chapter 4
With The Nothingness came an overwhelming feeling of obligation. I felt as though I had forgotten something terrifically important but couldn’t remember what it was. And although I couldn’t see or speak, there was a voice asking me for some impossible movement. Other voices yelled, calling each other names. What exactly they were, I couldn’t say. I wanted to settle back into The Nothingness; the dark murkiness.
Without warning, The Nothingness faded and pain settled in its place. Every attempt to breathe was hot lava in my chest with fire bubbling in my throat. Dreadful sounds rang in my ears and made the pulse in my head vibrate. Where was that awful noise coming from? My mouth was full of soot. I turned to the side, but my limbs cried out in dull ache and begged for relief. I opened my eyes and saw shadows dancing behind a dim light. I shut them again and tried to get back to the dark.
Dad had burned the coffee.
He hadn’t done that for quite a while, but clearly he’d outdone himself this time. The smell was really disgusting. It was so powerful it had actually managed to float all the way from downstairs to my bedroom and make me gag. He might want to commit me when I told him about my kidnapping dream and how vivid it had been. I circulated my ankles until they made a pleasant popping noise. All around me the air was filled with unpleasant sounds of banging, hammering, and yelling. My lungs and limbs hurt but I didn’t know why.
Because it hadn’t been a dream.
I sat up in a dead rush, instantly regretting it as I felt all of my blood flood to my brain in a single instant and I had to put my hands up to keep from my head from caving in. Glancing around, I knew immediately I wasn’t in a hospital like I’d thought (or hoped, rather). Instead I was on a small bed in a room that could be compared to a jail cell. On the floor next to me lay large stacks of books and papers. Next to those stood a lonesome desk lamp without a table to stand on. I immediately noticed there were no windows. Before I could panic, a figure rose from the corner and approached me. I pulled back. Something quivered all around me. Was the world ending?
I put my hands down. No, I was just shaking.
Charlie emerged from the darkness slowly and turned on the lamp. I wasn’t sure if it was the light burning my eyes or surprise that made me turn away. But once I did, I turned my face to the wall and shut my eyes tightly. I felt like a creature from another world, some distant planet that only I knew about. This place, wherever it was, could not be walked or breathed upon.
His hand stretched out as he tried to examine something on my head.
I flinched.
He turned and reached back to the corner. He pulled out two Styrofoam cups of coffee. He handed me one, which I accepted, despite the smell. I sipped at the burned liquid and rejoiced as it slid down my throat.
My throat.
Memories grabbed at me, eager to remind me why I had lost consciousness. I gulped and felt the pain around my lymph nodes. Why was I still alive? I should have been a dead girl in the ground by now. None of it made any sense.
“What happened?”
My hands shook worse than ever when I heard my voice and the way it cracked. Each syllable hurt to pronounce, and yet despite my efforts, the words still didn’t sound right.
He responded by slowly taking the cup from my hands. I didn’t want it anyway. Its contents were threatening to spill. “You probably shouldn’t talk.”
His accent was thick. I guessed he was angry again. “Tell me.”
I could feel his eyes on my neck, maybe surveying the damage there. I was just grateful he hadn’t made another attempt to touch me. The idea of being touched by anyone ever again was enough to make me retch.
I looked at Charlie, too. He was no longer covered in filth. He’d changed his clothes to a button-down green shirt and jeans. It frightened me to realize I could have been out for that long.
“Even though Ben told him to leave you be…” His voice trailed off. “Wallace thought you were too much of a risk to leave to chance.”
I turned away and shut my eyes. I knew what had happened next. Tears rolled down my face when I remembered my fear and helplessness—how brief the pain had been.
“Hey.” I heard him swallow. “I’m, ah, sorry.” He sounded heavy. “That son-of-a-bitch…”
“Please.” I cut him off. “I just want to go home.”
He stood up and backed into the dark corner. When I was sure he was away, I felt brave enough to look at him again. Those slouching shoulders of his and the thumbs that dug into his pockets revealed more than he wanted to say.
“B-by the time I got there, Wallace woulda come back to finish you off. Didn’t have much choice, did I?” He stuttered through the whole explanation. And although I only caught about half of what he was saying, it was enough to make the blood in my body feel like sludge.
