Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 9

We spend the next day in a constant state of anxiety, waiting for night to fall, waiting for our chance to escape. The tote bags are hidden in my closet to make sure that mother and father don't see them. 

When father let Cate out of the closet by breakfast, Esme wasted no time telling her the good news as we were getting ready. "Are you sure the plan will work?" Cate asks, picking at her nails anxiously. "There's no other option." I tell her.

Finally, night approaches. We sit down at a final dinner with mother and father before feigning exhaustion and going upstairs early to prepare. At exactly eleven at night, my alarm goes off. I quickly gather our tote bags and slip on my most durable sneakers before making my way to my sister's rooms. Once waking up the others, I hand out all of the bags and make sure everyone is wearing proper clothing and footwear, although Esme insisted on wearing her flip-flops. In a silent procession, we then walk downstairs and out the front door, careful of which steps creak and how softly the door is shut.

Once arriving on our front steps, I look around at my sisters, the moonlight illuminating their pale faces, each one filled with emotion. Anxiety, fear, excitement, and anticipation all muddled together in a soft smile, a furrowed brow, a glint in the eye. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Izzy asks, leaning her head on my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my cheek. "I'm sure." I say. 

I am the eldest daughter.

The daughter who reassures.

The daughter who facilitates.

The daughter who's always there.

Izzy nods, and I can see tears forming in her green eyes, glass crystals rolling down her cheeks. "We have to do this." I tell her. 

Our little group briskly walks along the street, lugging our bags like they weigh nothing. I'm in the front leading the way, carrying the bag filled with money and sanitary products. Cate's right next to me with GoogleMaps pulled up on her phone, as she was able to disable the tracking devices father put on our devices. Then come Lilia and Izzy, each sporting another tote bag, one filled with food and water, and the other filled with clothes. Esme is at the end, as she is in charge of making sure no one get's lost or is left behind. She's also carrying a tote bag, but this one contains a nearly a months worth of clothes. 

We start off walking with a spring in our step, thrilled with the idea of finding freedom. But after a few hours, the excitement wears off. Our eyes begin to get heavy, only staying open at the prospect of getting away. That's why desperation is so dangerous. When a person is desperate, they will do anything in their power to survive. My whole childhood has simply been an attempt, a race, to see how quickly I can leave and turn my family into nothing more than a dusty photograph. When I was about five or six, I realized that I would have to wait to leave. Wait until I was old enough to get a job and to drive. Well, the wait is over now.

We eventually arrive at a large bridge, the type where cars drive across the middle and there are two footpaths running parallel on either side. The cement is cracked and peppered with small potholes smeared in blacktop as a sorry attempt to even out the road. There are railings, of course, but they're fairly short, less than two feet tall, and covered in bright red paint. According to GoogleMaps, we're at the Dyckman Avenue bridge, which spans across The Black River. From the looks of it, going across the bridge seems to be the quickest route, so with a nod to my sisters, I begin to make my way across it. The bridge seems to go on for an eternity, expanding into the night. Because it's after midnight, there are no cars riding on the bridge, and the area is eerily silent except for the soft sound of our footsteps on the cement. 

It's dark. Very dark. The absence of car headlights or streetlights has allowed the night to take its full strength, engulfing our tiny group in darkness. Despite the fact that there are no cars out at this hour, we're walking on the narrow footpath as opposed to the center of the road. I keep turning my head around, trying to glimpse my sisters to ensure that we're all still here. After a while, we fall into a rhythm of sorts. First comes the muffled shuffling of feet, then the heavy breathing from hulling such a large bag, ending with the occasional reassuring whisper. Shuffle, breathe, whisper. Shuffle, breathe, whisper. 

Suddenly, our rhythm comes to a halt. As we're walking, I hear a sound coming from the back of our little line. I hear someones shoes smack down on the cement, before the telltale sounds of one stumbling. I'm about to call out and ask if whoever it was is okay when I hear a shriek pierce the air, Esme's shriek, followed by a loud splash of water echoing throughout the bridge. 

My stomach drops as I race over to where the sound was, and I see Izzy sitting in shock, crying. "Where's Esme?" I yell, shaking my hysterical sister by the shoulders, "Where is she?" "She fell in!" Lilia screams, her pupils wide and dilated, "Izzy tripped on a pothole and fell into her. She, she fell backwards over the railing." Cate has joined our huddle, and is now consoling Izzy. "It's my fault, it's my fault she fell!" Izzy cries. Lilia catches my eye and joins me at the railing, her phone turned onto its flashlight setting. "Esme, where are you?" We yell. Esme is a decent swimmer, she should be okay, but my optimism dwindles as the water remains still, not a ripple in sight. 

As we're standing there, staring out at the water, I suddenly see a single ivory flipflop floating on its surface. My worst fear is confirmed; Esme is dead.