Hannah is the only one who manages to eat anything. She stuffs French fries into her mouth absently, almost automatically. Liam stares at his burger. His right cheek looks worse than it did in Mrs. McMillan’s office. I can only imagine how bad it will look by tomorrow.
“Do you want me to get you some ice for your cheek?” I ask him.
“No.”
“It’s going to get more bruised if you don’t ice it.”
“I don’t care.” He regards his burger with a look of disgust. “Mom, I’m not hungry. Can I go sit in the car?”
Somehow I get the feeling I shouldn’t let Liam out of my sight right now. “No. We’re all going to stay right here.”
“But, Mom—”
“You don’t have to eat, but you have to stay here.”
“Fine.” Liam slumps down in his seat and pouts. Wow, the kid’s acting like a real teenager now. Hannah has always been the expert at moping when we tell her what to do, but Liam always accepted everything without argument.
“Also,” I add, “there’s something you should know.”
Liam lifts his eyes.
“The police are at our house right now. They’re searching the house and my car.”
Hannah puts down her burger, eyes flashing. “What? Don’t they need a warrant or something to do that?”
I nod. “They do. And they came with one.” I look at Liam again. “They also want your phone. And just so you know, they’ll be able to read anything you’ve deleted.”
He’s quiet for a moment, playing with the wrapper on his sandwich. “Fine.”
“How bad is that, Liam?”
Before Liam can say a word, Hannah speaks up, “Liam didn’t do anything. So they’re not going to find anything incriminating.”
I’m not so sure about that. But Liam doesn’t give anything away with his expression. I get the feeling that my kids have been discussing this together. Sometimes I wonder what sorts of things Liam says to Hannah. Clearly, he trusts her in a way that he doesn’t trust me or Jason. If only I could be a fly on the wall.
“We’ll go see the attorney Dad hired this afternoon,” I say. “He’ll tell us what’s likely to happen next.”
I force myself to chomp down my salad. I don’t have any appetite, but I need to eat if I’m going to get through what’s going to happen next.
Chapter 38
Olivia
I have catalogued the inventory of the bag.
He has left me two plastic water bottles, four slices of bread, two apples, and a granola bar. If he’s coming back within a day, I’ll be fine. But he made a comment about how he wasn’t sure when he could get back here. So how long is this food going to have to last me? Two days? Three? A week?
He could have brought me more food. He did this purposely. Maybe to make sure I was weak enough that I won’t be able to fight him off or escape. As if being plunged into darkness twenty-four hours a day isn’t bad enough.
I have divided the corners of my small space into their various purposes. One corner is for Phoebe. You can bet I’m not touching her. A second corner is for me to do my business. I was able to hold off for several hours, but you can’t stop bodily functions. Of course, it’s not making this dank hole smell any better. A third corner is for the food. And the fourth corner is for me to sit or sleep. I amazingly managed to sleep last night, although it was broken up and interspersed with nightmares.
I woke up sobbing. All I can think about is my home. How much I want to be back there. How much I want my mom.
I’ve got to find a way out of here.
In the meantime, I have divided the food into rations. I’m allowing myself one slice of bread total per day, half an apple, and half a bottle of water. I’ve already eaten the granola bar—I couldn’t help myself. But the rest needs to last me for several days. It’s not going to be nearly enough, but it will be enough to live on. Until I can get out of here
I’ve been devising a plan.
If he dug this hole, he did it when the soil was warmer and more pliable. And presumably, he had a shovel. But I can make a dent in the soil with my fingers. If I scrape at it hard enough, it comes free. My plan is to dig out enough to form a mound for me to stand on to reach the trap door above me. And once I can reach that, maybe I could find a way to break the lock.
He’s never going to let me go. I saw the look in his eyes yesterday night. He’s crazy. He wants to keep me here, for whatever reason. So that means if I’m going to get out, I’m going to have to do it on my own. I can’t count on the police to save me.