It was a long, silent walk. Pressure seemed to build in the air as they moved closer to the place where Malcolm had been mentally, emotionally, and physically tortured for decades. Even Thor was subdued. Rowan wondered what they’d see inside. Ropes. Restraints. Blindfolds.
She shook her arms, trying to rid herself of the crawling sensation under her skin, drawing a questioning look from Evan.
“I’m good.”
They approached the little building. Its door was completely off its hinges and had been tossed aside. From top to bottom, it was splintered and cracked. Malcolm stopped and looked at the door for a long second and then kicked it. Without saying a word, he went up the three steps into the rectangular structure.
He has a lot of buried anger.
As he should.
Inside, it was hard to see, and Malcolm flipped a switch, lighting a dim bulb in the center of the main space. There was a small seating area, a table with two chairs, and a tiny kitchen along a wall across from the table. An open door to their left gave a glimpse of a bedroom.
One bedroom.
Graphic images assaulted her. Malcolm had never mentioned sexual abuse. Rowan took three steps toward the bedroom door and then turned back to find Malcolm watching her, an understanding in his eyes.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “He never touched me in that way.”
Cooling relief flowed through her.
He walked past and shoved the bedroom door the rest of the way open. He paused and then deliberately stepped into the space. “I was never allowed in here.” He moved to one side of the bed, where there was a tall stack of books on a nightstand. “But I risked it for books.” He took the top one off the pile. “I haven’t read this yet.” He flipped a few pages and then set it back exactly how it’d been found. He squatted in front of the nightstand and ran a hand over a plastic box on the lowest shelf. He shrugged and stood, giving the room a last scan, and then passed Rowan and Evan, heading back to the main area.
Malcolm knelt and crawled under the table, which was shoved against one wall. He slid his fingers behind a loose wall panel near the floor and opened a tiny space. Rowan was surprised to see him remove a book. Her gaze slid to the folded blanket and extremely flat pillow in a corner under the table, and pain blossomed in her heart.
“Malcolm . . . is that where you slept?” She barely got the words out.
He stood up. “Yes.” He looked down at the blanket as if seeing it through new eyes. “It wasn’t bad. I could hide books.”
Captain Vargas stuck his head in the door at that moment. “Y’all done in here? We’re headed to the other structure.”
“In a minute,” said Evan.
Rowan eyed her brother. He’d been different since they’d stepped into the small building. More assured. More confident.
Getting closure was the right thing for him.
46
The building where Malcolm and his captor had lived smelled bad.
Evan had been breathing through his mouth since they entered. A combination of body odor, mildew, and urine. It was strongest near the small bathroom, which Evan refused to look inside. When Malcolm admitted to sleeping under the table, his heart had contracted in sympathy, but then he’d realized that it was all Malcolm knew. And Malcolm hadn’t hated it.
“Done?” Evan asked after the captain left.
“Yes.” Malcolm stepped outside.
Rowan sighed.
“You okay?” Evan asked her.
“As good as I can be. He lived in squalor while I grew up in a middle-class home.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But the guilt drowns me sometimes.” She exited the building with Evan right behind her, and he took several deep breaths of the clean forest air.
Malcolm turned a corner around the side of the house and disappeared, Thor at his heels. Evan and Rowan ran after him. “Keep him in sight,” muttered Evan.
“Why? Where’s he going to go?” asked Rowan. “You can’t think he still wants to be involved with the man who took West?” she asked incredulously, shooting him a side-eye.
“I don’t think that. Not at all,” said Evan. He might have wondered that at first, suspicious of the way Malcolm had shown up at his parents’。 But now he’d seen enough of Malcolm’s pain to know the man wasn’t acting. He was a victim.
They found Malcolm behind the house, staring at a large wooden box.
“Oh God.” Rowan slammed to a halt.
That’s the box he was held in.
Evan looked away from the box, but what he saw increased his sympathy. They were standing in the middle of a gorgeous, healthy forest with a bright-blue sky, nature’s paradise. And in front of them was a weapon of abuse.