Hold Me Close(42)

“Wakey wakey...” Daddy begins. “Well, now, Sister. What’s going on? Why aren’t you up and at ’em, Adam Ant?”

“She’s sick,” Heath offers.

Daddy moves closer to the bed. “Is that so? What’s wrong?”

“My stomach hurts.” Effie presses her hands to her belly.

Daddy looks as if he’s pleased but trying to hide it. “Ah. Well. You’d better let me take a look.”

Effie does not want this man to touch her, and she tenses when he sits on the edge of the bed. She’s ready for him to get freaky. That’s what perverts do, right? Touch young girls inappropriately? But Daddy simply probes her belly with soft fingers and then puts the back of his hand to her forehead.

“Chicken soup,” he declares and slaps both his knees at the same time. “That’s the ticket.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It will make you feel better.” Daddy stands and turns to look at Heath. “And you. How are you feeling?”

Heath shrugs. “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine, Daddy.” The word grinds out of Heath’s mouth as if the taste of it is making him sicker than the garlic bread made Effie.

Daddy frowns, as though maybe he was hoping for a different answer. “I’ll be back.”

When he’s gone and locked the door behind him, Effie sits. Everything hurts, aching, throbbing. Her head pounds. She makes fists and rams them into the sagging mattress over and over.

“What does he want?” she cries. “What is the matter with him? Why does he keep us down here? Why does he feed us things to make us sick, Heath, why?”

Everything spins. She’s going to throw up, she knows it, but she can’t force herself to walk, much less run, to the toilet. Gagging, Effie spits into an empty bowl, but nothing comes up. She swipes at the snot dripping from her nose, not caring how gross that is. She stands and tries to overturn the table. She wants to break things, but the cramping in her guts doubles her over.

Heath takes her by the arm, and he’s too strong for her to shake off. He holds her still until she stops struggling. For a second, Effie thinks he’s going to hug her, but then he lets her go.

“He makes us sick so he can take care of us. Make us better. So we’re grateful to him,” Heath says in a low voice.

Effie sits on the edge of the bed. Her eyes feel wide and wild. Her throat feels tight, as if she can’t breathe. She’s frantic and desperate and yet overcome with a lethargy so strong it’s all she can do not to fall back onto the bed.

“Why?” she says again, softly this time.

“Because he’s crazy.”

Before she can ask Heath more questions, her stomach cramps again. This time she does get up to rush to the toilet. Heath must’ve filled the tank with water to flush sometime during the night; she’d be more embarrassed about the mess and stink if she didn’t feel as if she was going to die.

Daddy has left the bright overhead lights on, something he usually turns off when he leaves. Effie’s grateful for them now, though, because they shine into the bathroom enough that she can see what she’s doing. Though her belly is cramping as if she has diarrhea, nothing comes out. When she wipes, though, the paper comes away covered in dark red fluid. Effie stares at it, uncertain at first. Then she starts to cry.

All of her friends have been getting periods for over a year. Mom told her it would happen any day and had taken her to the store to pick up pads and tampons that Effie has dutifully carried in her purse, waiting for this moment. Now here she is on a broken toilet in a crazy stranger’s basement, getting her period for the first time, and all she can do is weep.

“Effie?”

“Go away!” Embarrassed, cringing, Effie tries to clean herself up, but there’s too much blood and not enough toilet paper.

Heath peeks around the door frame. “Are you okay?”

“No.” With a shaky breath, Effie pushes her knees together. “I need help.”

“With what?”

She doesn’t want to say it. Not to this or any other boy, but what choice does she have? “I got my period.”

“Oh.” Heath doesn’t sound embarrassed or even curious. He sounds sympathetic. “Shit.”

Effie cries again, though she hates the tears. “I don’t have anything!”

“I’ll ask Daddy for something when he comes back.”

“He won’t have anything,” Effie says. “Will he?”

Heath moves a little closer. “He’ll have to, won’t he? He can’t expect you to just...not have something. I mean, girls need stuff. He should know that.”


“He’s crazy, though.” Effie sniffles. A slow, rolling cramp ripples through her.

“He likes to take care of us so we’re grateful,” Heath reminded her.

The floor creaked above them. That freaking song was still playing. Effie wants to cover her ears, but she doesn’t. It wouldn’t block out the song, anyway.

Outside in the other room, the door opens. “Sister, I brought your soup... What’s going on in there?”

Heath straightens. “She needs some, um...girl supplies.”

Effie can’t see much over Heath’s shoulder, just the top of Daddy’s balding head. He sounds surprised, though. “What?”