Hold Me Close(31)

“Go,” Heath says as he backs up into the living area, already turning away from her. “Please, Effie, just do it.”

The rasp in his voice convinces her. Effie hops into the bed and pulls the blankets up over her ears. Beyond the doorway, she hears Daddy saying something, but it’s not in that too-bright and jovial voice he’s used every time before. He sounds worse than angry. He sounds as if he’s gone...dark.

“Sister, Sister, Sister. You stay in here,” Daddy says from the doorway. “You be a good girl now and stay where you are. You won’t like what happens, if you don’t.”

Nearby, there is a woman’s voice. She sounds drunk. Laughing, but slurred. Effie sits up, meaning to get out of bed and run, run to this new person, because surely whoever it is will save them. Before she can, though, there’s a crack of flesh on flesh and a low, soft cry. Daddy’s voice, louder.

“Don’t just look at it, boy. Put your face in that goddamned mess and eat it.”

Another rise of drunken laughter. Another sound of slapping. A moan, it sounds like pain but could be something else.

Effie pulls the covers over her head and turns herself to the wall. Her parents weren’t much into going to church, and Effie’s not even sure she believes in God, but she prays now.

Whatever he’s doing, please, oh please, don’t let it happen to her.

Please, oh please, don’t let it happen to her.

When the sounds get louder, she plugs her ears with her fingers. It lasts forever, whatever it is, until her stomach is sick with anticipation and she has to press a hand over her mouth to keep herself from gagging. Her eyes are closed, but she can tell when the bright lights go out, leaving her in the pitch-dark again.

She waits and waits, but Heath doesn’t come into the room. Effie does not want to get out of bed, but she makes herself. Bare feet on the cold floor. She takes each step, sliding and shuffling so she doesn’t accidentally step on something that could hurt her, reaching with tentative hands into the blackness until she finds the door frame. She stops.

“Heath?”

At first, no answer. She’s sure he’s gone or, worse, dead out there on the floor in the dark and if she stumbles forward she will land on his cooling body. Effie shakes. Her fingers grip harder into the wood. She calls his name again, voice catching, and this time, he answers.

“I’m here.”

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.” There’s a scratching on the concrete. “Go back to sleep.”

Heath has always let Effie sleep in the bed while he takes the lumpy, stinking couch. She should go back and dive beneath the blankets again, but she can hear him crying. Low, strangled sobs.

Effie has found her way to the bathroom and back in utter darkness enough times by now to know where to walk to avoid the sharp things set into the concrete, but this time she eases her way to the couch. She can’t see more than shapes and shadows, but she can hear Heath breathing. She can smell him, too. Both of them stink. You’d think they’d get used to it, but so far she hasn’t.

“It’s cold out here. Come to the bed.”


“No,” he says immediately. “You take it. I’m...”

“Heath. Come to the bed.” Effie finds him with her hands. He’s shivering. He’s naked. She pulls away, startled. Embarrassed. Then, with more determination, she puts out her hands again and finds his shoulder, his arm. Finally, his hand. She links her fingers in his. “Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t know.”

She thinks about this. They could stumble around in the dark, trying to find them, or they can wait until the morning lights turn on and find his clothes then. For now, he’s cold and shaking and something bad has happened to him.

Effie tugs Heath’s hand. “Come on.”

Together, they make their way into the bedroom. She urges him into the bed and makes him get in first, facing the wall. She lets him be the little spoon and curls herself around him. She’s never been in bed with a boy before. She’s never seen a naked boy, never even kissed a clothed one, but when she presses her face to Heath’s bare back, all Effie can think is that he needs this, and needs her.

Heath is crying again. Effie is quiet at first, but she has to know. “I heard a woman. Won’t she help...?”

“Her name is Sheila. He gives her drugs so she’ll do...things. He likes to watch.”

She wants to ask what sorts of things but is too afraid. “Won’t she help us, Heath?”

“He said if I ever tried to escape again, he would kill her.” Heath’s voice is flat and darker than the basement could ever be. “Not me. Her.”

“He wouldn’t! And if we got out, he wouldn’t have the chance to.”

Heath shifts a little. “I think he would. And I’d have to live with that for the rest of my life, that she died because I tried to get out.”

“We have to get out, Heath,” Effie says.

“Someone will come looking for you, Effie. Nobody gave a damn about me, but you... Your parents are looking for you. They’re going to find us.”

Effie isn’t so sure. “Will she... Would she tell anyone about us?”

“I don’t think so. He tells her I’m his son,” Heath says. “And she’s so out of it, she believes him. And she doesn’t know about you.”