Gone (Gone #1) (8 page)

Macy reached down and pulled out pieces of hay, throwing them around herself. She grabbed more and threw them too. They came out easier where she had been kicking. She pulled out as many as would come and chucked them around the suffocating, little room. She let out another scream for good measure.

"Why? Why? Why?" She leaned against a wall and slid down until she was sitting on the ground. How had she been stupid enough to get herself into this situation? No one else she knew had been kidnapped. Only her. She had to be a special kind of stupid. It was no wonder no one at school ever wanted anything to do with her. In fact, the only guy who ever had any kind of an interest in her was a fake. He was a stalker. Some old dude, determined to turn her into his probably-dead daughter.

She put her head onto her knees and sobbed again. What was she going to do? Was there any possibility of her getting out? Even if she managed to get one bale on top of another, would she be able to get enough piled up to reach those boards?

And did it even matter? Her family would think she ran away. Maybe they would think she was happier without them. If Chester came back and killed her, it might be the best thing for everyone.

Face still on her knees, she continued to wail. What was the point of trying to get away? So she could go back to school and have everyone laugh at her and call her fat?

What was she fighting for, really? Was going back really so important? She could imagine the comments her "friends" were probably leaving on that post about her running away. They were probably telling her to stay away, saying good riddance. It was probably her most-liked post of all time.

Memories

Alyssa stood by the window in her bedroom, staring into the woods behind their house. She had run out of tears, but not grief. The longer Macy was missing, the more it ate away at her. She thought of the last thing she had said to her daughter the night before. It had been an irritated list of things for her to do over the weekend.

Why hadn't she given Macy a hug? Told her how much she loved her? A fresh lump formed in her throat. Sure, her kids annoyed her with their selfishness and lack of responsibility, but they were teenagers. Being moody and messy was practically in their job description. Alyssa hadn't forgotten being a teenager. Why couldn't she be more understanding? She had always promised herself that she wouldn't turn into her mom.

She was like her own kids in many ways, now that she thought about it. She was focused on her appearance, going to the gym daily. She was also busy distracting herself from the pain of the recent direction of her marriage.

Alyssa looked around her room. She missed the days when she and Chad would spend hours in there, talking and dreaming. If only he was there to hold her. Alyssa wanted to pour her heart out to him, but she couldn't even bring herself to leave the room and find him.

He had been in his study, avoiding her since they found out about Macy. He probably felt guilty—as he should. He was the one who had driven Macy to run away, if in fact that was what had happened.

Macy had to have snapped and run off, not wanting to be controlled any longer. Alyssa could remember hating control when she was a teenager. She had wanted so badly to be seen as an adult.

Her eyes landed on her old scrapbooks, sitting under a pile of other books. She hadn't looked at those in years. She walked over and picked them up, sliding the other books onto the shelf. She took the scrapbooks to the bed and opened the one that had Macy's baby pictures.

Alyssa couldn't help smiling at the memories in front of her. She needed to look at these more often to remind herself how much her kids meant to her. It was easy to forget when they threw their snarky attitudes at her, but seeing the old pictures made her heart swell with love. They were the same as they always had been, only bigger now, and rightfully wanting some independence.

She flipped through the pages until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. She gave into their heaviness and rested her head on top of one of the pages, giving into sleep.

Fear

Macy watched the rain drip down the wall next to her. She hadn't heard the truck return, and had no idea when Chester would be back. She was no longer hungry. She had spent so much time skipping meals that it got to the point where being hungry felt good.

Her stomach stopped rumbling while she was crying earlier, and she was grateful for some kind of pleasure. She wasn't sure how long the good feeling would last. Usually it went away when she saw or smelled food. The soup above was probably disgusting from sitting there so long, and knowing that helped her stomach to continue feeling good.

With every passing minute, she became less and less convinced she'd be able to get out. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get even one bale on top of another.

She thought about her brother. What did Alex think of her disappearance? He was so hard to read these days. They still got along, but they weren't close. It was as though something had come between them. His teasing bothered her more because of that, but she never said anything, not wanting to give him another reason to make fun of her.

He would be worried, though. It gave her comfort realizing that. Sure, he could be the most annoying kid on the planet, but he cared about her. He had been the first one to notice when she started starving herself. He had practically begged her to stop. Deep down, he was still the sweet kid he had always been.

She pulled more hay over herself and turned away from the wall. She could still hear water streaming down. It made her have to pee again, but she didn't want to get up. She'd wait until she couldn't hold it.

Was her best bet to pretend to be Heather? She really had no chance at escaping, unless the psycho moved her somewhere else. Why would he? He probably knew she wouldn't be able to get out.

Thunder cracked, and she jumped. She pulled more hay over herself, trying to hide from it.

If she pretended to be Heather, would he give her more freedom? An actual bed, maybe? Would he let her stay in the farmhouse with him? Obviously she wouldn't get her cell phone back, but lying in a bed sounded so nice. Maybe she would even get some fresh clothes.

Maybe if she pretended to be his daughter, he would be nice to her. What if he continued to be a jerk? What had happened to the real Heather, anyway? She could try to find out if he let her out of the basement. It was worse than being in jail. Prisoners at least had rights and meals. She had nothing.

Why was she even considering giving into him? That was what he wanted. She was down there so he could turn her into an obedient captive. Macy had taken psychology. That was exactly his plan. But maybe if she knew that, she would be able to keep herself from getting Stockholm's syndrome and becoming sympathetic to him.