“Charlie.” It was the first time I had spoken his name out loud. It sounded like a foreign language within itself. I saw him stiffen and raise his head in my direction. Carefully, I slipped my legs off the bed and tested my weight on the floor. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said it was moving, but there was no way that could have been true. “What are you saying to me?”
He hesitated again. “We gotta make a delivery to Singapore in six days. I—we didn’t know what to do, so we brought you with us.”
Although I heard the words, my brain wouldn’t digest them. It was as though he was just saying random things strung together to make noise—what he was explaining couldn’t possibly be real. I was going home, wasn’t I? My breath became shallow and rapid and for an instant I felt as though I were having an asthma attack. He must have seen my panic because his arms stretched out, his hands pointing downward. “Just—just relax now.”
“No. No. No. Where am I?”
I detested the way he straightened himself out and stood so rigid. There was no hesitation now. “The Diyu,” he answered. “A freighter just south of Canada.”
“Wh-what?”
“Like I said, Wallace was ‘bout to kill you when I came in. I did all but rip his arms off but Ben and Reid had me back long enough that he crawled out the back.”
I covered my ears with my hands. My head was pounding and I didn’t want to hear anymore, but he kept on talking. If I didn’t hear, then maybe I could make it untrue; maybe I could make it go away.
“You wouldn’t wake up and we had port to make…” His voice trailed off, but it still stayed tight; rough along the edges.
“Then why didn’t you just leave me there?” I screamed. “Or just leave me at a hospital somewhere?”
He shrugged. “‘Cause we all kinda figured you’d die, and nobody wanted a murder charge.”
I stifled a gasp. I didn’t want to think of myself with murder, particularly as a murder victim. The entire concept made me shudder.
“No,” I said firmly. “This is not happening. No, no, no, no, no.”
He laughed. Again I couldn’t believe it, thought I must have misheard the sound, but when I looked up, he was smiling.
“That’s a real funny way to say ‘thank you.’”
I took my hands from my head. In the moment, the anger steadied me. I narrowed my eyes, trying to strike him down by sheer force of will.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I did save your life and all.” His smile widened.
My initial analysis had been incorrect. Here I was thinking that I was crazy for finding this person attractive, and then arguing with him, and even willingly conversing with him, suffering from the early stages of some madness. It was made clear to me now that I was the only sane person in the room.
“Are you kidding?”
He laughed. I still liked the sound and hated myself instantly. “You would be dead if it wasn’t for me.”
“I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you.”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
I shuddered. “You’re disgusting.”
Charlie glared at me, but said nothing and only broke his stare when he saw me stand up.
I immediately went for the door. I was surprised to find it unlocked, but outside it only led to a narrow hallway with metal white pipes and linoleum floors. I considered that may have been some sort of elaborate prison constructed for their victims, but then shook my head. I needed to find an exit. I looked left and right, but neither direction offered anything different.
Taking a guess, I ran to the right and kept right on running. I passed a series of simple doors that were unlabeled, but I threw my fists on them anyway, hoping someone would come out and help. Below me the floor shifted and swelled, knocking me over.
“Guess you ain’t got your sea legs yet, huh?” Charlie was standing above me then. I guess I hadn’t gotten as far as I had hoped. My breath heaved with anger and my head pulsed with pain.
“Take. Me. Home,” I demanded.
“I. Can’t.” He seemed amused and held out a hand to help me up. Only this time I didn’t accept it and picked myself back up. I glared at him with all of the mental daggers I could throw and continued walking down the hall. He followed at a distance he deemed safe.
“Fine, but you or one of your thieving friends will have to shoot me if you expect me to cooperate. I’ll find my own way out of here.”
He laughed. “What part of ‘in the middle of the Atlantic’ don’t you understand?”
“I don’t believe you.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was more like I didn’t want to believe him, but as my senses tuned in to the sounds of calamity above us and the floor continued to sway ever so slightly, I was beginning to fear it was true.
He stopped laughing and became serious again. “Wait here a second.” He then ran back in the direction we had come from. Or at least I think it was the same direction. I reached up and grabbed a long strip of piping that had some kind of meshing attached around it. When I let go, my fingers were covered with grease and smelled of gasoline.
“Don’t touch nothin’.”
I gasped and felt my hand at my chest. “Don’t creep up on me!”
He smiled. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did!”
