Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
As Megan turns the lock, every other thought dissolves and everything narrows to one single goal. Find Sadie in this blanket of darkness, brought on by the windows being boarded up.
“Baby, where are you?” I crawl blindly, my hands and knees scraping the rough carpet.
Overwhelmed with emotions, Sadie responds with more sobs than words. Her heartbreaking whimpers draw me closer to her. Then the most beautiful word breaks through them again. “Mom…”
When my eyes start to adjust with the help of the sliver of light from underneath the door, I notice her movements, slow and restricted like those of a wounded animal.
The first thing I do when I reach the bed is free her arms and legs that are bound with rope. In the process, my fingers graze against something metallic on her left wrist. The bracelet.
“I’m so, so sorry, my love.” I draw her into my arms and she throws hers around my neck, like she used to as a little girl, her face buried against my shoulder.
Time stops and everything melts away until only the two of us exist. She’s here. She’s alive. And from the looks of it, she did not stay willingly.
“I’m so sorry, Mommy,” she blurts out. “I’m sorry for what I did and said, for wanting to get away from you. I said I hated you… I didn’t mean all those things. She… she kept me here, wouldn’t let me out. Told me I was safer here. She said terrible things about Daddy.”
“She’s a liar,” I sob.
All the months of grieving and hurting, and she was here the entire time, alive and trapped in this camp, in this room? Why would Megan do this? Why would anyone be so cruel? And she was acting all caring and understanding.
She clearly did this alone, with the help of only a few selected people. That’s why she panicked when I started to shout, why she went to check if someone was coming.
I push aside the pain brought on by those thoughts and savor this moment for now, soothed by my daughter’s warmth against me.
Sadie cries into my neck and I let her, smoothing down her hair, which is in two dry, tangled braids, the kind I used to wear as a kid.
“You are okay now, my love. Mommy is here.” I grab her head with both hands and press my lips to her sweaty forehead before pulling her back to me. “Let me switch on the light and—”
“It won’t work,” she whispers. “It’s disconnected from this room.”
Disconnected? Megan has been keeping my baby in the dark for months?
While we all frantically searched the beach that night, she must have hidden her away—possibly even removed her from the property temporarily so no one in the camp would see her. That would explain why I didn’t cross paths with Megan.
At the back of my mind, I try not to think of the consequences of me being in here with Sadie. What will Megan do next? Will she leave us here to starve or die?
I press a protective hand behind Sadie’s head. “I will get you out of here, I promise.” In truth, I can’t promise we will leave unscathed because I don’t know who Megan is and what other cruelties she is capable of, but I need Sadie to believe everything will be okay.
“I hate it here,” she hiccups. “I hate it so much, Mom.”
“I know.” I’m laughing and crying at the same time.
She doesn’t need to know that I once lived here. She will find out eventually. When she does, I pray she doesn’t hate me for sending her here, even though I thought she would be safe and protected.
Sadie continues to tighten her arms around me, trying to make sure I’m real, just as I’m doing the same.
“Did she hurt you?” Though I can’t see, I search her body with my hands, looking for wounds and scratches.
“No.” The word comes after a short pause.
What a stupid question! Of course she’s hurt. Megan may not have hurt her physically, but she is bruised, deeply damaged emotionally. Putting her in this room for six whole months would do enough harm.
“Nobody will ever hurt you again,” I promise between sobs. “I won’t let them.”
“Mom, I tried to be good. I tried because I thought she would let me leave. I begged her to let me go home.”
How many nights did she muffle her sobs into her pillow, broken and drained and hoping for someone to come rescue her?
It hurts me to know that I will never be able to get her back to who she was before. I want that girl back, the fighting spirit she had—even if it exhausted me at times—and not this broken version of her inside my arms.
“My baby girl, I want you to know that nothing is your fault.” I need her to believe that, to believe in her goodness. I hold her tighter as she cries harder in my arms.
“I want to go home to you, Dad, and Coco.” Even though she’s sixteen, she now sounds like she did when she was a little girl.
“It will happen. Dad will get us out of here.” I swallow the salty tears in my throat as my head starts to spin again and the fog returns. “He will find a way,” I slur, feeling very tired again. I try to say more, but the words die before leaving my lips.
“It’s all my fault, Mom. I should not have pushed him away from me… on the beach.”
“What do you mean you pushed him?” My words are nothing but a whisper now and my heart is pounding too hard and too fast.
“Me and Dad, we were arguing.” She pauses to sniff. “I saw him and Scarlett.”
“You don’t have to think about that anymore.” I realize with a start where this conversation is headed, and I know I won’t be able to handle it.
But Sadie keeps talking, her voice breaking. “I ran away and told him I wanted to stay here. Everything is my fault.”
I’m trying to take in her words, but she’s starting to sound distant. “You’re… you’re not in trouble,” I murmur as my head drops to my chest.
Her wanting her independence didn’t make her deserve this. I want to assure her of that, to tell her she is not broken. But I feel myself slipping away fast.
If I was really poisoned, that poison is now making its way through my system.
If Gabriel doesn’t make it here, I might not be strong enough to get us out. I would fail my daughter, again.
Finding a bit of extra strength, I pull myself from the floor, wincing from the pain in my back, and pull Sadie with me onto the narrow bed, so we are lying down together.
Wrapping myself around her, I do the only thing I can do at this point. I hold her. “Daddy’s coming, I promise.”
I choose to believe that Gabriel is working on a plan right this minute. He loves us, and will never stop looking for us. This nightmare will be over soon.
“It’s over, it’s over,” I repeat to myself again and again, as if I’m chanting a spell. Like the power of my words can make it come true.
As we cling on to each other, Sadie’s body against mine feels both comforting and distant, while my consciousness begins to slip.
Soon, my limbs turn to lead and my head grows heavier, sinking deeper into the thin mattress.
As my eyes flutter, I tighten my grip on my daughter’s small frame.
I force myself to stay present, to remain strong for a little longer.
Stay awake for her.
In her hair I search for her familiar scent beneath the smell of sweat, trying to ground myself in something real. I can’t let go, not when Sadie needs me most.
Except, the darkness is fighting just as hard to drag me down.
As Sadie finally starts to calm down, her breathing becoming less ragged against my chest, I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper, my vision darkening even more and my eyelids growing heavier with each blink.
I try to speak, to reassure Sadie one more time, but my words slur together and dissolve into meaningless noises.
From a distance, Sadie asks if I’m okay, but I can’t answer. My tongue feels too swollen in my mouth, foreign and useless.
Terror forms a hard knot in the pit of my stomach. It’s too late.
“L… love you,” I tell Sadie. I’m unsure if she can make out the words.
Her sobs cut through the noise in my head, piercing the fog that threatens to swallow me whole. She’s sitting up now, shaking me, begging me not to leave her.
I want to answer, to make her promises I’m not sure I can keep, but the words don’t come.
The last thing I feel before darkness takes me is Sadie’s arms tightening around me, holding on.