me to stay awake.
Closing my eyes, I let myself drift away.
There was a light above me, a harsh yellow bulb, like a spotlight, casting down on me. I looked at it in confusion.
Where…?
Peering around, I could see nothing but a blurred darkness. A room I didn’t recognize. I felt disoriented, the room not focusing, making my head feel fuzzy.
I tried to speak but couldn’t seem to form words, my mouth covered by tape. I tried to lift my hands to my throat, but I couldn’t do that either.
I was tied down to a chair.
Panicked, I twisted and fought in the binds, my ankles tied to each leg so I couldn’t stand. I turned my head each way, looking around.
Then he came out of the dark. I hadn’t seen him standing there watching me. He stepped into the light, and I stared at him as he towered over me. A large knife in his hand.
I tried to speak, tried to reason with him, shaking my head, struggling in the rope. But he didn’t respond.
He kneeled beside me, the knife tipped up. But something in his manner told me he wasn’t going to be cutting my binds again. No, something was way off about him. His eyes were like twin flames again. The very air was electrified by his seething presence, his sinister grin inches from me.
Whimpering, I tried to keep my distance as he raised his knife to my face, letting the flat side of the blade brush along my cheek, then trail down my neck. He was breathing heavily, air hissing through the mask as if the thought of what he was doing excited him a little too much. I arched my neck away, as the knife went lower, the pointed end traveling down between my breasts, then slowly down to my navel. My thighs were spread open as the knife brushed down between them. When I yelped in surprise, his hand came down across my mouth as if to smother me, then he grabbed my jaw and jerked it around to look at him.
He rubbed the flat end of the knife against me, and I felt my body lightening up. Still, I squirmed away, feeling like this was wrong, so wrong. But he held me firmly and brought the knife back up. Then he grabbed hold of my shirt and, before I could even beg him to stop, he took the knife and swiped down across the fabric, tearing right through it. He ripped my shirt away and then he set on to my bra, using the knife to cut it right through the middle. My body pulsed, tightening, aching as if it wanted this, but in my head was only fear, so much fear.
He teased me with the knife some more, letting it graze across my breasts, along my nipples until they hardened. Why? Why was this happening?
Suddenly, he sliced just below my breasts. Blood oozed out, drenching my stomach, staining my pants red. I screamed but not in pain, only in sheer terror. There was so much blood.
Emery lifted his mask and dropped it. And I saw the devil. He grinned, while I continued to scream, making my own ears ring. I saw my insides, I saw bone. He bent forward and let his tongue trail across the fresh wound, lapping up the blood.
I shut my eyes and wailed, tossing and turning.
Tossing…and turning…
No…no…not like this...please, not like this…
The screams echoed as if they weren’t my own.
Please…
Please…
Make it stop.
The light faded and there was only the dark and the terror.
It was only then that things fell silent, that I realized there was no pain. But I was still on the boundaries of a nightmare trying to escape. My body was still tight, ready to snap, to unravel. I felt so hot and so cold all at once.
Please someone help me.
I could feel my hands gripping the bed sheets.
Then I felt something against my cheek. Something warm. It swept along my jaw to my ear, brushing away tendrils of my damp hair. A hand. The gentlest touch I’d ever felt.
I didn’t stir. I let the hand comfort me, knuckles brushing against my face, my neck, so lovingly. As if I was a thing to be treasured. I wanted that hand to heal me, to crush the nightmare away permanently. I turned and gripped it, letting the fingers brush along my lips, then down to my throat and across my breasts, erasing where the knife had been. The hand trembled but complied. Until I went lower, lower where it hurt still. Where I needed the ache to leave me. I brought the hand between my thighs, arching into it, letting it rub against me, a moan escaping me. And I pictured Emery no longer a monster but the beautiful man that might have been, his smile still sinful yet devastatingly gorgeous, taking my breath away.
I called his name and the hand stilled. I felt his presence in the dark, but it didn’t frighten me. Yet, as I called to him again, he only moved away.
I wanted to reach out, to not let him leave me, but I couldn’t. I was only swept up in the tide between wakefulness and sleep, until I was in the deep again.
My eyes shot open, and a gasp slipped from me as I woke, as if something had startled me awake.
I sat up, blinking away the sleepiness.
The room was dark. But there was another light coming from the doorway.
I looked over and saw the door to my room was ajar. And light from the living space outside was spilling within.