He laughed and handed me the denim jacket I recognized from the night before. “What’s this for?”
“Technically, you’re a stowaway. You should try not to get caught.” He handed me a red ball cap and watched intently as I put it on. Like the jacket, it was much too big, but I bundled up my hair and tucked as much of it as I could in the cap.
“What happens if someone finds me here?”
“They won’t.”
“What if they do?”
“They won’t, Addie. I won’t let ‘em.”
I tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right. “Yeah, right.”
I followed him down a short set of halls and then up a bunch of painted stairs and more hallways. Although it felt good to move after so long, my body didn’t appreciate the long walk. The muscles in my shoulders and legs ached, but I was slightly amazed that thin bandages had been wrapped around my ankles where the skin had begun to blister. There was also a band-aid on my foot. When I was putting on the jacket I could smell a sort of ointment against the abrasions that circled my wrists. I felt instant hope at this realization. This meant there had to be a doctor on board. Someone had taken care of me, someone knew I was there. Maybe the Coast Guard was coming for me at this very moment.
Once we reached the deck, I was grateful for both the hat and the jacket. The wind was downright ferocious, and when it bounced from the sea, the temperature dropped dramatically. I turned my head away as it made me shiver. Men, all wearing safety helmets and life vests, were scattered around, some busying themselves with tools, others doing things with cables and wires that I didn’t understand. I wanted to pretend they were all props in some great lie, that they were part of this practical joke being pulled on me, that maybe I was hallucinating, or had fallen down the rabbit hole.
Beyond and around them lay the awesome, unending sea in rays of blue and black.
He hadn’t been lying after all.
Overwhelmed with nausea, I ran from Charlie and over to the edge. One of the men looked at me strangely but didn’t say anything. The sounds of hammering and brushing were terrible. How did these people work like this all day? I tried to figure if Dad would go into the office with me still gone. Oh God, poor Dad. He must be worried out of his mind. I stared into the vague blue of the sea and tried to send him a psychic message. I knew that stuff wasn’t real, but it was as good a time as any to doubt myself.
“You ain’t gonna jump, right? ‘Cause I ain’t a great swimmer.”
I glared at Charlie. He was struggling to light a cigarette against the lashing of the wind. I yanked it from his mouth and threw it into the sea.
He stared at me, slack-jawed and silent.
“Did I hear you say Singapore back there?” I hissed. “Did I hear you say six days?”
He just smiled and pulled out another cigarette from his pocket. “Unless you’re a great swimmer, then…” I threw the new one as well.
“Yeah.” He finished his thought and stared back and forth from me to his hands—amazed by the disappearance.
I put my head between my legs and tried deep calming breaths. It wasn’t doing much good; I was officially freaking out and becoming dizzy from my panic.
“What then?” I asked.
“The American embassy is real close to the port. You can go straight there.”
I stood back up and looked him in the eye, wanting, needing to know the answer. “How do I know you or someone else won’t kill me before then?”
His eyes narrowed and he reached for a cigarette, but then smiled and put the pack away. “Guess you don’t.”
I wanted to say something else, but couldn’t think of anything clever enough. That alone bothered me. Why should I care what this kidnapper, thief, who-knows-what-else, thought of me? Social norms don’t apply when you’ve been taken hostage, right? Still, I couldn’t disengage that part of my psyche that searched for a better way to insult him. Instinctually, I felt as though I would be able to let go easier of those social properties if it wasn’t for him. By offering me some safety, he was already taking away my option to feel like a victim. And like the topic of Mom, the mere idea of it made me uncharacteristically angry. Perhaps knowing how unreasonable it was made it that much worse. I tried to think back and remember when a single individual had riled me so much in such a short amount of time, but couldn’t remember anyone.
“She’s alive! She’s alive!” A pair of hands grabbed me by the shoulders and almost sent me jumping out of my skin.
“Hey, take it easy.” Charlie punched at the life vest Yuri was wearing and he took mock swings back.
Oh, they are trying to kill me, I decided—by heart attack.
“Despite your people’s best efforts.” I bundled the jacket around me, as it was much too large, and wrapped my arms around myself. I could feel the warmth of Charlie inside—No, Addie, no. Stop that.
Yuri smiled and put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Hey, you were right about this one.”
I glared back and forth between them but thought better than to say anything.
