Hold Me Close(95)

Without Heath, did it matter?





chapter forty-two

It had taken her the entire morning to convince herself to finally get in the car and drive here, but now that she was here, all Effie felt was calm. Blank. Daddy was gone. Nothing would bring him back.

She needed this, though. To walk through the front door of that house and walk back out again, free to do so as many times as she wanted. A dozen times. A hundred. Proof that there was nothing there to hold her any longer.

A couple cars had parked in the driveway and some more had taken up the spots in front, so Effie found one across the street. She watched a couple with a young child come out the front door and get in an SUV. She waited, but the front door remained closed after them. This was it. Now or never.

She tugged the hem of her blazer over her hips when she got out of the car. Smoothed her skirt. She’d raided her closet for an outfit that resembled upscale professional, someone who looked as though they could afford the ridiculously reasonable asking price for this house. Effie had never gone to an open house before, but she had an idea that the Realtor would be able to spot her right off as a looky-loo, and she didn’t want to have to answer any awkward questions.

Did she knock? Or go right in? Her hesitation was rewarded by not having to choose when the front door opened to reveal an older couple on their way out. She stepped aside to let them pass, then went into the foyer.

Everything was so...small.

It was also bright, airy, clean. Freshly painted. The smell of vanilla wafted toward her from the kitchen. Effie forced herself to walk down the hall. No pictures on the walls. A sunken living room to her right contained a few pieces of carefully staged furniture and a cheerful fire burning in a small woodstove.


“Hi, there!” A woman who had to be the Realtor greeted Effie with a chipper grin. “Thanks for stopping in. There’s some literature on the table there, and help yourself to cookies and punch. If you have any questions, please let me know.”

The floor creaked as the woman took a few steps toward her, and Effie flinched. She knew that sound, though she’d always heard it from overhead. It was so much quieter from this spot. She pasted a smile on her face and managed a nod.

“Thanks.”

The Realtor turned her attention to a young couple, the woman pregnant, who’d come in from the dining room. Effie took the chance to take one of the brochures, skimming the house’s specs to look as if she was interested. Cookies and punch? As if she could eat a bite of anything in this house, ever.

She’d been in this kitchen, but there’d been no cute dinette set. No flowers. The floor had been dirty, scuffed, faded linoleum, but now gleamed with brand-new laminate. The appliances looked new.

“Everything’s been updated and upgraded,” the Realtor was telling the other couple. “The owner is really motivated to sell.”

Effie looked at the brochure. “Who’s selling it?”

“The original owner’s daughter took over the property after he passed away.” The Realtor gave her a glance and another of those too-bright grins and turned her attention to the other couple, who wanted to know about the plumbing.

Effie crumpled the paper a little in her fist. Four bedrooms, two baths, kitchen, living room, dining room. Garage.

Full, finished basement.

The basement door had not been replaced, though it had been painted and the knob looked shiny and new. Effie touched the fresh white frame and the small marks and dents where once there’d been an entire set of locks and now there was nothing. She touched the knob. Turned it.

The stairs beyond were well lit with brand-new bulbs, clean of even a cobweb. The wood was splintery, the stairs creaking, and her stomach lodged in her throat when she descended. She used the handrail, convinced she would fall headfirst and split herself open on the concrete floor.

* * *

The lights come on overhead. Bright. White. Glaring.

The song. The song is playing. That song about the boats, sailing, it’s awful and cruel, they are down here in this room, and they will never sail away. Not ever.

Effie’s arm hurts. A dull, solid ache that flares into agony if she moves it too much. So she doesn’t move it. She doesn’t move at all. It’s wrong of her to wish the drugs hadn’t worn off, but she does. The bed beneath her has gone clammy with sweat, and though it disgusts her, she can’t make herself get up to strip off the sheets. They have nothing to replace them with, anyway.

Heath has been quiet for a while, though the soft huff of his breathing reassures her that he’s still alive. It took him so long to wake up after Daddy hit him to the ground that Effie was sure he was dead. For a while she thought maybe she was dead, too. Now she wonders how long it will be until she is.

It had always been hard to keep track of the passing days because there was never any consistency to when the lights would come on and off, or when Daddy would visit. All Effie knows is that he hasn’t come back into the basement for so long they’ve now definitely run out of food and water. They’ve even used the small amount from the toilet tank, barely enough to wet their throats.

“Effie?”

She doesn’t open her eyes. There’s nothing to see. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to try again.”

“It’s locked,” Effie says wearily. “The door’s still locked, it will always be locked, you can try it as many times as you want, but you can’t break it down and you can’t get it unlocked.”