Gone (Gone #1) (4 page)

Macy closed her eyes, still breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell of her own puke. She figured she might try to get more sleep, because who knew what would happen once they stopped? All she knew was she would need to think and act fast.

As she drifted off, she breathed in through her nose. Immediately she gagged at the smell of her own vomit. Being trapped in the enclosed bed of the truck made the stench even more unbearable.

The truck slowed to a stop. She could hear the engine cut and the driver's side door slam shut. Footsteps on gravel came closer. Macy's heart pounded, and when she heard the key turning close, her heart nearly leapt out of her throat.

She breathed in fresh air as the back opened up. Macy covered her eyes in the bright sun. When her eyes adjusted, her eyes focused on her captor.

His mouth formed into a cruel twist. "What is that smell?"

"My stomach couldn't handle your burger."

"You're going to have to clean that up, you know." His bushy eyebrows came together.

Macy scooted back. "With what? It's not even my fault."

"Shut up. I was kind enough to get you food and even a blanket, and this is how you repay me? Close your trap and clean my truck. That's disgusting." His scary glare bore into Macy's eyes.

"You were kind enough—?"

"I said shut up!" He put his face less than an inch from Macy's. "Find a way to clean it up. You made the mess, you clean it. Got it?"

Macy blinked, but she kept quiet.

"Got it?" he yelled. His coffee-scented spit splattered on her face. The smell made her stomach turn again.

She wiped her face. "Don't yell at me."

"I'll yell at you if I want to. You destroyed my property. The acid in that will eat my paint. Get it cleaned up! Do you understand?"

"Okay."

"Good." The door slammed and locked again.

Her lips shook, and her eyes filled with tears. He had done this to her, and now he expected her to clean the mess? With what? Did he actually think he had done anything kind to her? He was a monster.

The hot tears spilled onto her face. She wiped them with her sleeve. Her nose dripped, so she wiped that too.

The smell of the vomit made its way back to her nose. Her stomach lurched again, but she was determined to keep it down this time. She had to have some kind of control over something.

The door unlocked, opened slightly, and something soft bounced toward her. Then something hard and loud landed a few feet away. The door slammed and locked again. Wiping her tears away, she picked up the object next to her. It was a roll of paper towels. She reached for the other thing. It was some kind of spray bottle.

"Get cleaning!" the guy shouted from the outside of the truck.

Her adrenaline pumped. Macy wanted to choke him the next time he opened the door. Wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze as hard as she could. Her hands clenched, breaking the skin.

Macy pulled off a paper towel and wiped her face, then blew her nose. She threw the towels in a corner, held her breath, and grabbed the spray bottle.

Crawling to the mess, she began to whisper, "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." She ripped off several paper towels and wiped at the mess. She had to breathe through her mouth, and with every breath in and out she kept cursing him under her breath. She threw the towels to the side and grabbed more, soaking up the mess until it was gone. Then she grabbed the spray bottle.

Whatever was in there reeked of chemicals. It made her nose burn and gave her a headache. She wiped the floor where she had sprayed, hoping the headache wouldn't last. When she thought she had the whole mess cleaned up—it was hard to tell with such little light—she threw the paper towels with the others and went back to the blanket.

She sat in the corner and wiped away sweat. The air was cold and soon she was shivering, even with a hoodie. She played with a nail as she waited. He was taking forever and the chemical smell was making her head spin.

After a while, the driver's side door slammed again, and the engine started. Her head throbbed. How much further did they have to go?

Macy had seen enough TV to know this could get ugly.

Rubbing her temples, she tried to push those thoughts out of her mind. But as soon as she pushed one away, another would replace it.

She knew enough to know that by forcing her to eat the meat, he was trying to show her he was in control. She also knew that anyone who needed to control others was actually scared and weak, despite their actions.

She'd heard a quote somewhere, probably at school, that said something along the lines of abusers and bullies being scared little boys and girls deep down. People who were happy and confident didn't treat people bad. Maybe Macy could find his weakness and use it to her advantage.

Head pounding, she leaned against the wall again. The road had grown bumpier, and somehow it helped to lull her to sleep despite the jostling. She didn't wake up until the truck stopped.

Her head still hurt as she came awake, but it wasn't as bad as it had been. Before she knew it the lock turned again, and both the door to the canopy and the truck bed opened.

Bright light shone in Macy's eyes, and she had to cover them with her arm. Her headache made the rays of light slice like razor blades.

The man grabbed her shirt, and yanked her out of the truck. Outside the light was even worse, but at least she could breathe easier. Her head even felt a little relief until he slammed her against the side of the truck with both hands.

He stared her down, less than an inch away from her face, and he narrowed his eyes. She had never seen anyone so angry before. He tightened his grip on her shoulders and pushed her against the truck again. "Don't you ever—
ever
—talk back to me again. Do you understand? When I tell you to do something, you do it! Don't question me." He dug his fingers into her shoulder, and she could feel her skin bruise. "Do you understand?" he shouted.

She nodded, afraid to speak.

"Good. Now come with me." He grabbed her arm and yanked so hard that she thought he might have pulled it out of the socket.

Macy walked behind him, trying to keep up. He never stopped squeezing; she could feel his fingers squeezing down to the bone. She looked around, trying to figure out where they were. To their left, she saw fields of corn close by. Straight ahead, she could see a farmhouse and a dilapidated red barn. They appeared to be heading for the barn.

"What are we doing?"

"I told you not to talk back!" He stopped, turned and stared her down, squeezing her arm even harder. "Don't speak unless spoken to. Ever again."