Yuri took off his working gloves, which were black and rusty at the fingertips.
“You know, you’re pretty lucky, Little Girl.”
I looked back at Charlie. His eyes offered no explanation.
“The way Wallace bashed your head in and had that chokehold on you, we thought you were worms’ meat.” His laugh was menacing and it was enough to chill my spine. “The only reason Ben agreed to let you come aboard was so that when you did keel over, we could just throw you overboard. Real easy.” The loud snap of his fingers at the end of his explanation was enough to make me nauseous again. “We left so much evidence at the house we thought that would at least be a quick fix.”
Charlie punched him for real this time and Yuri stopped explaining. In all honesty, I wasn’t paying much attention to either of them anymore. I reached a hand behind my head and felt the sting there, winced at the pain, and again felt for the newly formed knot. At least that explained the headache. But when had that happened? I cringed to think of what else could have happened if Charlie hadn’t intervened.
“Right. Well, like I said, you’re lucky.” Yuri put the gloves back on and walked away.
I stared back out at the ocean and let it stare at me. Had I been so lucky? I reviewed some of my theories from before and tried to conclude if I really was being paranoid or not. I glanced over at Charlie, who had his arms leaning over the rails.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Helping me. Why are you helping me?”
“I knew what you meant.” He smiled just a little, his entertainment was becoming an increasing irritation.
And he looked at me then and I could see the colors light up in his eyes for just a second before they dimmed. But it was only for a second and then it was gone.
“I don’t know,” he said finally.
“If you people are trying to mess with my mind or something, it won’t work.”
His eyes tightened. “I ain’t got a clue what you’re talking ‘bout.”
I gulped and started stammering. If he looked at everyone this way, it was understandable why they kept their distance from him. “If this is some way to get me to trust you, or get Stockholm Syndrome, it won’t work.”
“Huh?”
“You guys probably set up the entire thing so Mister-Angry-Smash-Addie could almost kill me and you could save the day just in time and I’d feel loyal or obligated to you or something. That’s how kidnappers do that sort of thing, right?”
For a moment he seemed confused, but then his grip on the ledge tightened before he reached for a cigarette. This time I did not deny him. And when the hardness set in his face and I remembered that dark edge I had seen him go over when enraged, I pulsated with the possibility that he might drag me over it with him.
“All anybody ‘round here cares ‘bout is profit. Messing with people’s heads wouldn’t do nobody any good.” The darkness seemed to fade out and I was well-aware of my own relief. I saw his lips twitch up in a smile that promised something fantastic and warm. “’Sides, ain’t nobody around here smart enough to think of something like that anyhow.”
“Isn’t messing with people’s heads a key element in business?”
“How is messing with your head gonna help me?”
“Maybe you’re holding me for ransom. Getting me to cooperate would make your job considerably easier.”
His smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”
Back inside his cabin, Charlie pulled out a laptop from inside a plastic crate that was covered with worn stickers and labels that I couldn’t read. He sat on the bed and gestured for me to sit beside him. “We don’t got access for much longer, so you better hurry up.”
I was reluctant to sit beside him for several reasons, the main one being how uncomfortable his physical presence actually made me and the other involved how part of me wanted to take that seat next to him.
His fingers typed away at the keys. While still looking at the screen, he said, “I promise I won’t bite…unless you ask.”
I rolled my eyes to make it very clear I was disgusted, and then sat as far away from him on the bed as I possibly could. I didn’t want him to know he affected me. At the same time I was glad the oversized jacket covered the blush that spread across my arms. I folded my legs while he handed me the laptop. I was amazed to see my name in so many of the blue links, most of them from trusted news providers.
“What—”
He started to laugh. “You’ve been front page news for the last day or so.”
I scrolled down the page of the search engine and read the links. Most of them were repetitive with titles like: “Local Teen Gone Missing,” “Progeny Homeschooled Student Missing from Filling Station,” and “Kidnapped Teen and Murder in Syracuse.” Beneath them in small print I saw my name, which Charlie had typed in the search engine. I clicked on a few, but they only relayed information I already knew. It was only the articles filed within the last few hours that really intrigued my interest.