I stared at the light for a solid minute before I dared move. Carefully, I slid from the bed and crept to the door.
I gazed out from the shadows beyond the room but didn’t see any movement, no sign of Emery. I touched the door and moved it aside, creeping out into the living room.
My uncle’s projector was on its stand in the middle. Its screen took up the far wall. On it the video of Emery and his sister in that underground classroom played. I watched it for a long moment, then turned to see my laptop on the desk nearby. Beside it was—
Emery’s journal.
I took a step and eyed my uncle’s bedroom where the door was also open, peering into thick darkness. I wondered if Emery was in there, but I didn’t yet look. Instead, I took in the room, trying to come to terms with what I was seeing. To one corner, I noticed the TV was also set up and on it I could see several angles of the property. One at the gate, two in the woods, the front door, and one looking out at the back.
He’d found my uncle’s security cameras and placed them in various spots.
I turned my gaze to the desk where my laptop sat open and the journal lay closed. Despair took over me as Emery and his sister’s images drifted over the floor from the screen. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them.
I picked up the journal. I wasn’t going to read it, but I wanted to know. I needed to know.
I flipped it open, revealing a random page. I stared at it, then flipped another…then another…
There was no writing. Only drawings.
Drawings of me.
He’d used every single page to draw some image of me. My face, me sitting in the chair in our sessions. There was one of me looking back, hair dancing around my face as if blowing in a wind. There was another of me holding a white rabbit.
A few of the pages had been torn. Some were crossed out with violent pen strokes. But the ones that remained were beautifully detailed, down to the very shades and highlights.
I closed the book with a snap, my throat suddenly feeling tight. I clung to the journal like an anchor, then brought my eyes back down to the computer.
My thesis. Scrolled down to the end.
I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath.
“You have a way with words,” came a low voice from behind me, almost a whisper.
I turned, gasping. There, on the stairs, Emery sat, hidden in the dark, only the light of the projector screen showing the outline of his features, save the mask.
He tilted his head, studying me as if I were a curious specimen brought before his presence.
I noticed his left hand was clenched tight while his right hand rubbed at it as if it hurt somehow, as if he had injured it.
We were frozen in the moment of staring each other down when Emery finally moved, rising from the stairs, then stepping to ground level.
“But then you always have, haven’t you?” Hearing his voice again after so long was almost jarring to my senses. I thought I would never hear it again.
His head turned toward the video playing on the wall between us. “When was it that you learned everything? Was it when I killed them? Or was it when you met me?”
I didn’t respond right away. I only stared at him, entranced in a way one might be by a large predator, knowing any wrong move could cost me my life.
I licked my lips. “Sometime after. When you mentioned being drugged and abused. I started putting the pieces together.”
“And before that…what were your intentions for coming to St. Agnes? Coming to see me?”
I lowered my eyes. I told him the truth even if it hurt. “It was to do the thesis on you... to meet the man who killed my family, and…”
He waited. I took a breath and looked him in the eye.
“To hurt you. I wanted to get close to make you think you’d made a friend, to make you think someone cared. I wanted to get all the information I could from you then I was going to tell you who I was and how you had hurt me. How you ruined me. I wanted to look you in the eyes and tell you how you had failed, how you’d missed me that night, and that you’d never have me, you’d never get your chance at finishing your sadistic game. I wanted to curse you and tell you how pathetic you were, how cruel and worthless, and—”
I covered my mouth as if to stifle the word vomit and my emotions. He was still as death before me, his left hand clutched tight, but almost like he was holding on to something for dear life.
I dropped my now shaking hand from my mouth, then continued, “I wanted to see the pain in your eyes, on your face. I didn’t expect you to soften to me so quickly, or for your eyes to light up whenever I walked through the door. Or…” I lifted the journal, gripping it with both hands. “Or to become your obsession. I didn’t expect you to open up to me, to reveal things that would haunt me forever. I didn’t think that your game was revenge. I didn’t think you were a victim too.”
I dared to take a step closer even as my instincts said to move away, to run. “I figured out the truth about everything and it broke me even more. After that, I changed my mind.”
His sharp eyes almost appeared to glow in the dark. “Because of what you now know?”
I nodded. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. But then you found out anyway.”
He turned from me, walking around the projector. “And the medicine? Was that because you felt sorry for me too?” he asked.
