“It’s only for a little while,” her father explained as he tore a six-inch length of tape with his teeth.
“No,” her mother said, shaking her head. “You don’t need to do that. We’ll be quiet.”
“Can’t take any chances,” her father said regretfully. “Come here, peanut.”
“No,” her mother repeated. “She’s quiet. She’s always quiet.”
“Now you know that’s not true,” her father said, and the girl’s face burned with shame.
“Come here,” he ordered. The girl stepped toward him and he smoothed the duct tape over her lips. Immediately, her lungs tightened, the room seemed to close in around her.
“She was little,” her mother argued. “She couldn’t help it.”
The girl’s fingers moved to her mouth and began peeling away the tape. Her father slapped at her hands. “Stop,” he said. She dropped her fingers to her sides and struggled to breathe.
Then he turned to the girl’s mother. “Come here,” he ordered.
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Please, no. I’ll be good,” she cried. He yanked her toward him, ripped another piece of tape from the roll, and pressed it to her mouth.
Tears filled the girl’s eyes, and she watched as he dragged her mother over to the bed and handcuffed her to the headboard. Her mother didn’t resist. She knew if she fought back, things would be worse.
“Go sit down,” he told the girl and pointed to the metal pipe that rose up from the concrete floor and joined the circuit of cobwebbed pipes above them. The girl shook her head. She knew what was coming next. He snatched her into his arms and the girl bucked and writhed as he carried her over to the pipe. “Stay still,” he growled as he tossed her to the ground. Again, he tore a strip of tape from the roll and lashed her hands behind her back and her ankle to the pole.
Breathing heavily, her father took a look at his handiwork. Satisfied that they weren’t going anywhere and would make no noise, he went up the stairs. “Be good now,” he called down just before closing and locking the door.
The girl lay facedown on the cold concrete, mouth covered, arms tied behind her back, one ankle affixed to the pipe. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t see her mother. Tears rolled down her face and her nose filled with mucous, making it even harder to breathe.
Above her, she heard her father’s heavy footsteps and several lighter ones. She heard the tinkle of laughter, the chatter of unfamiliar voices, the cheerful chords of Jingle Bells. She closed her eyes to sleep, but the tape bit deeply into her skin and her muscles ached.
She imagined what it would be like to be upstairs sitting in the big living room singing Christmas carols. She would be dressed in pretty clothes, eating cookies in the shape of bells and reindeer and elves. She would be counting her wrapped presents beneath the tree.
The girl opened her eyes. She looked to her window. Through the gap in the curtain, snow was falling. She imagined what it would be like to feel snow on her face, to taste it on her tongue.
33
August 2000
The sound of screams filled the barn and Matthew came running, his eyes darting in search of the source of Josie’s distress.
“Josie, what is it?” he shouted. All she could do was point to the feed bunk. Matthew’s eyes followed her finger and landed on Ethan’s body. He fell to his knees in front of the bunk. “Ethan,” he said in disbelief. The mournful bleats of the goats rose up around them.
“Is he dead?” Josie asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Come away from there. Don’t touch anything,” came Matthew’s strangled reply. He struggled back to his feet, avoiding using the edge of the bunk to pull himself up.
Josie moved backward, but already denial was overtaking rational thought. “Maybe it’s not him,” she said. But she had seen the scars on the palm of his hand. The body in the bunk was her brother. The goats cried out as Matthew led Josie from the barn as if begging them to come back.
“I’m going to be sick, Grandpa,” Josie said apologetically and then veered away from him and vomited into the grass.
“It’s okay,” Matthew said, holding Josie’s hair away from her face until her stomach was empty and the dry heaves had passed. When she finally stood upright, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief and wiped Josie’s mouth.
Matthew hurried to the house for help and returned with the deputy and Caroline. Josie stood beneath the maple tree, its broad leaves shading her from the relentless sun. Josie couldn’t stand the thought of her brother, dead, lying all alone in a feed bunk covered in hay. She couldn’t bring herself to even look toward the barn.