“Suspect in Battes Kidnapping”
Syracuse, NY— With cooperation from local authorities, FBI officials have obtained video documentation of missing teenager Adeline Battes recorded within an hour of her father reporting her disappearance. Miss Battes is viewed on security camera footage speaking with a male whom authorities have identified as Charles Hays, who is now wanted for questioning in the Battes kidnapping and whose arrest warrant is also being issued for numerous parole violations.
Hays, convicted of voluntary manslaughter, felony theft, and unlawful weapons possession, is a well-known associate of alleged art thief and illegal tradesman Benjamin Walden. Walden and Hays were both incarcerated at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution. Walden was convicted of second degree murder in 1996. He was paroled in 2010, but failed to maintain contact with the state and remains at large. Hays, paroled in 2009, has also failed to maintain the terms of that parole agreement, and has now been positively identified by witnesses and camera footage as the male Miss Battes was speaking with.
Both men are considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances. Any citizen with any information should contact their local authorities or FBI office.
I clicked the back button and looked over at Charlie. His expression of complete apathy made me tremble. Could I really be in the presence of a killer?
“Is that stuff true?”
He shrugged. “You can’t believe everything you read.”
“Are you a murderer?”
His eyes searched mine for the right answer. When he couldn’t decide what it was, he was honest instead. “Only when I got to be.”
My throat felt like it was closing up on me. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I thought I made it real clear I wasn’t gonna do that.”
“Why?” Why was I arguing? I had no idea but the question blurted out of me before I had time to stop it.
He seemed to enjoy my interrogation, “ ‘Cause I don’t kill girls.”
“That’s sexist.” I frowned.
He started laughing. “Are you complaining?”
“I guess not.” I couldn’t help it. His laugh made me smile. “It’s still sexist.”
“’Sides,” he said, taking the laptop, “you make me laugh.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or insult. “Um, thanks?”
“And…” He stretched out the word in an exaggerated fashion and leaned over me just slightly. I pretended to flinch away. Under normal circumstances it might appear as though we were flirting. I suppose it was entirely possible that we were, though I was leaning more toward my lack of sanity. “You can’t kill a dead girl.”
He laughed at my expression and typed something else into the search engine. “This stuff is hilarious.” Then he handed me back the computer and waited impatiently for my reaction.
“Kidnapping Victim Feared Dead”
Less than 48-hours after Adeline Battes was reported missing from a rest stop outside of Syracuse New York, FBI investigators discovered the body of auto body truck driver, Spenser Hanson in the empty cab of his vehicle. Investigators have also learned that nearly one-half of a million dollars in electronic parts being carried were now unaccounted for. From there, authorities gained descriptions of Charles Hays, who is now the prime suspect in relation to the kidnapping of Adeline Battes (see above), and is now being investigated for charges related to domestic terrorism and murder.
Early this morning, local authorities and FBI agents followed evidence that led them to an abandoned home in Staten Island, New York, where forensics teams found both the finger prints of Benjamin Walden and Charles Hays, in addition to the blood and hair follicles of Adeline Battes. Additional evidence also shows that the other individuals may have been working to create some sort of explosive device within the basement of the house.
An anonymous statement from a junior FBI agent says, “Given the amount of blood found at the scene, it is unlikely that Miss. Battes is still alive. These aren’t the kind of people to leave witnesses. We need to make the explosives a priority now before more lives are lost.”
“This is a nightmare.” I ran my fingers through my hair. Walking around and the fresh air had helped my headache, but with this new bombardment of information, I could feel the sharp sting at the back of my skull flaring up again.
“Really?” Charlie said, “I think it’s pretty funny.”
I glared at him. “Oh yeah? Do your—” I chose my words carefully, “—colleagues think it’s so funny?”
“Nah, they’re real mad. But they’ll get over it.”
I clicked out of the link and tried to open up my e-mail. Charlie had the computer out of my hands and into his own before I could hit the caps lock.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I have to contact my Dad. He has to be going crazy!”
He jumped up with the laptop and crossed the room, eager, it would seem, to get away. “Sorry, can’t let you do that.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Was this another attempt at humor? If Dad hadn’t had a heart attack by now, he almost certainly would if he didn’t hear from me before the end of six days. The fear for my family instinctually overcame the fear for my personal safety and gave me a temporary dosage of bravery. “He thinks I’m dead. You can’t do this to him. It’s cruel!” I reached for the computer, but anticipating my move, he prevented me from even coming close.
