Never Missing, Never Found by Amanda Panitch Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Panitch
Katharina says. “Haven’t you heard it before?” She sighs. “You’re right,” she continues. “We should clean up those key chains before somebody slips on them and sues.”
Everyone. Everyone. No, that’s not something
everyone
says. That’s something I’ve only ever heard one person say. And that person is long gone.
Katharina and I finish the rest of my first day in near silence. She attempts small talk every so often, but I can’t respond with anything but wooden, one-word answers. No matter how many times I look around, no matter how many times I breathe in deep and tell myself it’s all in my head, I can’t shake the creepy-crawly feeling that somebody is watching me.
At some point between the man opening the basement door and him depositing me downstairs, I drifted off again. I didn’t know it then, but I should’ve stayed asleep. I should’ve slept for years and years, to be woken only by the touch of a police officer, rather than a kiss of true love.
I dreamed of my sister, Melody. Melly. More specifically, I dreamed of the time a year or so back when Melody had wet the bed. I’d woken to her pulling on my arm, her eyes bright and shiny with tears. “Can you help?” she said, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.
I’d been sound asleep and dreaming of my third-grade crush, Gunnar, who was shy and had dimples and had once brushed my arm with his arm as we walked past each other in the hallway, which translated, obviously, into true love. But I blinked Gunnar away and forced myself out of bed. “What about Mom?” Our dad was away on a business trip, but our mom was home. “Did you wake her up?”
Melody’s lip wobbled. “I shook her and shook her and she wouldn’t wake up,” she said. “Can you please help?”
I sighed. The first time we hadn’t been able to wake up our mom, Melody and I had panicked, thinking our mom was dead, and called 911. After that, our mom had sat us down and told us that sometimes it was normal, not being able to wake up, and that as long as she was breathing, we should just let her be. She taught us how to listen for her heartbeat and take a spoon and hold it up to her nose to see if it fogged.
“Okay,” I said to Melody. “I think there are clean sheets in the hall closet. I’ll change them for you.”
Melody grabbed my hand as she followed me down the hall. It was sticky, but I didn’t pull away. She was my sister. “Thank you, Scarlett.”
This time, in the basement, I woke up to the drip, drip, drip of water and immediately had to pee myself. I hoped that meant the drugs were wearing off.
God, but I had to pee. I had to pee so bad it hurt; my bladder was pulsing jagged little lightning bolts of pain through my abdomen. I sat up, lifting my shoulders from what felt like a mattress, with a creak that was only in my head.
The next thing I noticed was the dark, and the third thing I noticed was the cold. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the gloom of the basement, helped along by the pale light filtering in through the one high, barred window. The slowly appearing shapes shook as I shivered. I was joined by a small table, two plastic chairs that might have come from a classroom, and a dresser in the corner. I stood up, stepping off my bare mattress and onto a thin, rough rug that protected me, at least, from the concrete floor.
I took a step toward the stairs. If I could make it to the door at the top, surely I would be free. “Hello?” I called, just in case. Maybe this was a mistake. This had to be a mistake.
I was halfway up the stairs when the door creaked open, and there
she
was.
In another life, she could have been my teacher or my pediatrician or the nice mail lady who gave me lollipops whenever she saw me come to collect the mail. Because she didn’t look like a monster. For years after, I thought of her as a monster, and she
was
a monster, and it scared me to think of how well she wore her human disguise. It made me
Everyone. Everyone. No, that’s not something
everyone
says. That’s something I’ve only ever heard one person say. And that person is long gone.
Katharina and I finish the rest of my first day in near silence. She attempts small talk every so often, but I can’t respond with anything but wooden, one-word answers. No matter how many times I look around, no matter how many times I breathe in deep and tell myself it’s all in my head, I can’t shake the creepy-crawly feeling that somebody is watching me.
At some point between the man opening the basement door and him depositing me downstairs, I drifted off again. I didn’t know it then, but I should’ve stayed asleep. I should’ve slept for years and years, to be woken only by the touch of a police officer, rather than a kiss of true love.
I dreamed of my sister, Melody. Melly. More specifically, I dreamed of the time a year or so back when Melody had wet the bed. I’d woken to her pulling on my arm, her eyes bright and shiny with tears. “Can you help?” she said, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.
I’d been sound asleep and dreaming of my third-grade crush, Gunnar, who was shy and had dimples and had once brushed my arm with his arm as we walked past each other in the hallway, which translated, obviously, into true love. But I blinked Gunnar away and forced myself out of bed. “What about Mom?” Our dad was away on a business trip, but our mom was home. “Did you wake her up?”
Melody’s lip wobbled. “I shook her and shook her and she wouldn’t wake up,” she said. “Can you please help?”
I sighed. The first time we hadn’t been able to wake up our mom, Melody and I had panicked, thinking our mom was dead, and called 911. After that, our mom had sat us down and told us that sometimes it was normal, not being able to wake up, and that as long as she was breathing, we should just let her be. She taught us how to listen for her heartbeat and take a spoon and hold it up to her nose to see if it fogged.
“Okay,” I said to Melody. “I think there are clean sheets in the hall closet. I’ll change them for you.”
Melody grabbed my hand as she followed me down the hall. It was sticky, but I didn’t pull away. She was my sister. “Thank you, Scarlett.”
This time, in the basement, I woke up to the drip, drip, drip of water and immediately had to pee myself. I hoped that meant the drugs were wearing off.
God, but I had to pee. I had to pee so bad it hurt; my bladder was pulsing jagged little lightning bolts of pain through my abdomen. I sat up, lifting my shoulders from what felt like a mattress, with a creak that was only in my head.
The next thing I noticed was the dark, and the third thing I noticed was the cold. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the gloom of the basement, helped along by the pale light filtering in through the one high, barred window. The slowly appearing shapes shook as I shivered. I was joined by a small table, two plastic chairs that might have come from a classroom, and a dresser in the corner. I stood up, stepping off my bare mattress and onto a thin, rough rug that protected me, at least, from the concrete floor.
I took a step toward the stairs. If I could make it to the door at the top, surely I would be free. “Hello?” I called, just in case. Maybe this was a mistake. This had to be a mistake.
I was halfway up the stairs when the door creaked open, and there
she
was.
In another life, she could have been my teacher or my pediatrician or the nice mail lady who gave me lollipops whenever she saw me come to collect the mail. Because she didn’t look like a monster. For years after, I thought of her as a monster, and she
was
a monster, and it scared me to think of how well she wore her human disguise. It made me