The Stolen

10

The girl woke up with a slight headache. Her first thought was that she'd fallen, maybe hit her head on the sidewalk or bumped into the same tree she'd rammed her bike into the other day. But she didn't remember putting on a helmet, didn't remember actually falling. And she only rode her bike when her mommy was watching. And right away she felt the terror that she was alone.

She stood up warily. Her breathing was harsh, and she felt hot tears rush to her eyes. She reached out for her bed, the couch, some familiar sign. But she found nothing. She grew desperate and called out. There was no answer.

The room was pitch-black. Had her mommy just put her to bed, accidentally left the Bratz night-light unplugged?

No, there was a smell in the room, something different, something rotted. She didn't belong there. Yet when she cried, nobody came.

The girl smelled something that reminded her of her dad's breath after he came home on Sunday evenings.

Mommy said he was watching the football games at the bar with his friends. His breath had that sweet smell, and her mom never let her get too close to him when he was like that. There was a smell in the air that reminded her of that. Reminded her to be afraid of getting too close.

After a few minutes her eyes adjusted. The room was small, about the size of her baby brother's bedroom. There was a small bench by the wall, and the floor was made of wood. A slit of light shone from a crack under the door, but other than that she couldn't see a thing.

Her throat began to choke up. She didn't know this place. She wanted to feel her mommy's arms. Wanted to smell her daddy's sweet breath.

Suddenly she remembered walking home from the park, remembered feeling a hand clamp over her mouth.

She couldn't remember anything past that.

The girl let out a cry of help, then ran toward the door.

She gripped the knob and twisted as hard as she could, but it didn't budge. She pushed and pulled and cried, but the door stayed shut.

Finally she collapsed onto the floor and began to cry.

She wiped the snot away from her nose. She needed a tissue. She could wipe it on her clothes, but she loved the sundress she was wearing. Bright pink with pretty sunflowers. Her mom had picked it out for her at the mall, the same day she'd bought that nice barrette in the shape of a butterfly that mommy wore to the park.

She began to cry again. She screamed for her mother.

For her father. And nobody came.

Then she lay back down, curled into a ball, and hoped maybe somebody could hear her through the floor.

And that's when she heard footsteps.

She sat back up. Looked at the door. Saw a shadow briefly block out that sliver of light. She wiped her eyes and nose. She held her breath as the doorknob turned.

Then nearly screamed when it opened. She would have screamed. If she wasn't too scared.

There was a man in the doorway. He was bald, with thinning hair and glasses that were too small for his head.

He was wearing light jeans with a hole by one knee. On his hands were leather gloves. When she saw the gloves, she finally managed to scream.

The man flicked a switch on the outside of the door, and a lightbulb came on, bathing the room in harsh white. She closed her eyes, blinked through the glare, then opened them. The man was now barely a foot in front of her. He was staring at her. Not in a scary way, not like bad men on television did. In the way her daddy did when he tucked her in at night. He'd taken the gloves off. He held them out to her, then made a show of putting them in his pocket.

"Don't be scared," he said. "I would never hurt you."

The man reached out, took her chin in his hands. They were callused, rough. She was too scared to move, felt her head pounding, mucus running down her nose and onto his hand.

When he noticed the snot on his fingers, the man reached into his pocket. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, he'd taken out a handkerchief and was wiping her nose, her face.

"That's better," he said. He had a glass of water with him. He handed it to her. "Go on. Drink some."

She took it, her hand trembling. She didn't know what was in it, whether he'd poisoned it, whether he'd spit in it, but she was so thirsty she downed almost all of it in one gulp. When she was finished, he took the clean side of the handkerchief and wiped her mouth.

Then he handed her two small pills. She looked at him, looked at the pills.

"You must have a bad headache," he said. "This will make you feel better."

Then he smiled at her.

She didn't know how he knew about her headache, but if the pills would help…

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Hurts," she moaned.

"It won't for long."

She looked at him. He was wearing a wedding ring. It was polished and it gleamed something pretty.

He stood up. Motioned for her to do the same. The girl stood up reluctantly, then smelled the aroma of pancakes coming from somewhere. Her favorite.

"Strawberry and chocolate chip. Fresh off the griddle," he said, smiling. "Let's get you fed, you can meet your new mommy and new brother, and then I'll show you to your room."

She took the man's hand, his grip gentle, and followed him out of the darkness.