“He doesn’t think you’re dead.” He laughed as I tried to grab for it, jumping for it while he held it above his head. I dived for it when he hid it behind his back. It didn’t help that his arms were so much longer and stronger than mine, but I still shoved and kicked against him. I knew he was a killer now, they all were. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t and couldn’t let Dad suffer like that.
“He knows you ain’t dead, okay? Just relax for a second.” He was trying to keep his voice serious, but I could hear the laughter in his words.
I stopped reaching for the laptop, but only because I wanted to hear what he had to say, not because I was actually following his instructions.
“What do you mean?”
“He gave a press release a couple of hours after that one came out. Called the cops a bunch of idiots, said there wasn’t no way you were dead and the F.B.I was incompetent if they thought that.” He laughed again. “It was great.”
In spite of myself I did feel some relief. What he was describing sounded like typical Dad behavior. I was glad he knew I was still alive somehow. And I even felt a touch of pride at his fatherly denial. But I couldn’t excuse the horror he was probably going through. He may have sensed I was alive, but he didn’t know I was well. I instantly hated the helplessness that resided there. He didn’t even have Robbie to keep him in good spirits.
“They’ll be tracing any account linked to you, so you can’t be contacting nobody.” He pulled out the small Wi-Fi card from the side of the computer and placed it in his pocket. “Sorry, but that’s how it is. Something else and I’ll try to help, if I can. Can’t do nothing ‘bout that one, though.”
“Please,” my voice was small, scrunched up from my insides. “Just—just go away.”
I didn’t know what to think when his eyes narrowed again and his shoulders tensed. I backed away as slowly as I could and slid down to the floor. The fresh air had somewhat helped my aching head, but the pain still throbbed there, my pulse beating against the base of my skull.
Charlie moved swiftly to the crate and forcefully yanked one of its drawers open. The sudden movement made the pulse ring louder in my ears and I felt myself wince at the sound. It was followed by a sort of rattling as Charlie produced a white bottle of tablets.
“Here,” he said, tossing them in my direction
I recognized the label as a popular brand of aspirin, one that we might have even had at home, but I was still reluctant to pick them up. Maybe he was trying to poison me after all.
“No, thank you,” I snapped
He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. Instead, he just smiled and shook his head. I couldn’t help but notice the few strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes. I had a very real urge to put them back into place or maybe run my hands through his hair once more.
I turned away, ashamed of the compulsion and yet I could feel his eyes on me, boring holes through my flesh I wanted to scream, I wanted to run. Yet I knew there was nowhere to go.
“Please,” I tried again, “leave me alone.”
After he left I waited a respectable amount of time before I let the situation sink in. I had to survive on this ship another six days. That could be easy enough, but these people had given me their word once before and that hadn’t exactly turned out well. Six days was less than a single week, about 144 hours. I could handle that, right?
I felt the self-hatred expand on my insides again. Normally I was so put together, so thought out. What in the hell had I been thinking? Or maybe more importantly, what could I have done differently to not have ended up here? I should have tried harder to escape from the abandoned house, or fought harder when I first fled from the SUV. I rubbed my temples and considered the possibilities. I could have grabbed a piece of the glass from the floor, looked for something to write on the wall with so someone might have known I had been there but then after finding my blood they had already known I was there…I shivered at the idea of what the crime scene probably looked like.
At least then I didn’t give in to the tears. My anger was too ferocious to let me cry, at least not then. I could blame myself, and I probably would for the rest of my life—regardless of how short it might be. But the true fault lay in the deviousness of my abductors. What did these people think a teenage girl could do to them, anyway? Even if I had gone to the police with what I saw, they probably wouldn’t have taken a teenager seriously.
I was gnashing my jaws together as I slid further down, adjusting myself so I was completely on the floor. Charlie was possibly the worst of them all—showing me some of what the media had to say, letting me in on the Internet access, only to deny me the smallest contact with Dad, which could be a great source of comfort to him in the days to come. Maybe it was a sick kind of game to him, a way of getting people’s hopes up and then watching them sink like so many stones into the ocean.