“No, it wasn’t because I felt sorry. In the end, I really wanted to help you. I was told if you didn’t take it, they would transfer you away, and I didn’t want that.”
He made a sound that might have been laughter. “Didn’t want me to suffer more.”
“Didn't want you to leave St. Agnes.”
A mixture of hope and disbelief flickered in his gaze. “But then you were going to leave me anyway. You told me you weren’t coming back.”
“To save you from learning the truth.”
“The thesis…did you really mean what you said?”
“Every word.”
He turned away, lifting his mask and then tilted his head in a way as if he was listening to a voice. Dropping his hand, he bowed his head and said, “Even the part where you said you loved me?”
I didn’t respond until he looked over his shoulder at me, his glowing eyes burning.
“Yes,” I managed to whisper.
He set his fist lightly on the projector as his other hand rose to cover his ear as if he was trying to block out someone talking, then he tugged at a lock of his hair. I knew his ghosts were turning on him, maybe even trying to convince him it wasn’t true.
He moaned softly. “You're sure it wasn’t pity you felt?”
“There was pity there too. But not in place of…that.”
He seemed beside himself then. He circled me like a starving wolf. I was getting to him, upsetting his plans.
“They don’t want you to believe it,” I said. “Maybe you don’t want to either but it’s true, Emery. It’s not in your head—”
“You're in my head.” He stopped in front of me, jabbing a finger to his temple. “You're like a little bee buzzing around in there, creating a hive, trapping me with the idea of your sweet honey. But you still sting like hell.”
“I’m not trying to trick you,” I argued. “Check the date of the thesis. I finished it before you transferred, before I even knew you were free. I never expected you to read it. Ever. But I was willing to let millions know. Is that something someone would do if they really wanted you to suffer?”
He shook his head, not because he agreed but because he was clearly still unable or unwilling to believe it. I knew his ghosts were trying everything to convince him against it. I was the enemy, I was the daughter of the man who had ruined his life, his sanity, who tortured and abused him. He’d seen the rest of my family do the same to his sister, to other kids. How could he possibly trust a single thing I said?
And yet I could see that small part of him fighting. He wanted my words to be real. He wanted to believe I meant them. Otherwise, he would have shut me out already.
But this was all I had to give. And it wasn’t enough.
His ghosts had already warped the memory of me. My betrayal had poisoned whatever we had.
And I was broken again by what he had done.
So what else was left but to hope that, despite it all, he could let go of the past?
He slipped away, turning his back on me again as if believing what I said was too painful. I was afraid he was going to shut me out again. But I was done being ignored.
“I have more to say and you’ll listen,” I said. “You went through something awful. No one deserves to go through what happened to you.” I got in his way, anger making me suddenly brave. “But you ruined me because of your revenge. You took away everything I loved. You traumatized me, Emery.” My voice rose, but I couldn’t help it. “I was innocent. An innocent kid just like you. So yeah, I went to get my own revenge. From the man who tore my father’s body apart right in front me. On my sixteenth birthday. Not knowing why he had done what he did. Left alone and afraid. Just like you!” Angry tears stung my eyes. “You did that. Was that the price you were willing to pay? To leave another kid in fear for the rest of their life so you could have that moment? Was it worth it?” I was almost screaming now and he hardly moved at all. I hit him across the chest. He couldn’t do more damage than he already had.
“And all I wanted to do was tell you all this to your face, that’s it!” I yelled. “And then I couldn’t even do that when I saw how fucked up my dad had made you.” The tears spilled over. “Even then I was going to spare you more pain while you never had to know of mine.” I shoved at him and he still didn’t budge. I whispered, “I wanted to make you better because I felt some sick love for you that you didn’t deserve. And then you kidnapped me and hurt me some more. You’re damaged and I can’t fix you. I’m sorry I ever tried.” I straightened, trying to stifle the sobs. “So fuck you and your ghosts.”
I moved for the stair, knowing I wasn’t going to get far. Knowing he was following right behind. I got three quarters of the way up before his arm came around my waist and pulled me off my feet. I tried to cling to the stair handle, and he wrenched me away with little effort. I cried out despite myself.
This was it, wasn’t it? I fucked things up for good.
Sobbing, I went limp in his arms, as he dragged me down on the floor. He brushed the hair out of my face, and I gasped at the familiar gesture.
He held me, while I cried.
For me. For him.
For our lost childhood.