Profile (Social Media 5)

“Yeah, but they’re not gonna believe me.” I turn to face the giant man. “She’s leaving breadcrumbs that will make the police and FBI ignore this. Call her a runaway wife. They’re gonna tell me to give her space or some bullshit like that. She’ll come back on her own.” Bigmy frowns at me. “She’s setting me up to let go. But I’m not gonna let go. She’s crazy if she thinks I’ll let go. Whatever the reason for this disappearance, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never stop looking for her. Not until I find her. I’ll never accept that she ran away until I hear it from her own mouth.”

I told her I’d never leave, and I meant it. I refuse to walk away, even if she wants me to.

Chapter Four

I’M walked back to the closet after he finishes deleting my Twitter account.

“Get in.”

I do as I’m told because I have no choice at the moment. But I know how he works. At least, I know how he used to work. I test it out by stopping just past the threshold and lifting my arms a little in the hope that he will untie me. Like he used to.

He laughs. “We are back to day one, Daisy. You earn privileges, child. You don’t expect them.”

I sink to my knees. The mattress is thicker than the one that used to be in here, so at least it doesn’t hurt. And then I lie down and roll over on my side. The door closes. I can’t see through the crack between the floor and bottom of the door. But I don’t really need to, so I just lie still.

We are back to day one, he said.

Just the thought makes my stomach cramp and my heart beat fast.

A foot kicks the door in front of my face and I squeal past my gag. “Shut up!” the man who is wearing a mask of Danny Penning shouts from the other side of the door.

But I can’t shut up. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop breathing hard, or choking, or shaking. And this makes the man angry. This makes him kick the door harder, and every time he kicks the door, it starts all over again. “Please,” I mumble through my gag. “Just stop kicking the door.”

But he can’t hear me. I can barely hear me. My sobs are too loud. I’m lying face down on a rotten-smelling mattress, and the blood is pounding in my ears.

“I saw you at the dance, Daisy.”

What dance? What dance? I want to scream this at the man. What dance? I didn’t go to the dance!

“He was holding you close.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“That boy was holding you close. I should’ve been the one to hold you close.”

I’m in seventh grade. I’ve never been to a dance. Danny Penning lives four hours away. I only know him from 4-H camp. He was my archery partner and he hated my guts because I was distracted last summer. I kept screwing up our chances for prizes. I’ve never been to a dance, I have no idea why he thinks I have, and I don’t know what Danny has to do with any of this.

“He kissed you, didn’t he?” Another kick to the door makes me jump again, and this time, I’ve reached my limit. I cry hard. I don’t try to stop it. I start hyperventilating and then I squirm around until my feet are close enough to the door to kick it back. I kick hard. Two feet at once. I kick and kick and this time the door flies open.

And I’d give anything for that mask to not be on the man’s face. Anything. Because even though I can barely see any skin at all past the eyeholes, I see his shock.

Asshole. The word forms in my mind. I don’t swear, but I’ve heard the words enough to use them appropriately. Asshole. Take that, you ass—

He kicks me this time, not the door.

And now I’m too busy trying to breathe past my gag and the blood to think about what an asshole he is.

“You little bitch!” he roars. “If you broke my door—”

His door? “You broke my nose,” I try to say, but it’s just a jumble of words. I’m dying. I’m choking, the blood is running down my throat. My chest is heaving in and out so bad with fear and lack of oxygen, trying to draw in more, and more, and more.

I start writhing again. The panic is setting in. I’m going to die, I realize. I’m going to suffocate right now, right here in this closet. And this man who thinks I love Danny Penning is going to watch me die.

The blood covers my eyes a few seconds later and then I lose my sight. I can’t talk, I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t move.

It hits me then.

I am his prisoner.

He controls my fate.

He decides if I live or die.

I thrash around as this sinks in. He killed my parents. I watched him. He came to my bed and gagged and bound me. Tight. With duct tape so there was no chance of me making any coherent noise. And he shot them both, right there in their bed.

My brother was next. He had his .22 rifle, he even got off a shot. But he missed.

And this man who thinks he’s Danny Penning didn’t.

He killed them and he’ll kill me because he’s in charge.

My body goes still. I stop trying to cough up the blood and I let it pool inside my mouth. I close my eyes and tip my head back to make it rush down my throat.

He took away all my choices. He took away all my freedom. But he can’t make me want to live.

So I choose to die.

The next breath comes automatically. A survival reflex. An instinct, like I’m an animal. But I draw in blood instead of air and now I’m drowning. I feel it enter my lungs and it burns, makes me cough. But each time I cough I take in more.