And why hadn’t they just dumped me overboard when they had the chance? My family didn’t have any money; they must know that by now. I was still somewhat confident that my body was safe, but my mind couldn’t formulate reasons why they would bother keeping me alive at all if I wasn’t any use to them. I considered what Charlie said about a murder conviction and trembled at the thought. I pictured Dad on the steps of some courthouse demanding justice for a dead daughter. So they hadn’t killed me for any sort of morality, but merely for practicality’s sake.
None of them wanted to go back to prison.
I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the ship. The nausea had receded and for that I was grateful. I had hoped this meant I neither had a concussion nor seasickness, though time would tell.
The coolness of the floor felt good against my scalp. And though my body begged for more sleep, the little switch of common sense in my mind told me to keep vigilant, reminding me I was not in a safe place. I opened my eyes again and stared at the dim light of the desk lamp. Though it didn’t offer much, I deemed it efficient for the little room.
I sat up slowly and pulled the lamp up to the bed. I reached for the piles of papers and notebooks. I knew I shouldn’t look through them, after all, what if they were some intimate correspondence and reading them guaranteed my death? Still, reason hadn’t exactly been my forte in the last 24 hours. Yet I felt entitled to this. If they held information that could give me insight into my abductor, I had a right to them, didn’t I?
So even though I could feel myself biting my lip, a sign that something was amiss, I reached for one. I did take a second and third glance at the door to assure myself no one would come raging in as I curled up with a notebooks. As I opened the front cover and my hand explored the thin paper, I understood it was actually a sketchbook.
Inside, nearly every page was full of some image or another. It seemed strangely intimate looking through those drawings—almost like seeing someone without their clothes on. The first was the intricate drawing of a sunrise, the ripples of the ocean were shadowed with whitecaps and some kind of bird was flying in the distance. The one that followed was a field of trees that looked like they were just coming into bloom, then there was an antique car, an empty dock…
I traced my index finger just above the lines of each sketch and tried to imagine the picture in my head. I attempted to think about the artist and the great pride and detail he had put into every sketch. Or how he might have agonized over which line to make as a figure was shaped. It was better than thinking about how he must have been parted from his artwork.
I had to figure Charlie had probably stolen these from a poor struggling artist on some other smuggling adventure. For some reason, the idea pained me terribly. But it was only too easy to see him taking something he wanted for wanting’s sake. In the pit of me, I felt a pain rise at the knowledge. It was a shame beyond shame to claim something so lovely just for himself, to not share it with others. It made me angry; another offense to add to his list.
But then I scolded myself. I thought perhaps maybe I was being too harsh. I turned over the back of the sketchbook and looked for a price tag or an artist’s label, anything that would suggest someone had given it willingly. There was nothing but a few smudges of lead.
I continued to look through the sketches; some of them appeared unfinished or erased beyond the point of no return, but no less loved in their loveliness. One in particular that struck me was a view of a ship’s deck with pouring down rain during the night. There were no people in the sketch, no animals or objects, just the dark and the rain. I adored how the edges of the drawing were curled from being wet and some spots of lead had clearly been smudged by the drops of water. Looking at it, I could almost feel the cold of the night the water on my face.
After awhile, I picked up another sketchbook and examined those sketches as well. I saw a variety of landscapes and abstract designs, what I thought might have been Reid face down on a table of cards, a baby wearing sunglasses and chewing a building block…
I looked at them over and over again, hypnotized by every point the pencil made and each specific aspect of the pictures. I stared at each one until my eyes hurt.
Then I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and studied them more.
I was looking through the fourth sketchbook when I saw the first one. I must have been in the deep throes of unconsciousness, as my eyes appeared fastened shut by the dark shadows he’d drawn. My hair was matted like fine pieces of string into the pillow beneath it. He must have sketched it from the all too recent events. The sketch that came after it was similar, only he had shaded in the background beyond my lifeless form, making it just as dark there as it had been when I first awoke in Charlie’s room.
He had been drawing me while I lay in the Nothingness. Was it boredom while waiting for me to die that inspired him? The moment I thought it, I knew it couldn’t be true—this drawing of me was something beautiful, something so unlike my true self image, that it seemed obscene to compare the two. These criminals were practical. Beauty and practicality don’t mix.
It made me think that the media had exaggerated the things he’d done, as I was so quick to do. Yet Charlie admitted himself that he intentionally had caused physical harm, ending lives when properly provoked. And above all, I couldn’t forget that anger, the flash of rage when he was crossed the wrong way. I couldn’t deny that the temper within him frightened me.
