There's something wrong with Phoebe

4 - Phoebe

I rubbed the cuts on my arms gently. I knew he’d had to do it, but they still hurt. There were bruises on me already from training and playing his games so they were sorted. I sat in a hospital bed in some embarrassing gown going over my story in my head. I’d been pretty relieved when they found me to be honest. I’d been placed on a street corner in some awful, sweaty t-shirt that had gone all stiff and dry under the arms, and there were some baggy, cut off trousers that whipped my legs as the wind blew the cotton from side to side. My face had been smeared with dirt and I’d smelt disgusting. I sat there, wondering when somebody would question the girl on the street who had been missing for six years. I was in my local town, and the image that had been in my mind of what it would look like was slightly altered as shops had changed and new scenery had been added.

Eventually, a kind old woman had bent down and asked if I was OK. I nodded, before letting the false tears stream from my eyes and down my cheeks. The woman looked concerned and asked my name. I told her and her face at first was blank, and then realisation dawned on her. She called the police who came to pick me up, and since then, they have asked me no questions other than what hurts. I took a bath so I now smell fresh and a nurse is going to bandage up my cuts. I wondered how long it would take for them to ask where I’d been for six years, and with whom I’d been, and how I’d escaped.

I was in my own room as the police had muttered something about not wanting people to see me as I was so distressed. I’d concealed my laughter well. I couldn’t wait to see people again, and instead I sat in the car, staring at my hands in my lap with a practiced solemn expression on my face.

I was already missing the tight, supportive hold of my all-in-one suit I’d worn when I stayed at Jack’s. White, with black streaks on the sleeves and a silver strip around the waist which meant it was great at holding in any extra fat. Jack had told me last month, however, that I couldn’t eat as much as I liked. I had to look like I’d been starved. It meant I had to watch the others eat cake and sweets as I munched on celery but it was worth it. I also had to stop doing as many exercises as my stomach was too toned for a girl who had been locked in a room for six years. I heard footsteps and lay my head down on the pillow, closing my eyes and monitoring my breathing carefully.

I heard the door be pushed open a little further and two pairs of feet entered. They stood to the left of my bed. “It’s terrible what she’s been through. Did you see what she looked like when they found her?”

“Like crap, that’s what,” said the second, deeper voice, though both were male. “When do you think we’re supposed to start asking questions?”

“She’s nineteen. I think she’s going to want to get it all off her chest. And she can take the case to court if she can tell us where the guy is. Of course, she’ll get millions in compensation. It was the force’s fault she wasn’t found earlier after all.”

“I’m not so convinced she’ll be as eager,” said the deeper voice. “She grew up away from her family at thirteen. A man took her. I imagine he did some pretty indecent things that she’s going to be embarrassed about. I say we have to have a woman question her. She’ll feel more at home.”

“And what about her family? When can they see her again? It must be killing them knowing she’s alive and not being able to see her.”

“Not today, that’s for sure.”

“Why?”

“This girl has been scarred. If we bring in emotional parents, she’s not going to know what to do with herself. She will remember them all, but when pressed, she may not be able to recall certain memories. It will be painful for herself and her family. She must gain strength before she can see her family again.” I stirred in my sleep. I’d heard enough.