Ryder

Chapter 3

My second question had taken her a while longer to piece together. 

"So....uh....R-Ryder....what....happens now?"  She simply stared back at me with wide-set eyes.  Her raised eyebrows gave her a perpetually surprised look. 

"Am I coming?" 

"What?  Coming where?"  I asked. 

"With you."

Great.  My parents get mad if I bring a bad grade home.  What will they say when they see a person?  I couldn't bring her home.  But I couldn't leave her here....if I did, I would've had enough guilt to last a lifetime.

"Come on."  I had no clue what I was getting myself into. 

Ryder slowly got up, picking up her tiny frame.  She was a little bit shorter than me, and by far thinner.  She probably hadn't eaten a full meal in years.  The girl stood there, staring at me, rocking back and forth on her heels.  It was one of the more uncomfortable things that I've experienced. 

Around a minute or so passed, and I was pretty sure she was still looking at me.  I averted my eyes, and gazed blankly upon her bare feet. 

"Let's go," I decided.  I reached out my hand to gently grab her bony wrist.  Ryder was surprisingly willing to do anything for a person who had been locked alone in a basement for what seemed like forever.  Pulling her along, we headed up the stairs.  I made sure to be extra careful that she didn't fall down.  That was the last thing either of us needed. 

When we were safely outside that hideous house, it was still pouring.  I tucked my chunky camera inside my shirt to protect it.  I remembered Ryder's bare feet. 

"Um....here."  I stripped off my Converse and handed them to her.  It wasn't too far a walk to my house.  I'd be fine walking in my socks.  "Now....why were you there?"

Ryder continued walking aimlessly without me.  "Hmmm....." she hummed, clearly trying to remember.  I braced myself.

"I was six," she began. "I lived with my mum, my dad, and my little brother....what was his name?  Oh, yes, Michael....well, we were all very happy together."

Yeah, right.  She was locked up in a basement.  I sure didn't want to know her definition of "happy". 

"I was out on a drive with my mum and Michael....we went to get him a book.  For a little kid, he sure loved books.  But, Michael never did get his book....and I never got them back."

Oh, my God. 

"When we were driving there, another car didn't stop at the red sign.  It hit us.  I was hurt very badly, but more on the inside than out," she said, lifting up the bottom hem of her gray shirt to reveal a long scar.  "I ran home.  It was very scary.  Daddy was confused at first.  But I think he figured out.  Eventually...."

He did this.  Her father.  Why?  Had his grief driven him insane?

"At first, he was sad.  I didn't see him much then.  He kept himself in his bedroom.  But one day, he came out.  He said it was because of me.  He said that they were gone because of me.  He hit me.  I was hurt.  It happened often....and he said that I deserved nothing.  I remember yelling.  And shoving....and tripping down the basement steps.  Then darkness.  I was given a bottle of water and some bread each day.  It's been that way ever since last week....no more food or water came then.  Daddy left."

Rage boiled inside of me.  I've heard about some pretty unfair things, but this....wow.  She was just a vicitm.  How could I have thought that she was a menace? 

"I--I am so sorry."  Wow.  That was all I could say.  Her mother and brother died in her presence, and she was abused for it.  And the only thing I said was "sorry". 

I have a way with words.

"Are we there, Mr. Ryan?"  Ryder asked, not at all fazed by her emotionally unnerving story. 

"Yeah," I replied.  We were sort of close. "And....you really don't have to call me 'Mr. Ryan', Ryder."

"Oh.  Okay."  We continued walking in silence.  I saw the odd looks some people gave her through windows.  We lived in a very clean neighbourhood in Maine, so it was only natural that her bizzare appearance attracted glares.  When we reached my block, we walked two houses from the corner.  This was it.  I was bringing a person home.  A person who looked like Hell.  This should be interesting.  I pulled on Ryder's wrist, and tugged her up the front porch.

Breathing in one last, deep breath, I opened the door to my home.