“Because I was in shock.”
“No, let me tell you why you reported him. You were mad because you didn’t get that promotion. He gave it to that Hansson guy instead. Was that why you slept with him, huh? So you could get the promotion? Well, congratulations. I hear you’re the head of homicide now where you live. I guess you won. Meanwhile, my husband, the very man who got you to where you are today, who taught you everything when you were just a young kid, he’s in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Fired, and disgraced, ruined, and my life is ruined too. I hope you’re happy.”
“It was never my fault that he was hit by a truck. That had nothing to do with what happened between us,” I said.
“Yeah, you tell yourself that,” Betty said and tried to close the door.
I put my hand in it and pushed it back open.
“That’s it, I’m getting my gun if you don’t leave this property, now,” she hissed.
“Betty, I need to… do you think it was easy for me to come here today, huh? Do you think I want to be here?”
“Yes, I do. I think you like this, and you want to rub it all in his face, but I ain’t letting you.”
“What’s that commotion about? Why are you yelling?” The voice came from behind her. I recognized it immediately and felt a shiver in my spine.
Travis.
My former partner.
“It’s her,” Betty said and stepped aside so Travis could roll toward me in the doorway. It was the first time I’d seen him in his wheelchair, and it startled me. I had only heard from other people what had happened to him. He looked so different, yet his eyes remained the same.
Betty wheezed. “She won’t leave.”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, my hands clammy, my breath unsteady.
“I told her we’re getting the gun, so…” Betty began, but Travis lifted his hand and stopped her.
He glared at me, then smirked. “I’ll talk to you.”
“But…?”
“Shut up, Betty,” he said. “I wanna hear what she has to say.”
FIFTY-ONEMARISSA
She could hear voices. Voices that were arguing close by. Marissa got up and put an ear to the door, to better hear. Emma was sleeping on the mattress; she had been sleeping a lot these past days. It was very hot in the small shed, and the air stuffy.
Marissa could feel beads of sweat trickling down her forehead as she strained to listen closely. The voices grew louder, they were definitely arguing. Their voices were laced with anger and hostility.
She turned around to look at Emma, who was still fast asleep. Marissa knew she had to keep her safe, no matter what. She tiptoed toward the mattress and gently touched Emma’s shoulder. Emma stirred but didn’t wake up.
Marissa made up her mind and went back to the door. She pressed her ear against it once more, and this time, she could hear them more clearly, but she couldn’t make out what they were arguing about. The voices were too muffled and the words incomprehensible.
Yet she took the chance. She clenched her fists and started hammering on the door, while yelling, “HELP! Someone help us!”
She kept banging on the door and screaming for help, yet nothing happened. Marissa felt tired too and sat down on the floor. She wondered if the shouting had woken up Emma, but it hadn’t. She was still lying there, sleeping heavily.
Like a little angel.
Marissa was happy to be with her again. If she was being honest, she preferred being a prisoner with her, over being on the outside without her. It was simply too painful. At least in here she could protect her.
Marissa could hear the voices again, but they sounded like they were moving away now. She gathered her last strength and started to bang again, while yelling, “Help. Please HELP.”
Then she sank to her knees, sobbing. She couldn’t believe she was trapped here. He brought them food every day, but usually just threw it at her, then bolted the door shut again. Every day Marissa tried to plead for her freedom. Every day she would scream and yell and plead for mercy, but none was ever given. She was stuck there, in this hot oven, with her child.
She wiped her nose with her hand and looked at her daughter. She had been sleeping for an awful long time now, it seemed.
A frown grew between Marissa’s eyes.
That’s not normal.
She got up and walked to her daughter. She looked so tiny, so pale from the lack of sunlight and proper food.
“Emma?” she said. She reached out a hand and gently touched her forehead, then pulled it back again with a gasp.
She was burning up.
She tried to wake her up. “Emma? Emma?”
She touched her cheeks, then kissed them, while calling her name. “Emma? Emma. Wake up, baby girl.”
But Emma didn’t wake up. She lay there, completely still, her red cheeks and forehead burning.
“Please, Emma, please,” she cried and took her baby in her arms. “Please, Emma, wake up. Please, WAKE UP!”
FIFTY-TWOBILLIE ANN
