But it’s clear nobody is coming for me anytime soon. Not here.
I collapse against the dirt wall. My throat is parched. I don’t remember when I last had anything to drink or eat. A day? If he’s planning on trapping me here, will he at least give me something to drink? He will, won’t he? Otherwise, I’ll die, and I’ll be no good to him for whatever he wants.
I hope he brings me food. What will I do if he doesn’t?
He hasn’t raped me. Even though there’s a gap in my memory, somehow I feel certain of this. If he had, I would know it. Right? I’m still a virgin, so I’m sure I’d feel sore if he had done that to me. That’s what Madison said, anyway. My jeans are still buttoned and zipped, and nothing is ripped or torn. I’m intact, except for my damn ankle.
God, why didn’t I listen to Madison when she warned me about Liam?
Maybe he left me some water. Maybe there’s a whole thermos of it somewhere. I need to feel around this space and get my bearings. If there’s any chance of trying to escape from here, I’ve got to figure out what I’m dealing with. After all, women escape from being kidnapped all the time. I’ve read articles about it. They use their moxie or intelligence or whatever, and they find a way out.
Or else they don’t. And years later, their body is discovered half-buried in the woods by some hikers.
Oh my God, I’m going to be sick again.
I double over, retching on the dirt ground. Once again, nothing comes up. I retch hard enough that tears fill my eyes. And then before I know it, the tears are streaming down my cheeks.
I’m trapped here. He trapped me.
I want to go home. I want my mom.
Please…
Chapter 27
Erika
Dinner is a very subdued affair.
Jason managed to make it home early tonight, which is something he doesn’t get to do very often. Usually when he gets home early, I make a big deal of it and cook something special, but not tonight. Tonight, we’re eating Kraft macaroni and cheese. And anybody who says a damn word about it will have their plate yanked away from them and hurled into the garbage.
Not that anyone will care. Both Hannah and Liam have barely eaten anything. Both of them are just pushing the little pieces of macaroni around their plates. Liam has barely said a word since he got home hours ago.
“I’m sorry about dinner,” I feel compelled to say.
“What are you talking about?” Jason says. “I love macaroni and cheese. It tastes really Gouda.”
Hannah comes alive long enough to groan. She can’t resist complaining about Jason’s puns. “It’s not Gouda, dad. It’s that powder stuff that comes out of a package.”
“Yes, I realize that, Hannah. Geez, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Well, it’s not helping,” she says.
Jason gives me a look, then he reaches out and grabs her wrist. “Hey. No phones at the dinner table. You know that.”
Wow, Hannah is sneakier than I thought. I didn’t even realize she had her phone under the table. She obligingly places it in Jason’s outstretched hand. She leans back in her chair, pouting. “I just wanted to see if they found Olivia.”
My heart leaps. “Did they?”
Hannah shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
I look over at Liam, who is staring down at his dinner plate. I haven’t asked him about what I found in the GPS yet. I’m afraid to. Because it’s hard to think of any explanation that won’t make him look really bad. All I know is that he lied to my face this morning and I couldn’t even tell.
“She was in your year, right, Liam?” Jason asks.
“I guess. I didn’t really know her.”
Then why were you going to her house last night? At two in the morning?
The doorbell rings, which is a relief, because I wasn’t doing much better at eating my macaroni and cheese than the kids were. That relief lasts only until I look through the peephole and see the two uniformed police officers standing at our door.
Oh God. I think I’m going to have another panic attack.
I take two deep breaths before I unlock the door. I plaster a smile on my face that I feel looks very genuine. Maybe Liam is rubbing off on me.
There are two police officers standing in our doorway. One is a man, who is in his late thirties with ruddy cheeks and a gut that’s straining against his uniform. The other officer is a thin woman. She looks of Hispanic descent, with sharp black eyes, high cheekbones, and hair pulled back into a severe bun.
“Hello there,” the male officer says in a thick Long Island accent. “Does Liam Cass live here?”