Retaking her spot in the pool of light provided by the computer screen and projector, she awaited further instruction. Fetch, she thought bitterly, like a trained dog. He treated her like an animal with everything he forced her to do, and the punishments for failing. Every year her class raised money for the local animal shelter. She’d gone once and never returned. It’d been too hard to see the animals locked up, barking or rubbing up against the cage doors for attention.
But worse had been the ones that had cowered in the back of their cages, shivering, heads down, refusing eye contact. With a brilliant burst of understanding, she realized that was what he was trying to do. Break her down. Destroy her spirit until she’d do anything—be anything he demanded.
Tendrils of fear curled up her spine. Maybe he’d succeed if she didn’t get out of here.
“Your nightly TV time won’t begin until you’ve finished. Remember, Whitney, healthy body, healthy spirit, healthy mind.” She waited until she heard him move away to begin unwrapping the cellophane from the sandwich.
She couldn’t have eaten quickly if she tried. Her nerves were too jittery with her plans for later that night. But she forced the food down, a little at a time. He was right about one thing—she needed her strength for what was to come. When she’d finished, she returned the cellophane and apple core to where he left the food for him to dispose of the next day.
The TV show began before she even returned to her spot. He watched that closely, hovering over the image from the camera he must have on the computer and responding instantly.
She sat down on the chilly floor, turned to stare blindly at the silly show on the wall behind the barre. He had to have the projector hooked to the computer the way they did when they presented their group projects to the class. The detail wasn’t important, but it had taken her too long to note it. Just like thinking of another use for that screw in the shower should have occurred to her earlier.
It was like her brain had been frozen with terror and grief. But it wasn’t numb anymore. And if she was successful tonight, it might be only a matter of time until the freak was in prison. But she wished, more than anything else, that before he was locked up, she’d get a chance to find his whip and use it on him.
How much time had passed since the lights had gone out? It was difficult to know because Whitney had been busy. First, she’d collected all the food she’d squirreled away and brought it to the mattress. It took more time than she’d figured to turn the nightgown into a sort of roomy backpack. She’d ended up ripping two seams along the sides to thread the sleeves through, which could be tied together.
No use worrying what would happen to her for tearing the garment, she thought darkly. Trying to escape would bring the worst punishment yet.
Her hands faltered at the thought. What would he do to her if she were caught? Her pulse began to pound as her imagination obliged with clip after clip of possibilities. Would he kill her? Or was there punishment worse than death?
She shook her head violently to dislodge the thoughts. He wanted her like this. Paralyzed by fear of displeasing him. And how long would it take until she became exactly what he trained her to be, like one of those dogs, broken and afraid? The memory had some of her resolve returning, and she continued laboring over her makeshift backpack until it was ready to fill with her meager supplies.
Trying it on, she made a few minor adjustments, but overall, she was pleased with the result. Then she went to the barre and worked as quietly as she could at removing each of the screws she’d loosened.
A thrill of excitement pounded through her when she held all six of them in her hand. Carefully she removed the bracket from the end of the barre with no more than a few clinks of metal on metal. Bent to set it and the screws on the floor. Barely daring to breathe, Whitney slid the thick, metal manacle that matched the one on her wrist down the barre. Off it.
The oxygen leached from her lungs. The bracket on the far end of the barre kept it hanging from the wall akilter. She gathered up the long links of chain and did a fist pump in the air. She was free! She wanted to get started on her escape plan. Right now. But it couldn’t be much past eleven. To pass the time, Whitney took out the scroll of papers Kelsey had left. Wrapping the chain around her waist and tucking in the loose end to reduce its jangling, she then carried the pages over to the window, heady with her newfound range of motion.
It was a goodbye of sorts. She unrolled the sheets and tried to find a glint of light to read by. Whitney had gained strength from the girl who had come before her, and she owed her for that. She skimmed over Kelsey’s innermost thoughts that so closely reflected her own. Terror. Determination. Depression. Whitney had experienced all of that, too. She wondered if there was anyone else in the world who could understand her feelings as well as the freak’s other captive.
Tonight he told me he’s moving me. I don’t know what that means. I’m ashamed that my first thought when he said it wasn’t escape. It was fear. Fear that wherever he takes me will be even worse.
But what could be worse? I haven’t had a beating in months, but I can still feel marks on my back and butt. I don’t know if they’ll ever go away. He’s branded me. Made me his even though I won’t be. Never. But I’ve pretended for all I was worth for so long now that sometimes it’s hard to remember my plans to get away. To remember who I am.
I’m KELSEY WILLARD. He’s been trying to change that all year, but I won’t let him. He’s given me a new name. He calls me Faith. He wants to destroy the memories of my family and any life I had before he brought me here, but he hasn’t. My sister is Janie. She has social anxiety that doesn’t let her do everything she wants to, but she’s crazy smart. Way smarter than I was at that age. She fell out of the swing once when she was little, and I was the only one who could get her to get back on it. I taught her to pump with her feet, and after a while, she’d let me give her underdogs. Fly high, Janie. That’s what I always told her. Fly high, and you’ll find your voice.
Claire is my mom. Not some other unseen woman that he keeps telling me will be my new mother. I have a mother. She’s pretty and fun, and we go out for lunch and shopping together, just the two of us. I was so mad at her at the end. So mean. I know I hurt her feelings. But it wasn’t her fault. I hope I get a chance to tell her that.
And this POS is not my dad, no matter how many times he has me call him Daddy. My father is David Willard. Fathers take care of their families, but they love them, too. They goof around and make their kids laugh and don’t get mad when they take their daughter to practice driving and she scratches the car. My dad just made a joke about buying me a junker when I get my license so I can’t damage it.