She looked away, and he yanked her along again. Macy couldn't help rolling her eyes.
Ever again
? Seriously? For a scared little boy, he was sure full of himself. She had to hold onto the image of him as a frightened child if she was going to keep her sanity. She wouldn't let herself develop Stockholm syndrome and feel sorry for the creep. She was going to get away. She was.

They went through the barn door and Macy looked around, trying to figure out what he had in mind. She half-expected to see the barn converted into a torture chamber, but it was just a barn. A couple of horses stood to the left, some cows off to the right, and she could hear sheep somewhere. The smell of manure was all around, but after being trapped with the smell of her own vomit, it was a welcome scent.

Rays of light shone through some of the rafters above, and dust danced through them. The fact that the sun could get through the walls encouraged her. She probably could too if she tried hard enough. They walked through the length of the barn, and stopped near some empty stalls.

He bent over, forcing her to join him as he clutched her arm. He brushed aside some hay from the floor and lifted up a round piece of metal. A trap door opened up.

Macy held her breath. She'd been wrong. He'd built the torture chamber beneath the barn, not inside it.

Frantic

Alyssa stood from Macy's bed, clutching one of Macy's teddy bears. Trying to figure out a status update wasn't doing any good. Her daughter was gone…gone. It wasn't the time to play detective. Alyssa needed to get out there and find her daughter. She set the bear on a pillow.

She ran down to the front door, throwing it open without even taking the time to put on her shoes. She ran down the driveway, frost crunching under her socks. They started to get wet, but she didn't care.

Willis from across the street was out in his front yard, doing some yard work. Alyssa ran to him.

He looked up, appearing shocked. "Alyssa. Are you okay?"

"Have you seen Macy?"

"Not this morning. Is everything—?"

"No! No, it's not." She felt like her throat was closing up. "If you see her, bring her home."

"What's going on? Can I help?" Willis asked.

"She's missing!" Tears spilled out onto her face. Admitting it to someone she barely knew felt like defeat. "She's gone," Alyssa whispered. "I have to find her." She burst into a run, heading down the street.

As she ran in her socks, she stepped on a number of little sharp rocks. Failing to put on shoes now seemed like a stupid decision. She was only slowing herself down more when what she needed was speed. She had to talk to as many people as possible.

She saw another neighbor loading her kids into the car. Alyssa ran to them. "Jane, have you seen Macy?"

Jane shook her head and Alyssa ran off. She didn't have time to explain anything to anyone. What she needed was to find someone who had seen Macy.

Alyssa ran as fast as she could through the neighborhood, only stopping to ask anyone she saw if they had seen her daughter. It was a pretty tight-knit community, so at least everyone knew their family. She didn't have to deal with explaining what Macy looked like.

Finally, she circled back around to her house. No one had seen her. Of course they hadn't. Not if Macy had been gone since the night before. She ran back to her house and once inside, she pulled off her bloody socks and slid on some flip flops. Her feet burned and throbbed, but she didn't care. She had to get back out there.

"Where have you been?"

She turned around to see Chad at the top of the stairs. "I've been out looking for Macy. What have you been doing?"

"I've been on the phone, talking to everyone under the sun who's seen Macy's status update." Chad's eyebrows came together.

Alyssa ran her hands through her sweaty hair. "Okay. You keep talking to them. I'm going to talk to more neighbors. Someone has to know something."

He folded his arms. "We need to call the cops."

She leaned against the wall. "You're right. They can get more done than we can. You do that while I keep looking for her."

The corners of Chad's lips turned downward. "She's not out there. She's with some kid she met online, giving us a very public middle finger. This is her way of trying to let us—"

"Stop! I don't care what she did, Chad. I need to find our daughter. Call the cops—please."

"And have them take her downtown," he muttered. "That'll teach her."

Alyssa stared at him, unable to find words. Had she really heard him correctly? She didn't have time to argue with him. He'd been such a jerk lately, and this wasn't the time to try to change that. "Just call them."

She ran out the door again. Her feet ached more as the drying blood stuck to the flip flops. "Macy!" She looked around. Maybe if Macy was around hiding and saw how upset Alyssa was, she might come out of hiding. "Macy!"

This time, she ran to the park. Families were already gathering there. She screamed for Macy the entire way. Who cared if anyone thought she was crazy? She needed to get as many people looking for Macy as possible. She couldn't do this on her own.

Dungeon

Her captor shoved Macy toward the hole in the barn's floor. She pushed against him, trying to stop him. She didn't want to go down there. She didn't even want to know what could be there.

"Are you testing me?" he growled. "Climb the ladder before I have to throw you down. You'll break a bone—I guarantee it."

"What's down there?"

"It's only a storm shelter. Get in!" He shoved her with more force.

She gulped and let go of him. He still squeezed her arm, but she lowered herself to the ground and stuck her feet down the hole. She had to feel around before finding the ladder. It was made of rope, and swung as she tried to steady herself. As soon as she was on her way down, he let go of her. Once her head was all the way below, he slammed the door shut over her. She could hear him moving the hay around over the door. Something clicked. A lock?

Macy stared up at the closed door above her until she felt a crick in her neck. Her eyes started to adjust to the light. She looked down and saw a few bales of hay. Sunlight shone in through walls of packed dirt.

Unsure of how long the ladder would hold her weight, she climbed down and put her feet on the dirt floor. She looked around. Everything was dirt. She walked around the square little storm cellar. It was a relief to see that it wasn't a torture chamber like she had feared. It was only a dirt cell with hay.