Incarcerator

Chapter One

Ellie

She wonders what would happen if she fell. If she lets herself tip off the swing in mid air. It would hurt, she thinks, her small fingers gripping the chains tighter. The little girl looks up at the gloomy gray sky, bright even without the sun shining through. The cries and shouts of other children surround her in the playground. She tries to drown them out, to ignore them running around and screaming like mad. I wish they would have fun quietly.

Bring, bring!

She flinches at the blare of the bell, and the onslaught of even louder shouts from the other children. They all start to rush from the playground and across the court to the classrooms with their backpacks bouncing as they go, bigger than all of them. The little girl slows down the swing and hops off, her feet dragging through the bark as she heads to class. She can't wait to go home to a quiet, empty house.

Mommy could be in trouble, she realises as she walks. I'm not old enough to stay home alone. Her Dad certainly wouldn't approve, but her Mom is the less strict of the two. She knows her daughter is capable of taking care of herself.

The little girl's light blue sneakers plop against the pavement. She keeps her head down, following the invisible lines with each step. I can go home soon, she thinks to herself. But soon feels too far away, not soon enough.

"Ellie!" Booms a voice from a head; loud but light, female.

She looks up to see her teacher, Ms. Wright, standing outside one of the classrooms. The teacher's curly, copper hair shimmers without the sunlight. Bright like her pale skin, especially against her dark, floral blouse and black skirt.

"Come to class now," Mrs. Wright says softly, beckoning her over with a wave of her hand.

Ellie keeps her gaze on the concrete and scurries over, gripping either side of her backpack; it's light, since she forgot to pack her lunch. At least she can snack when she gets home - whatever she wants since Mom won't be there. "Sorry," she mumbles as she walks past her teacher.

Ms. Wright taps her shoulder gently as they head towards the classroom door. "It's all right, honey," she tells her, putting on the same sympathetic voice all the adults seem to do with Ellie now. "Just make sure you listen for the bell."

Ellie steps inside the classroom, feeling like a rain cloud. She wants to cry, for no reason other than that she wants to go home. All the kids stare at her and watch as she puts her bag away in the back room. She tries to ignore their eyes following her once she joins them on the mat. Ms. Wright takes her place in front of the whiteboard, putting on a red-lipped smile.

"Now," she begins, tapping the black heading Reading Log on the board. "Who did their reading homework to their parents last weekend? A show of hands, please?"

All of the kids raise their tiny, eager hands except Ellie. She tips her head towards the carpet, slumped over and sitting cross legged like everyone else. Only, she isn't. Daddy's dead, she wants to say. Mommy is too busy at work. She has no parents to read to.

She finally escapes from school. Thin drops of rain spit on the pavement as Ellie approaches her house, big and white and beautiful. She always thinks she is lucky to have such a pretty house - more than some, away from most of them. She knows it's because her Dad worked hard, and her Mom still works hard. Home, she thinks with a smile as she walks down the smooth white pathway towards the front door. She steps over the gaps where the bright, neatly trimmed grass grows. Or doesn't, since it's always cleanly cut.

Ellie stops for a moment to take in the arctic gray bricks surrounding the tall brown door. She admires the modern design, a mid-sized three story house with natural stone accents. Especially the large, portrait windows that reflected the light of the sky. It always feels good to be home. She fishes her little fingers in the pocket of her jeans and pulls out the key. Good thing I didn't lose it. She fiddles it into the keyhole until it clicks open.

Ellie enters her house, everything bright with the late afternoon sunlight. She nudges the door shut and locks it. Put the key on the kitchen counter, she reminds herself, though all she can hear is her Mom's voice telling her to do so. She makes her way to the kitchen and does, realising she no longer has to tippy toe to reach the pearl marble counters. Since she turned ten, she's been having a growth spurt like boys - suddenly shooting up in height.

She stands near the kitchen, looking around at the living room. A large, black on-the-wall TV stares at her. The long, L-shaped leather couch seems to call her. Snack first, she thinks, setting her bag down by the stools on the kitchen island. She skips to the steely fridge, grabbing a small carton of orange juice and some bread, jam and peanut butter. She fixes herself a sandwich, humming as she does - like she remembers her Mom used to when she had Sundays off and would cook pancakes in the morning.

Ellie misses that - her family being together. Sundays were always the best days, even with school starting the next day. Nothing could ruin family time. Ellie cuts her sandwich diagonally, grabs her carton and heads over to the couch. She leaves all the bread and cutlery out. I'll clean it later, she promises to no one in particular. And she would, because she always did. Mom likes the house clean, so did Dad.

She plops onto the couch and flicks on the TV, an animal documentary appearing on the screen. A tiger, strolling through the outskirts of some trees. Must be hunting, she thinks, taking a bite of her PB and J. Her eyes drift to the small white shelf beneath the TV, full of photo frames with pictures of her and her parents. One with them all cozied up in particular, arms around each other's shoulders. Ellie, of course, is squeezed in the middle. She stares at them, the tired smile of her Dad that she'll never see again.