He wouldn't really go back and kill her family. He was only playing her.

Macy needed a new plan, and unfortunately, that meant she was going to have to pretend to be his daughter. She would have to think of herself as a performer. The farm was her stage, that jerk was her audience. On the outside, she would be Heather, but on the inside, she would remain Macy.

She had to. It was her only real hope of escape.

Was the time passing slowly, or was that jerk staying away for a long time to mess with her? She rolled back over and looked up at the boards.

She had probably been dreaming, thinking she could actually get out on her own. Chester would have taken every measure to make sure she couldn't get out. He might have even put something in the bales to make them heavier.

Now that she wanted out, she wasn't sure what was worse: being alone in the horrid dungeon or pretending to be Heather and acting like Chester was her dad. She didn't even want to look at him, much less act like his kid, but it was her only hope of escape.

A noise outside caught her attention. At first, she thought it was the rumbling thunder again. Soon it sounded like wheels on gravel. Her heart picked up speed. Was he coming to check on her? Would she soon be climbing the rope ladder to never see the awful room again?

Macy held her breath, listening to the sound of crunching gravel. She sat up when she heard a slight squeal of brakes. She couldn't hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

"Please come in the barn," she whispered.

She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She heard a car door slam, followed by what sounded like footsteps over wet gravel. Soon, all she could hear was the rain. She held her breath, trying to hear more.

Something moved above her. She heard shuffling noises. Something clicked, and then creaked. Macy stared at the trap door, squeezing the hay in her hands.

The door opened, and after what seemed like forever, he put his face down where she could see it. "Looks like you've been busy. Did you throw a party while I was gone?" He laughed. "Did you have enough time to think about what we discussed?"

What they
discussed
? She stared at him, refusing to answer. She wanted to choose her words carefully. If she said the wrong thing, he might lock her up again.

"Not feeling talkative? I've got some things for you, if you're ready for them, Heather. We'll start with a vegan lemon and asparagus pasta. You can have a shower and put on your new clothes. It's the same outfit you wanted before we went on our trip. Do you remember? Try to forget about what happened to your mother. There's no sense in replaying that in your mind over and over."

What was he talking about?

"Do you remember what you have to say in order to get out of here, Heather?"

Macy clenched her fists. "Yes, Dad."

His eyes widened, and then he smiled. "Good. Good. I'm so glad to hear it, Heather. You get this place cleaned up, and I'll get everything ready." He slammed the door shut, and then Macy could hear the click of the lock.

She stared at the door in disbelief. He hadn't let her out? How much longer was she going to be down there? Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped them away before they could fall to her face.

What exactly did he mean by clean up? Did he only want her to pick up the hay she had thrown around? Or did he want her to put the bales back where they had been? Unable to bear the thought of spending any more time down there, she got up and started the process of moving the heavy bales back to their original positions. At one point, she slipped on the tube of lipstick.

Macy picked it up and examined it. It was an expensive brand. She recognized it as one that Zoey's mom liked to wear. It was strange that pricey makeup would be in a bale of hay in an underground cellar in the middle of nowhere. She didn't have the time or energy to figure out what it was doing there. She shoved it into the hay and continued to push the bale.

Angry tears filled her eyes as she pushed the hay around the room. What was it going to take to finally get out of the horrible, little room?

Her muscles burned from pushing the hay around. They weren't used to being used, and they protested. She had no other choice except to ignore them, right along with her stomach. The labor made her hungry again, and it didn't feel good in the slightest. Macy was getting dizzy, and beads of sweat broke out around her face.

Too tired to keep going, she stopped and leaned against the bale, breathing heavily. She tried listening for noises, hoping Chester would be back soon, but she couldn't hear anything over the sounds of her own heartbeat and her heavy breathing.

She noticed the individual pieces of hay she had thrown around the room. Sighing, she stood and picked up one after the other, stuffing them into the bale that had a dent from where she'd taken them, until there were no more left lying around on the floor. She looked around the room again, frustrated at how much more work she had to do to get the bales put back where they were originally.

Her legs and arms ached, as did her shoulders, back, and stomach. The last thing she wanted to do was push them around anymore. Did she dare risk leaving them as they were? He would probably know most of them still weren't where they belonged.

Macy kicked the nearest bale, hurting her toe inside the shoe. It felt like everything hurt, and her stomach growled. Her throat was parched, with her tongue practically sticking to the roof of her mouth. She knew she couldn't move another bale, at least not until she either had some food or rest.

Perhaps she could beg him to let her eat before moving the rest of them. She needed something. Her aching muscles couldn't be denied any longer, so she threw herself on the hay, unable to take her body's pleas any longer. Her eyes closed on their own, and she didn't fight them. She half-listened to the mice.

The now-familiar sounds of the door in the ceiling caught Macy's attention. She looked up to the door and saw Chester.

"It looks much better down here. You're finally ready to come to the house with me."

Clean

Macy stumbled as she walked through the field between the barn and the farmhouse. It felt good to stretch her legs, and she hadn't realized how stale the air in the cell had been until she got out into the fresh, country air. She gulped it, even though her lungs burned.

They walked in silence. Macy had so many questions, but didn't want to risk getting thrown back into the hay room. At least until she had some food, and maybe even a shower. Both sounded like luxuries.