Stained (21 page)

I turn away from the window. If
I
see a stranger, what will my parents see? I can't wait for them to get here, but at the same time I almost don't want them to come. I'm not the same person I was before Brian took me. What if they don't like who I've become?

And what are they going to do when they find out it was Brian? I wish I'd told them when we talked. Oh, god. What if Brian finds them first?

Wheels rumble along the floor. I pull the thin gown closer around me, wishing it covered more. A cleaner pushes a mop in front of my doorway, his cap pulled down low over his face, his blue uniform hanging baggily, like he's lost a lot of weight. He doesn't look at me, just keeps mopping the floor, missing areas, pushing the bucket on wheels closer.

I tense so tight I shake inside and stare harder. I can't see the man's face, but he's about the same height as Brian.

My throat narrows, my voice drying in my mouth. How did Brian get past hospital security and Detective Sato unseen?

I half rise from the bed and make a strangled noise. The cleaner looks up.

It's not him. This man's face is softer, chubbier, his eyes tired and relaxed.

I sag back onto the bed and hang my head. Of course it isn't Brian. But the fear doesn't leave. I
know
he's coming after me. There's no way he's going to let me go. It's just a matter of when. I have to be ready for him. Have to stay on guard.

Quick footsteps squeak down the hall. I sit up straight, and Lynda bustles in, clothes folded over her arm.

“Here you are, dear,” she says, shaking out a pair of sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt. In her hand is a pair of sweat socks and some scuffed sneakers. “They might be a little big for you, but they're all I could put my hands on right now. They're my workout clothes.”

“I'll get them back to you,” I say, reaching for them.

“Oh, don't worry about it,” Lynda says, waving her hand. “I can spare a few old clothes. They'll do you a lot more good than me, anyhow. I haven't had time to exercise in weeks.”

My eyes water. “I don't know how to thank you.”

“No need. I have a daughter about your age. I'd want to know someone took care of her if she was ever in need.”

I hold the clothes tight to my chest. “How do I get into them with the IV?” I say, holding out my arm, the tube stretching up to the metal pole.

Lynda reaches over and unhooks the bag from the pole, handing it to me. “You pass it through the armhole of the shirt.” She sits down in the chair next to the bed to wait.

I go into the bathroom and change, imagining the clothes as armor. A layer that Brian hasn't touched.

I stand taller, pushing my hair out of my face, and look at myself in the mirror. I do feel better. Stronger. More normal, even if the clothes hang from me like curtains. I tilt my chin higher and try to smile. My teeth are stained yellow, with darker brown spots on some. God!

“Sarah!” a voice calls down the hall.

Not Brian's. Dad's?

“Sarah!” I hear again. I rush out of the bathroom, the IV bag still in my hand.

Dad and Mom enter my room, Nick a few steps behind. I can't move, can barely see them through my tears. They're here. After so many months, they're finally here. They came to get me. To take me home.

“Dad! Mom!” I run toward them, hot tears curling down my cheeks.

Dad closes the space between us, his strong arms holding me tight. “Oh, Sarah. Sarah!” he says, pressing his mouth against my hair. “You're safe!”

But even with his arms around me, his voice in my ear, I don't feel safe. Not the way I used to.

Lynda starts talking to my parents, the detective quickly joining us.

Nick hangs back awkwardly. I reach for his arm and pull him into a hug. “Thank you for coming,” I say. “You didn't have to.”

“Of course I came,” Nick says, his face growing red. “I'd do anything for you.”

“Hey. No acting weird just because I've been gone for a while,” I say, lightly punching his arm. “I'm counting on you.”

“No acting weird. I promise,” Nick says, and grins at me, the way he always does.

I grin back at him. I'm so relieved he's here. Just his presence should keep my mom from sobbing all over me, and Dad from making a big production. I can almost believe things are normal again, seeing him.

I turn back to listen to the detective and the nurse.

“Brian?
My
Brian?” Dad is saying, his face stiff.

