Pretty Girls Dancing(91)

It was a goodbye of sorts. She unrolled the sheets and tried to find a glint of light to read by. Whitney had gained strength from the girl who had come before her, and she owed her for that. She skimmed over Kelsey’s innermost thoughts that so closely reflected her own. Terror. Determination. Depression. Whitney had experienced all of that, too. She wondered if there was anyone else in the world who could understand her feelings as well as the freak’s other captive.

Tonight he told me he’s moving me. I don’t know what that means. I’m ashamed that my first thought when he said it wasn’t escape. It was fear. Fear that wherever he takes me will be even worse.

But what could be worse? I haven’t had a beating in months, but I can still feel marks on my back and butt. I don’t know if they’ll ever go away. He’s branded me. Made me his even though I won’t be. Never. But I’ve pretended for all I was worth for so long now that sometimes it’s hard to remember my plans to get away. To remember who I am.

I’m KELSEY WILLARD. He’s been trying to change that all year, but I won’t let him. He’s given me a new name. He calls me Faith. He wants to destroy the memories of my family and any life I had before he brought me here, but he hasn’t. My sister is Janie. She has social anxiety that doesn’t let her do everything she wants to, but she’s crazy smart. Way smarter than I was at that age. She fell out of the swing once when she was little, and I was the only one who could get her to get back on it. I taught her to pump with her feet, and after a while, she’d let me give her underdogs. Fly high, Janie. That’s what I always told her. Fly high, and you’ll find your voice.

Claire is my mom. Not some other unseen woman that he keeps telling me will be my new mother. I have a mother. She’s pretty and fun, and we go out for lunch and shopping together, just the two of us. I was so mad at her at the end. So mean. I know I hurt her feelings. But it wasn’t her fault. I hope I get a chance to tell her that.

And this POS is not my dad, no matter how many times he has me call him Daddy. My father is David Willard. Fathers take care of their families, but they love them, too. They goof around and make their kids laugh and don’t get mad when they take their daughter to practice driving and she scratches the car. My dad just made a joke about buying me a junker when I get my license so I can’t damage it.

And sometimes dads make mistakes. Truly awful, horrible mistakes. It’s taken me a long time to forgive mine. Because if there’s one thing this place has taught me, it’s that no matter how bad something seems at the time, it could always be worse.

I’m hoping that being moved means the monster trusts me a little. And that wherever he takes me will be easier to escape from. I can keep pretending as long as I have to. All I need is one instant when I’m not being watched. If there’s ever someone who reads this, remember that. There might be only one chance. Any risk is worth taking if it gets you home.

Whitney wasn’t aware she was crying until the tear traced down her cheek. She reached up an arm, wiped it on her sleeve. If I get away, I’ll send someone back for you, she thought fiercely. She wanted to believe that Kelsey was still alive somewhere. The thought helped summon the courage to carry out her plan tonight.

Slowly she rolled up the pages. Replaced them under the floorboard and started toward the shower to return the screw. Then she thought better of it. Instead, she tucked it into her bra between her breasts, the flat head secured by the bottom band, the end pointing upward. There was no reason to put it off any longer. Her heart started knocking faster in her chest. Going to the edge of the stage, she turned and lowered herself off it, keeping a tight grip on its edge. It was about three feet to the floor. The utter darkness had her pausing to get her bearings. There was another window high in the wall in this area. But the tiny glimmer of light around the curtain didn’t make a dent in the shadows.

There was no use trying the door. Whitney had listened to him turn the lock when he left, as he always did. Instead, she made her way in the darkness until she was touching the table she figured he’d had the computer sitting on. She’d gone through this plan a hundred times in her mind. Pick up the computer and set it gently on the floor. And now . . . her hands searched. Another machine. The projector. There was a neat pile of books on the table that they had sat on, so Whitney swiftly lowered those, as well. Then she reached for both sides of the table and lifted it.

Not so heavy. Awkwardly, she carried it through the darkness to the stage. Leaned the tabletop against it at an angle and then grasped the far legs to lever it upward. Hopping back up on the stage, Whitney carried the table over to the wall beneath the window.

How much noise had she made? She’d been so busy, she’d forgotten to consider it. She paused to listen. Heard nothing. She went and got the backpack she’d fashioned and tied it securely around her neck. Then she retraced her steps and got on top of the table. Moved the curtain aside. Blinked a little at the dim light that streamed in.

The window was a small rectangle, maybe a foot and a half by three feet. The inside was covered with a thick, clear plastic film. But that wasn’t what had Whitney’s stomach plummeting.

He’d nailed it shut.

Tears of frustration threatened. For an instant, she considered putting everything back. Rethinking her plan. But he’d know. He knew everything. Even if she got every single detail right, the rips in the nightgown would have him wondering.