Anna Snoekstra - Only Daughter

“I trust you,” I add. “Please?”

“Let me see what I can do.”

He pushes himself off the couch and walks out of the room. I wonder what conversation they’re having behind the mirror right now. I force myself not to look.

After a few minutes Andopolis comes back with a cup of tea and the tiniest trace of a triumphant smile on the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, Bec, it’ll just be me from now on.”

“Thank you!” I say.

“It’s fine.” He puts the tea down on the little table next to me. “If you ever feel upset or uncomfortable I want you to tell me. I’ll do everything I can to try and fix it. Deal?”

“Deal,” I say, giving him my best innocent eyes. He thinks we are on the same side.

“Great. Now, when you’re ready, we really do need to talk about that night. The night you were taken. Anything you remember would be so helpful in finding who did this.”

He was treating me like a fragile child, which was exactly what I wanted.

“I do remember something,” I say.

“What?” he asks.

I stare into the middle distance for a while, counting to ten in my head, letting the heavy silence fill the room.

“I was cold and scared,” I say when I reach ten. “Everything was black.”

I talk slowly, letting the suspense build. “I remember hearing sirens. They were getting closer and closer. I thought I was saved. But then they kept going. They got quieter. I knew they weren’t for me.”

I look up at him and his face is twisted with guilt and shame. I have him.

“I’m tired now. And I’d like to see my parents.”

* * *

As the father drives us home, I want to fall asleep in the back seat. I really am tired.

“Do you mind if I have a little nap before they get in?” I ask. I’ve already forgotten the brothers’ names.

“Of course. You must be exhausted.”

Lying down between Rebecca’s sheets, I wonder for a moment whether they were changed. Or whether these are the same sheets that she had lain in, eleven years ago, on the morning that she would leave her house and never return. They must have been changed, surely.

Soon, I hear the front door opening and then two male voices. Her brothers must be here. They’ll expect me to go down and greet them, but the idea of getting up again seems impossible. My arm is throbbing. The bandage feels too tight. I’ll go in a minute, I decide. Let the mother be the one to fill them in on the details, on the memory loss and my arm.

Turning over, I realize I don’t care if they changed Rebecca’s sheets or not. They feel warm and silky soft. Having my own bed in the hospital had been good, but this was amazing. Feeling so safe and comfortable made the week that had just passed feel unbelievable, like some sort of nightmare.

When I wake it’s starting to get dark. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I pull myself out of bed, a foul taste in my mouth, brush my fingers through my hair and open my bedroom door. I have to face them sooner or later and the longer I put it off the harder it will be. Walking down the stairs, I notice the house is strangely quiet, but all the lights are on. For a moment I think maybe they’ve gone out, but surely they wouldn’t have left me here alone so soon.

I hear very faint movement on my right. I turn toward it and the kitchen opens up in front of me. There they are. The mother, the father and the two brothers sitting around a circular kitchen table. Dirty plates are in front of each of them. They must have just had dinner. No one is speaking or even looking at one another.

I hesitate for a second in the doorway, waiting for them to move, to notice my presence, but they don’t. They sit together in silence with straight backs but empty eyes and lowered heads. I guess it’s been a tough day for them, too. Still, something feels strange, slightly off, about this sparkling image of family. But I have bigger problems right now, so I ignore it and walk in to join them.

4

Bec, 11 January 2003

It was almost one in the morning when Bec finally closed her bedroom door, slipped between her bedsheets and switched off the light. She’d been too tired to move quickly. Standing in the shower for almost twenty minutes, she scrubbed the grease off her arms and tried to get the smell of burnt meat out of her nostrils. She groaned with relief at finally being horizontal. The cotton sheets felt clean and soft against her skin. She considered telling Ellen she didn’t want to do closes anymore. One hour of extra pay wasn’t worth this aching, overtired feeling.

Her mind was moving too slowly to think about it now. Tomorrow was her day off anyway; she’d decide then. A whole day to do whatever she wanted. It would be great. Lying down in her own quiet room felt too exquisite to ruin it by worrying. The hot weight of the cat, Hector, pressed against her leg as he stretched, his bell jingling softly.

Something shifted. That’s what woke her. The creaking sound of shifting weight. There was someone in her room.

Bec was too afraid to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see what was there. It was enough just to feel its presence, that heaviness of the air that meant another person was breathing it. Underneath the warmth of her sheets, her skin prickled cold. It couldn’t be happening again.

She listened. Seconds flicked by. Not a sound. Maybe it was a nightmare.

Bec knew she should open her eyes. Just to check. Just to be sure. A sound rose from beneath the silence, so soft it was barely audible. The gravelly hum of the cat’s purr. Very slowly, she opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was that Hector wasn’t on her bed anymore. She could see the small pear shape of his furry back. He was sitting in the corner, looking at something, purring. Bec knew she should laugh at herself; it was just the cat. But her limbs were still frozen. Something wasn’t right.

As her eyes adjusted she had to hold in a gasp. There was a shadow in the corner that shouldn’t be there. She could only just see it, onyx against charcoal, a splodge that didn’t belong. Her heart slammed against her ribs as it began to move.

Very slowly, it twisted. Limbs stretching. Growing bigger in a way that wasn’t human. She clamped her eyes shut, a scream trapped in her throat. Bec didn’t want to see what it looked like when it stepped out of the corner. She didn’t want to see its face.

Ice-cold fear soaked through her as she waited for the shadow to touch her. To feel that cold hand on her cheek again. She held her breath, just waiting.

The door squeaked.

Had it gone? Bec wanted to let out her breath, but she felt like fear had paralyzed her. Then something heavy slammed against her knees. She scrambled out away from it, the sheet wrapping around her ankle so that she fell onto the carpet with a thud. Pain spread down from her shoulder but she tried to ignore it, reaching up to turn on her bedside light.

For a moment the light blinded her. And then she saw him. The cat, Hector. Sitting in the middle of her mattress, blinking at her. She picked him up, swearing, and he howled at her. The noise seemed piercing in the silence. She held him against her, the feeling of his tiny heartbeat against her chest calming her enough that she could get up and close her bedroom door again. She wedged her chair under the handle.

Something had been in here; it wasn’t just the cat. She was sure of it. Her hands were still sweating and shaking and adrenaline raced through her veins.

Bec picked up her phone; she needed to talk to someone. To tell someone what had just happened so she didn’t feel like she was mad. The last time was probably just a nightmare, but this time was real. It was past three in the morning, though. Lizzie would be pissed off if she woke her up.