“Yeah, Dad. I'm sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? It's not your fault,” Mom says.

“I'm going to kill him, just
kill
him. When I get my hands on him . . .” Dad says, his voice shaking. “That bastard. Asking me every day whether there's been any news of you, acting so concerned. He's going to regret he ever laid eyes on you. I'll make sure of that.”

“Shhh!” Mom says, and pulls me closer.

Detective Sato shakes her head. “You'll leave any justice dispensing up to the police, sir.”

Dad rubs my back and doesn't answer. He's hardly let me go since I ran into his arms. He and Mom always have a hand on me, touching my face, my arm, my back, like they're afraid to let me go.

Before, I would have felt smothered, but right now all I want is that contact, that feeling of safety. I know it's an illusion—Brian is still out there, waiting for us—but it still makes me feel better.

“He had us all fooled,” Nick says. “He even helped me put up Missing posters all over town.”

Dad frowns.

Lynda pats my shoulder. “Mr. and Mrs. Meadows, it's my recommendation that Sarah stay here overnight for observation and that she see a psychiatrist before you take her home. She's been through a major trauma.”

Her words punch my gut, taking my breath away. “I want to go home!”

“You heard my girl,” my dad says. “Don't worry, honey; we're taking you with us.”

Mom looks at the IV bag hanging from my hand. “Is Sarah all right?” she asks tremulously. “What is the IV for?”

“Malnutrition, dehydration,” Lynda says. “Make sure you feed her healthy food, give her a daily vitamin, and get her to rest, and she'll be fine. But psychologically, it's better that she have someone to talk to.”

I shake my head. “I just want to go home. Please!” I can't keep the desperation out of my voice.

Mom squeezes my hand. “We'll make sure she gets everything she needs, and we'll find her someone to talk to close to where we live. But we'd like to take her home now. She's been away for so long.”

Lynda sighs. “I understand. I'll get a doctor to sign the release papers.” And she leaves.

Detective Sato looks uncomfortable. “If Sarah remembers anything else, let us know right away.”

“For all the good it will do us. The bastard's probably long gone,” Dad says. “If you people had done your job in the first place . . .”

I stare up at Dad. He never used to be like this—combative and blaming. Even when he was angry, he found a way to be reasonable. This man is someone I almost don't recognize.

Detective Sato raises her chin like she's going to snap at Dad, but then she softens, watching us all huddled together, unable to let go of one another. “I'm sure the detectives in your area did everything they could to find the suspect.”

“You're kidding, right? We contacted them immediately, and they did next to nothing. No, we're better off finding the bastard ourselves.”

Detective Sato stiffens. “I realize this is an emotional time. But for your safety, if you should find the suspect or he should contact you—”

“I will protect my family,” Dad growls.

And then he'll kill us.
I smell Brian's piney odor, feel his fingers digging into my skin, see his face as he leans toward me. Even free, I can't get away from him.

“Don't try to take things into your own hands,” Detective Sato says. “That never ends well.”

“I won't have to if you all do your job,” Dad growls.

The detective flushes. “We've made this a priority from the minute we heard that Sarah had been found. And I know the detectives on your case would have done the same as soon as you contacted them. We don't take abductions lightly.”

“That bastard had Sarah for four months. Your lot didn't find her.”

Four
months? I stare at him. I thought it was only three. The floor moves beneath me.

It must be June, then. School's out. Graduation over. I've missed so much.

The detective is talking again, but I don't hear what she says. Instead, I notice how stiff Dad is beside me, how fast he's breathing. “Dad,” I say, tugging his arm.

Dad looks down at me, his jaw clenched.

“It's not their fault.”

Dad rubs his jaw and sighs. “You're right.” He looks at the detective. “I'm sorry.”

She nods brusquely. “We've been in touch with your local precinct. They've assigned an officer to monitor your house in case the suspect shows up there. Officers are out looking for him now. Please contact me or your local precinct if you gain any new information.”

“Oh, you can be sure we will,” Dad says. “Come on, Sarah; let's get you home.”

