I ran to the end of the hall and yanked open the dead-bolted door. “Veronica,” I said.
Seeing her in the beam of my flashlight was shocking, even though I had been looking for her for days.
Abruptly, she stopped pleading, just stared at me. She was sitting on a bare twin mattress on the floor, clutching a sheet to her chest. She appeared to be naked beneath it. Her red-violet hair was tangled. Her lips were dry and peeling. She was looking past me somehow, as if she expected someone else.
“Veronica,” I said again.
“Shhhhh,” another voice whispered from somewhere else in the house.
I whirled around in the dark, but the room was empty.
I went over to the bed. “Veronica.” I knelt down in front of her, holding the flashlight between my elbow and my rib cage. “Veronica.”
“It’s a trick, don’t say anything,” the other voice hissed.
Veronica blinked at me, her eyes wide with confusion and stunned fear. “Wh—” she said. Then she stopped.
“Veronica, are you okay? Are you hurt?” I reached for her shoulder but she jerked away from me. Then she pulled the bottom of the sheet up, exposing her legs. Her ankles were shackled together, the skin around the cuffs scabbed and bruised deeply. The irons were attached to a long length of heavy chain, which was bolted to the floor. The mattress was stained and the room smelled like blood and sex and urine and I bit my lip so hard I tasted metal.
“Veronica, listen,” I said to her. I stood up and scanned the room. The only window was boarded up, the curtain smashed against the glass under a sheet of plywood. The chain tying Veronica to the floor was long enough to get to a bucket in the corner, which appeared to serve as a toilet. I grabbed the chain and pulled against the bolt, but it was fastened tight. I knew from the other whispered voice that we weren’t alone in the house but I needed to focus on getting her out of there. I dropped the chain and knelt in front of her again. “I met you at Shelby’s house,” I said, in case the horror of her last few days had wiped her memory. “You can trust me.”
“I remember,” she whispered numbly. I wondered if she was drugged. “One ‘n.’”
I smiled, or at least tried to. I hoped it was reassuring but it felt like anything but. “Yeah, that’s right. Roxane, with one ‘n,’” I said. “Girl, am I glad to see you. And Shelby’s going to be so happy too. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Is Sarah here?”
“Shelby,” she said.
I tried again. “Where is Sarah?”
“Other room.”
“Okay, Veronica? Veronica. Do you have clothes?” I said. She just stared at me. I looked around the room again. No clothes. Nothing except the bucket in the corner. Hoping Sarah might be able to assist me in some way, I went back into the hall and pulled open the other dead-bolted door. It led into another small bedroom. A very different bedroom. This one had a lamp and a bed with pillows and an actual blanket, a section of floral fabric hanging over the plywood on the window, a small television, two stacks of books and journals on a dresser.
And there was Sarah Cook, crouched in the corner, her hands on her belly.
She was pregnant.
Very pregnant.
I dropped to my knees in front of her and we stared at each other. She was wearing sweatpants and a grey T-shirt. Her ankles were bare, no shackles in sight. She looked to be in much better shape than Veronica did, except for the obvious. She did not seem happy to see me, however.
“You tell him I was good,” she whispered. “You tell him I was good because I was.”
“Sarah, I’m here to help you. I want to get you out of here, both of you,” I said, approaching her slowly.
Sarah shrank back into the corner. She was shaking her head, muttering no no no no no no. In the other room, Veronica was crying.
“I know Brad,” I said. “Brad Stockton. That’s why I’m here.”
She stopped muttering, her nostrils flaring. “Brad,” she said.
“I don’t know what happened here but it’s over, Sarah,” I said, “please, help me. Help me with Veronica and we can get away from this place and you can see Brad.”
She shook her head and didn’t move. “I’m not stupid anymore,” she said.
I wanted to ask what she meant. But there wasn’t time to ask. A digital clock on her nightstand said it was almost ten. I winced as I stood up and looked around the room for something I could use on the chain, running my fingertips over book spines and dirty plates and the base of the lamp. It was cheap metal, but it had some heft to it. I yanked the cord out of the wall, plunging the room into darkness.
Sarah drew in a sharp breath.
I stumbled over something on my way out of the room—a laundry basket. I grabbed a shirt and sweatpants from the stack and took them in to Veronica. She was still silently weeping, her tears sparkling grimly in the pale glow of my flashlight. She picked up the sweatpants and just looked at me like What the fuck am I supposed to do with this.
“Right,” I said. “Okay.” I sat on the floor above the bolt and drove the base of the lamp against it with all my strength once, twice, three times. On the fourth, the lamp fractured into four pieces while the chain remained untouched. I threw what remained of the lamp against the wall, feeling sick as I stood up and paced the length of the small room. Veronica was still on the bed, but she had lowered the sheet to her lap as she struggled into the shirt. Her torso was blotchy with bruises.
I was not going to cry.
I went back to the bolt and thought about putting a bullet through it. But the chain was iron and there was no telling what might happen if I shot at it—I imagined a slug ricocheting around the house and killing us all. I tried yanking on it again with my bare hands.
If only I had called Tom instead of Peter Novotny with my last remaining moments of sanity.
If only I hadn’t broken my phone.
If only I had a clue what I was doing.
“I don’t like the dark,” Sarah whispered, close to my ear. I spun around, jumping slightly at her shadowy figure. “You took my light.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Here.” I placed the flashlight on the bed next to Veronica so that it lit up the floor in front of Sarah. I shrugged out of my leather jacket, sweat pouring off of me as I picked up the chain again. “Okay. I need some help. Please.”
Sarah looked at me. She was physically in better shape than Veronica, but mentally, maybe far worse off. Fifteen years was a long time. She’d been in this house for almost as long as she’d ever lived outside of it. “You can’t be in here,” she said. “He isn’t going to like it.”
“I know.” I yanked at the chain, my arms trembling. “That’s why we need to get out. Do you know where the key is for this?”
“You have to leave.”
“Sarah. Can you go to the neighbor’s house and get help? The garage door is unlocked.”