“It’s all right,” I said. “You were wonderful, just what I needed.”
He fell back and caught his breath as he gazed up in wonder at the ceiling. “I feel good,” he said, “but guilty, too.”
“Because of Rachel?”
“A little, but more because I never dreamed this would happen now. I mean, with what’s going on here.”
“That’s part of the reason, but only part of it,” I added quickly. “I’ve always fantasized about you being here in my room with me.”
“Really?”
“I think Rachel knows it, too.”
“Oh. Maybe,” he said. “What difference does it make now?” He turned to me, smiling.
“None that I can think of,” I said.
A half hour later, we made love again, and then I thought it was best that I sneak him out of the house.
“Let me check first,” I told him. I certainly didn’t want my mother or Mrs. Lofter to see him. Daddy was in his office on the phone, so I was able to show Ryan out undetected.
I walked him to his car, and we kissed good night. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised.
“No. Wait for me to call you,” I said. “I don’t know what will be going on here tomorrow.”
“Sure. I hope it all works out well.”
“It will,” I said.
He smiled at my optimism.
I wanted to add, It already has, but I just kissed him one more time and went back into the house.
It was quiet, but as I started up the stairway, Mrs. Lofter was coming down. “Your mother is finally asleep,” she said. “Come get me if she wakes up too soon.”
“Of course,” I said. I watched her descend. “Of course I will,” I whispered.
On my way back to my room, I paused at Kaylee’s door. Something made me want to open it and look in. Maybe I needed to remind myself that she was gone.
When I opened the door, I was in shock myself. Move over, Mother, I thought.
Someone, probably Mother, had put everything back exactly how it had been before I had torn Kaylee’s room apart.
14
Kaylee
It had been a long time since either Haylee or I or both of us had been locked in the pantry for something we had done to displease Mother. Even so, the silence we had suffered back then was not anywhere as intense as the silence Anthony was imposing on me now. We had hated being shut up in the dark when Mother did it to us, but we’d known we would be let out. There had always been an end in sight. It frightened me to think that in his madness, Anthony would never come back, never unlock the door. I was, in the most terrifying sense of the words, shut up in a coffin just like his mother in the bedroom above me.
He was right about how I would be keen to hear the sound of his footsteps. After a while, I couldn’t help but listen for them, for some sign of life, even his life of madness. I wondered if I, too, would go insane. Would I reach the point where I would want to hear him walking around his house and pray to hear him on the stairs outside the basement door? Would I grow so tired of talking to myself and walking around in circles that I would look forward to seeing him and listening to him talk to me, no matter what frightening things he might say? How horrible would it be to become that desperate? In what deranged state of mind would I be? This place, despite the furniture, the music, and the books, was destined to become the medieval dungeon I had first imagined.
It was difficult to move around anyway. My feet hurt, and my legs ached, and I hated the sound of the chain dragging behind me over the floor. I slept a lot, not for long periods but in spurts, and every time I woke, I woke with a start, sitting up quickly and listening hard. Was he home? Had someone come? I was getting to know every creak in the house, every moan in the pipes, and the different sounds the breeze or wind made sliding across the two windows. I endured the stings from the soles of my feet and stood on a chair for hours at a time, peering out between the boards that covered those windows, sometimes until it grew too dark to see anything. I was dreaming that the driver of that pickup truck had seen me and had finally worked up the courage to get involved with what looked like someone abusing a young woman.
To keep from going completely nuts, I played the music he had brought down, music I called Haylee’s music. I kept it going most of the day and even into the night. There were things to read, mostly children’s stories, some of which both Haylee and I had read or Mother had read to us when we were very young. I tried to be creative with the food he had left me, and as it dwindled, I realized I should ration certain things. I hated wearing his father’s robe. It stank and make my skin itch. I finally decided to wash it and hung it in the shower. While it dried, I walked around with two towels wrapped around me.
I was diligent about caring for my cuts and bruises. Except for my vigils at the window, I tried staying off my feet for long periods of time, which was why I dozed so much. After the fifth day, I realized I hadn’t brushed my hair once. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize the image staring back at me. I pictured my sister standing beside me, looking at the same image over my shoulder.
You’re getting what you always dreamed of having, dear Haylee, I thought. Right now, no one would call us identical twins. People might not even call us sisters. You would have no trouble getting anyone to believe you were the prettier one.