Home.
The word feels like warm pajamas, and for a moment I let myself hope that everything will be okay.

Day 122, 10:05 P.M.

 

I WALK WITH SARAH and her parents to their car. They never stop touching her, like they can't believe she's really here. I understand. I feel the same way.

I hardly recognized Sarah when I first saw her. She looked like a starved waif. Long stringy hair, her body too thin, almost fragile, baggy clothes that didn't hide how frail she looked. And the fear in her eyes—it went so deep, past anything I've ever seen. It was so vivid in her face, her jerky motions, her cracked voice. And then she raised her chin defiantly, and I knew her. My Sarah.

I can't believe it was Brian who did this to her. Brian, who kept coming around, pretending to be so concerned. The smarmy bastard. I want to kill him. But most of all, I want to protect Sarah. To make things better for her.

Sarah stiffens, and for a moment I think she's going to jump back out of the car, but then she does up her seat belt and clasps her hands.

I get in beside her and cram my backpack at my feet. Mr. Meadows starts the car, but the engine won't turn over. He curses and tries again, Sarah sitting stiffly beside me, her eyes wide as she watches her dad. The engine purrs.

“We're heading home, Sarah girl!” Mr. Meadows says, smiling at her in the rearview mirror. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the highway, our escort squad car following. Mrs. Meadows turns around every few seconds to look at us. At Sarah.

Sarah's face is tight and still, her hands clenched in her lap. She looks like she's hardly breathing.

“I'm glad you're back,” I say quietly, trying not to startle her.

Sarah licks her lips, looking nervous. “I am, too.”

“You're my hero, you know.” I probably shouldn't be saying this. It's not a guy thing to do, but it's how I feel. “You've always been strong, but this—you amaze me.”

“He's still out there,” Sarah says jerkily.

“I know.” I rub my hands on my jeans. “I'm not going anywhere, not if you don't want me to. We'll face this together.”

“Promise?” Sarah asks, her eyes burning into mine.

“Promise.” And I mean it. God, do I mean it.

10:10 P.M.

 

THE CAR SMELLS LIKE pine. When I first got in I thought Brian had been in here, that he was waiting for me. Then I saw the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror and forced myself to relax.

I take a shuddering breath. I have to keep reminding myself that Brian's not here.

It feels surreal, driving home with my parents and Nick, the squad car keeping pace on our left. Our car is full of silence. We're like strangers in a small space, shifting in our seats, glances bouncing off one another, pretending to be absorbed in our own thoughts. Without my parents' constant touch, I feel disconnected, almost adrift. I'm glad Nick's beside me, reminding me this is real. That I'm finally going home.

I stare out the window into the inky darkness punctuated by glowing streetlights. The lights reveal crushed soda cans, fast-food packaging, and scraps of tires littered along the side of the highway like discarded bones. The hiss of our wheels on asphalt is the only sound. Lighted billboards mark our progress—beautiful women selling their bodies as much as they're selling the products, but I don't feel that twisted mixture of envy and hopelessness anymore. The ads are so far away from anything that matters.

I twist around in my seat to look out the back window. There's a car behind us; it's been following us since we got on the highway. I can't see the driver's face, but it could be Brian. I can't shake the feeling that he's waiting, biding his time until he attacks. I turn back around.

Our car jounces hard, jarring my teeth together.

“Sorry about that. I didn't see the pothole,” Dad says. He clears his throat. “You warm enough, Sarah, or too hot?”

“I'm fine.”

A few minutes later Mom turns around. “Did you get enough to eat? We can stop if you're hungry.”

“No, that's okay.” They're as nervous as I am.

Dad clears his throat. “I know that before all this happened, we had bad news about your treatments.” He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “But I promise we'll find the money somehow.”

“I don't want treatments.” I can't believe I said that. “I mean, I don't think I do.”

Dad flexes and unflexes his fingers. “Well, if you change your mind, we'll find a way. You don't have to decide now.”