Ruth assured her that she understood. “People work through a crisis in different ways. But you’re here, and I give you credit for taking steps to help yourself. Let’s talk about what you’ve been going through.”
“The first few days, everything was about the urgency of finding her.” Addie Donovan’s mother, Debra, stared at the floor as she wrung her hands, picking at her cuticles and squeezing her fingers until they turned white. “The search consumed us, day and night. I kept thinking we would find her huddled by some boulders on the ridge or at the edge of a stream. Addie’s an excellent rider, but anyone can get thrown, and I couldn’t stop picturing my little girl unconscious and”—her voice cracked with despair—“bleeding somewhere. All alone.”
Ruth nodded sympathetically, following Debra’s every word but giving her space to tell her story.
“It was as if I could see her looking at the sunset and calling for us to come rescue her.” Debra pressed her eyes closed for a moment. “It was horrible. Three days of constant panic as we searched. And then, when the sheriff widened the search, Jeremy asked me to stay back at the ranch in case . . . just in case, somehow, she came home to us. That’s when the panic gave way to the sickening realization that someone had kidnapped our girl. She’s out there—I know she is—but he’s got her.”
“Who do you think has her?”
“Some depraved man. Addie is adorable, and she has a very mature body. God blessed her with ample bosoms that—well, you probably know how men can be.”
“Is there someone you suspect of taking her? Someone with a grudge?”
Debra shook her head. “I spent a lot of time crying at the house, trying to think of anyone who’d feel wronged by her. I thought of her teachers and friends. Maybe someone she babysat for, or one of our workers at the feed store. She’s worked there part-time for years, so lots of people in town know her from seeing her behind the register. But the truth is, Addie is a good kid. She’s not in the popular crowd at school, but she does have friends. And none of them can think of anyone who had it out for her. So now it’s just a waiting game to see if—if someone comes forward and asks for ransom or—” She pressed a fist to her mouth, but a sob escaped, and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I thought I was all cried out.”
“It takes a lot of crying. Tears are a normal part of the trauma you’re going through.”
“I’m trying to stay strong, but sometimes I can’t hold them back,” Debra said, reaching for some tissues.
“They’re not a sign of weakness. They’re an important part of the process.”
“I just want this to be over,” Debra cried. “I want Addie back. If only I hadn’t worked late that night. I would have been at the house, at least. I would have been closer. Maybe . . . maybe if he saw my car at the house, he would have stayed away . . .” She talked more about the past few days, the endless rides over their property and bordering lands. The repeated interviews her husband and son had sat through with people from the Sheriff’s Department and the county and state police. Deputies and detectives traipsing through the house, sipping coffee and using the phone because their cell service failed out on the range.
Ruth steeled herself to counsel Debra, but inside she wanted to cry. Losing Penny would be her worst nightmare. All things considered, Debra was holding up well.
Debra didn’t understand how Ruth could help her. “No offense, but I’m not going to pop any pills,” Debra said. “Those prescription medications, that’s a slippery slope.”
“I can’t dispense drugs.” Although Ruth sometimes worked in tandem with a medical doctor who prescribed, she was glad that Debra did not want to go that route. “My job is to give you the tools to cope with this crisis, and the best way to do that would be to meet two or three times a week right now. Bring Jeremy if he wants to come. I can help you develop a vocabulary to describe your feelings. We can make a short-term plan to help you endure this period.”
“What would that do?”
“Maybe you would plan to avoid someone at work who asks too many questions. Or you might add more rigorous exercise to your daily schedule to help you sleep at night.”
“Things like that might help.” Debra nodded.
“And we need to talk about the guilt and blame,” Ruth said.
“We got plenty of that going around at our house.”
“It’s natural to blame yourself, but self-hatred is a destructive behavior. You need to stay strong for your girl, and your family,” Ruth said. “Food and rest are important. And hope.”
“I’ll never give up hope,” Debra vowed. “I won’t give up on my girl.”
Ruth gave a nod of encouragement, hoping that Debra’s steadfast faith would be rewarded. She prayed that the deputies would find her daughter and bring her home soon.
*
Addie was baking in a huge oven, about to explode in a fireball, as he stoked the flames and tossed more wood onto the fire. Addie whimpered, wanting to give up, but knowing she had to try and stay alive for the people she loved: her mother and father and Dean. Even Gil—what she wouldn’t give to see him again . . .
Her head lolled to one side, and her eyes slid open. The rough cot and the bare shack showed her that it was a dream.
Except for the heat.
It was hotter than hell in here. Suffocating. She pushed up with an effort, handcuffed to a chain and tethered inside a shack like a rabid dog, waiting to die. He’d brought her two buckets, one for water and one for waste.
She went to the water bucket and splashed her face, neck, and breasts. No worries about getting her clothes wet since he had taken her clothes away.
“You girls are so modest,” he’d told her, staring at her breasts. “You’re not gonna run off while you’re naked.”
Ya think? Just watch me, dickhead.
Addie worked at the cheesy handcuffs lined with pink acetate fur, twisting and tugging, trying to imagine a way to slip out of them. He disappeared for long blocks of time. He must have some kind of job that kept him busy, which she was grateful for, because otherwise she knew he’d spend even more time with her. She shuddered and looked down at her cuffs. They were causing blisters on the skin of her wrists. He’d bragged about them, saying she was the lucky one, that the other girls hadn’t had it so good. The idea that she should be grateful for having fancy new handcuffs while the other girls hadn’t just showed how crazy he was.
And what other girls? As far as she could tell, she was the only person stuck here.
Which could only mean two things: either the other girls had escaped, or they were dead.
Maybe they died in these very chains, their eyes on those windows up above, clinging to the light as hope drained from their bodies.
A whimper escaped her throat. Mom and Dad, where are you?
She sputtered and swiped water from her face with her forearm. These cuffs weren’t going to slip off anytime soon, but maybe she could wear down the chains. She would have to find something hard to file them down, and it would take years.
She sniffed, and then bit her bottom lip.
Might as well get started now.
Chapter 17