Sins of the Father

7 | Sister

My eyes flutter open. For a moment, I forget where I am. The unfamiliar grayness of my surroundings makes me blink a few times, and when I take a deep breath and pain shoots through my middle, I remember that he kneed me. When the pain subsides, anger is all that's left, but right before I kick my mattress out of frustration, I notice it.

There's something new.

Someone new.

There's another mattress against the wall across from mine. Curled up on it is a girl, sound asleep. Her hair covers her face, but I can tell from her size that she's young. This is why he wanted me out: he needed to bring in another victim without me getting in the way or trying to escape.

Her blanket rises and falls as she breathes. Before I can decide whether to wake her up, she bolts upright, rubbing her eyes. She freezes when she sees me through her fingers, and then she shoots to her feet and runs up to the door. I slowly walk to the end of the staircase and watch as she desperately jiggles the knob.

It doesn't budge, and she turns around to face me. "Let met out," she begs.

"I can't," I say carefully. "I'm not the one who brought you here. I'm stuck here, too."

She pounds on the door. "Hello!" she screams. "Hello!"

"He won't answer."

She turns to face me again, tears streaming down her face. Slowly, she takes the steps down, and I walk away to give her space. She stays as far away from me as she can and backs into a corner.

"What happened to you?" I ask.

She sniffs and wipes under her nose with her sleeve. I think she knows we're on the same side, but she can't bring herself to trust me. I'm still a stranger to her.

"I'm Andrew," I say. "But you can call me Andy. What's your name?"

"Andrew Kennedy?" she asks instead.

I stare at her. "You know who I am?"

"You've been missing for a few days. My mom mentioned it."

"Are you from Old Mills, too?"

She nods. "Is that where we are?"

My heart races. If the man kidnapped two kids, both from Old Mills, then it makes sense for him to live in Old Mills, doesn't it? If we're still in town, then there's got to be local people looking for us. I hold on to that hope and repeat my question.

"What's your name?"

She sniffs again. "Charlotte," she says quietly. "But you can call me Charlie."

"How old are you, Charlie?"

"Nine."

I swallow. The man and Annie were already sickos for kidnapping me, but they went ahead and kidnapped someone even younger? I look at her hands and see that both palms are healthy; they hadn't cut her. I suppose grabbing a nine-year-old is easy enough to forego the first attack.

"Who is he?" she asks.

"I don't know."

"What's he going to do to us?"

"I don't know." I pause. "What happened to you?"

Charlie takes a deep breath and exhales, her bangs fluttering. "I was picking up trash," she says. "With the Girl Scouts. I walked farther away than I should have, but I didn't think..." Her eyes well up.

"It's not your fault, Charlie." I pause. "Someone grabbed you? Put something over your face?"

She nods and abruptly asks, "Do you have something to pick the lock with?"

"Ah, no." I raise an eyebrow. "Do you know how to pick a lock?"

"No," she admits, leaving the corner.

I stay where I am to try not to scare her, and Charlie carefully sits down on her mattress. I do the same on mine, and we watch each other from across the basement. She pulls up her sleeve to rub her elbow, and bile rises in my throat when I see a massive purple bruise.

"Did he do that to you?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. A girl named Jenna pulled me off the monkey bars at recess. She doesn't like me."

I shake my head. "Bullies suck."

"Do you have a bully?"

"Yeah," I say, and though I don't want to talk about him, it's at least distracting her. "A guy named Jake Lawson. Sometimes I wish I could fill his locker with bouncy balls."

She laughs. "I—"

We both freeze when the door opens. The man comes down with a huge smile on his face, glowing with happiness. Charlie's words get caught in her throat, and she makes this awful choking noise.

"It's so good to see you kids getting along!" he says.

Unlike me, Charlie doesn't demand for him to let her go. She doesn't ask him any questions. All she does is stare at him with wide, horrified eyes, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

"Aw, sweetheart!" he cries. "Don't be sad! Son, tell her—aren't I a good father?"

My good hand clenches, and Charlie stares at me. I notice that, for the first time, the man is not standing between me and the stairs. I have a clear shot out, and the door is wide open. But he's only allowed this because of Charlie, because he knows she won't be able to follow me, and I can't leave her behind with him.

"He's a great father," I say stiffly.

The man smiles. "See! There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll be back soon."

After he leaves, my hand stays clenched. Charlie has forgotten all about our mutual hatred of bullies and my joyous idea of filling lockers with bouncy balls, and all she does is break down sobbing. I watch her, my own eyes dry, face completely expressionless.

Finally I bring myself to her mattress and sit next to her, and she leans her head against my arm and keeps crying.