It was some time later when I heard the knock at the door. At first it was so soft that I wasn’t quite sure I had heard it. I put my head back on the pillow and continued to look through the sketchbook. It was the fourth time I had looked at this one, but it was quickly becoming my favorite. It was mostly filled with scenic landscapes, and thanks to the talent of the artist and my own imagination, I could shut my eyes and easily transport myself there. I was about to go back to an unidentified winter wonderland when the knock came again, this time louder and more desperate.
I bolted upright and accidently dropped the sketchbook on the floor. The moment it landed, the knocking stopped and I heard large, heavy steps outside the door. They sounded impatient, eager. The options were flight or fight and I didn’t exactly have anywhere to run. So I tried to be resourceful and look for a weapon. Where there were drawings there would be drawing utensils, right? Sharp things.
My heart was throbbing inside me before I even understood I was terrified. Who would come for me now? Would they each take turns trying to kill me?
I approached the door slowly. My pulse raged in my ears again and I shook my head, trying to ignore it as best I could, though it was exceedingly difficult. It seemed as soon as my hand was within reach of the door I saw a shadow from the other side collapse slightly. I inhaled sharply and tried to steady myself.
Someone was waiting for me to come out.
I carefully put my ear to the door and tried to determine how many of them were out there. I already knew Wallace was good at sneaking around, so it was possible he was out there, but it was difficult to figure out who else.
A heavy step came closer to the door, revealing the shadow of two large feet. As far as I could see there was only one person, not that the numbers made any difference. I had already proven I wasn’t very capable of defending myself. I stifled back another sob and covered my mouth to mask the sound. If nothing else, I wouldn’t give whoever was there the pleasure of knowing how terrified I was. As I did so, I could smell clove and aftershave from the other side of the door.
I nearly cried from relief. If Charlie was there, then I was safe.
I played back the thought in my head, Charlie would keep me safe. I smiled and slid down against the door. Six days, I thought. Okay, I can handle this.
With a great deal of amusement I watched the shadows of his feet as they paced back and forth past the door. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing, but every so often I would hear his boot smash up against the floor, followed almost immediately by the smell of a freshly lit cigarette. He continued to do this for quite some time. So much so, that I settled myself on my stomach on the bed and watched the feet shadows move, counting the number of paces I could hear before they stopped and started again. The steps were almost the same on each side, rhythmic in a way. It made me want to know if he was counting, too.
I don’t know how much time passed before the pacing stopped and the knocking started again. Although I felt considerably better about him, I still knew better than to let him in. And yes, I was aware he could have easily broken down the door or used a key if he wanted—but I hoped he wouldn’t. I had a very strong feeling he would stay away as long as I asked him to.
It was strange that he was being kind to me, or at least as kind as a murderer and a kidnapper could be. There were some reasons I could gather as to why my abductors had allowed me to live so far. But this odd sort of protectiveness that Charlie watched over me with seemed to be something different. And while I wanted to continue questioning it, I also didn’t want to push any remaining luck I had.
I opened the door slowly with an underlined caution that I knew I’d have to keep with me for the next several days. A small slant of fluorescent light pierced the room and ruined any effect the shadows may have had. I took a deep breath and opened the door all the way.
Charlie wasn’t there. In his place was a small offering of a pre-packaged meal, a water bottle, and a snack cake.
I smiled but quickly scolded myself in case someone may have been watching. Even though my stomach protested, I decided to leave the food there. Though I was over the suspicion of being drugged, I did this mostly because I didn’t want to acknowledge that I needed his or anyone else’s help. It was one thing to be a prisoner, a hostage, but I wasn’t going to be compliant. I wouldn’t let them know how much I was truly indebted to their care. The other reason was more practical, though related to the first. I had no idea where any sort of facility was if I needed one, and while I would have to find a bathroom and even a shower eventually, I couldn’t find it in my pride to do it just yet.
So I shut the door behind me and locked it quickly, enjoying the sound of the click that left me to the pale light and sketchbooks. I felt secure with them. In our few hours together we had formed a sort of bond with each other, seen the same places and traveled the same roads. I sat with one of them and flipped through its tapered corners. The illustrations I saw there made me think of Charlie Hays and the first words he had spoken to me about Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.
Man’s perfect balance.