Zoe Cannon: The Torturer's Daughter

Becca crept past her door, through the hallway, into the living room. She slipped her shoes on and picked up her backpack. Once she had swung the backpack onto her back, she opened the door inch by inch, cringing at every squeal of the hinges. She stood in the doorway, listening for any hint that the noise might have woken her mom.

If her mom woke up, she couldn’t leave.

Nothing. Her mom was still asleep.

She told herself she was relieved.

She stepped out of the apartment and closed the door as carefully as she had opened it.

Down the hall. Down the stairs. Trying not to think of who might hear her footsteps and open their doors to see who was wandering around in the middle of the night. Just paranoia. Nobody could hear her from inside their apartments, and if they could, they wouldn’t think anything of it. Around here, people came and went at all hours; Becca’s mom wasn’t the only one who sometimes didn’t stumble home from work until six in the morning.

Becca walked outside into the cool night air. The last time she had been out this late, she had been hiding in the playhouse, the way Jake was now.

At least, if he was still there.

He had to still be there.

The thought of Jake forced her forward, away from the building, into the parking lot.

Directly into the path of an Enforcer.

They had been watching her, waiting for her to do something like this. And now that she had confirmed their suspicions, now that they had caught her—

He gave her a wave as he ambled toward the building.

She told her heart to slow down. Just a neighbor on his way home from work, too bleary from his long day to register anything strange about Becca’s middle-of-the-night wanderings.

Maybe seeing him had been a warning, a way of telling her to turn around before it was too late

She adjusted her backpack and kept going.

Out of the parking lot, into the shadows. Leaving the light of the parking lot at least meant less chance of being seen. But it also meant she couldn’t see who was waiting for her. Anybody could be out there between her and the playground, just waiting for her to get a little closer, for her to prove she was what they thought she was.

She tried to shake off her worries. Nobody was waiting for her. Her mom had said they wouldn’t arrest her again. But her fear weighed her down as much as the backpack on her shoulders, making every step slower as she squinted into the darkness.

She had never noticed before just how many steps it took to get to the playground. How many trees stood between her and her destination, looming over her with their branches stretched out like grasping hands. How many dark places there were in the construction site where someone could lurk without being seen. How many times her heart could beat in the few minutes she spent walking this short stretch of road.

And then she was there, standing in the weeds with the playhouse in front of her. Her feet felt twice as heavy, each step twice as long, as she crossed the playground to where Jake was hiding, where he had to be hiding.

She couldn’t hear anything from inside the playhouse.

He had to be in there.

She took a deep breath—but before she could step inside, a dark shape hurtled toward her and threw her to the ground.

They had found her. They had been waiting here for her all along. She should have known better than to come back here. Now they would bring her back to 117, and this time her mom wouldn’t be able to save her.

She fought blindly, thrashing on her belly like a fish out of water. Where was that noise coming from? Was she screaming? When had she started screaming?

Her attacker pinned her to the grass with the weight of his body. His hands moved up to her neck, crept around to her throat, started squeezing. Her scream turned into a gurgle, then stopped entirely; she gasped for breath, her struggles becoming more frantic.

He would kill her here, or arrest her and bring her back to 117 so she could die there. Either way, she died. They had found her, her release had meant nothing, they had come for her again…

Her lungs burned. She strained for air, but could only pull in a thin stream. Not enough.

The hands around her neck loosened.

She greedily gulped in air, heart pounding, tears springing to her eyes. It didn’t matter whether he let her live, it didn’t matter, they would kill her in 117 anyway…

“Becca?”

She heard her name from very far away.

Who was calling her?

It didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, Becca. I didn’t know it was you. I thought it had to be them, so I panicked. I didn’t even think…”

The things the voice was saying didn’t make any sense. But it didn’t matter; nothing mattered now. She tried to get up, tried to run, but even though her attacker wasn’t holding her down anymore—when had he stopped holding her down?—she couldn’t make her shaking limbs cooperate. When she tried to push herself off the ground, her arm gave out underneath her, dropping her face-first back down into the weeds.

Even if she managed to get away, he would still come after her. No matter how far she ran, they would find her. They would always find her.

“Becca, it’s me. It’s Jake.”

More meaningless words, reaching her ears from a million miles away.

Her heart was going to explode in her chest. She had to get out of here, had to get away, but she couldn’t move…

“Becca. Come back. It’s me. It’s just me.”

They had found her…

They were going to come for her…

He stroked her hair. This time she recognized the touch, didn’t flinch, didn’t fight him. Jake. Alive, safe, free. Just like her.

For now.

For how long?

Even now that she knew who he was, now that she knew she was safe, she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but lie facedown on the ground and shiver and cry and wait for them to take her.

She didn’t know how long she lay in the grass with Jake’s soothing voice in her ears. By the time he led her into the playhouse, she had mostly stopped shaking; her heart had almost slowed down to normal.

The smell of unwashed human overlaid the playhouse’s usual moldy odor. Jake’s dad sat in the same corner as before, staring off into the distance. Had he moved at all since Becca had left last time? She set her backpack down, then slid to the floor herself, still too weak to be confident that she could stay on her feet.

She opened the backpack and distributed what little food she had managed to smuggle away as she explained in a wobbly voice what had happened. She left out the part about how she had nearly abandoned them; she let Jake think she had only just gotten out of 117. Jake’s dad twitched an arm out to grab one of the apples she had brought. He kept his eyes fixed on that same spot in the distance as he ate.

While Becca spoke, Jake wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She tensed at first, then leaned into him. The heat of his body radiated through her, chasing away the cold her fear had left behind. His solid presence was a wall between her and the world. She wished she could hide there forever.

But the world was still out there. She couldn’t hide forever, and neither could Jake. That was why she had come here.

“You have to run,” she told him. “The longer you stay, the more likely it is that someone will realize you’re here. You need to leave while you still have a chance.”

Jake shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I don’t know how long you have before they find you. If you wait too long, it’ll be too late.” Worries crept into her mind as she spoke. How were they going to run? They had no money and nowhere to go. Even if Jake’s dad could take care of himself, they wouldn’t have much of a chance.