Always Watching

  Daniel, his voice hollow and shocked, “Why are you putting her in there?”

  Aaron’s voice, “Joseph, just put the pitchfork in the latch.”

  Another noise, something scraping against the side of the freezer.

  I hit my hands repeatedly on the lid, kicked up with my feet. Finally, I paused, my breath jerking out of me in angry sobs. How was I going to get out?

  On the other side, Aaron’s muffled voice said, “Daniel, go back to the house. It will be okay—we’ll let her out when she’s released her fear.”

  I yelled, “You’re lying. You’re never going to let me out. The police know I’m here—I called them on my way. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Aaron spoke at the corner of the lid, his voice so close I jumped in the dark. “Now you’re the one lying.”

  I heard a few rustles on the other side, then footsteps walking away.

  I was alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  As soon as they left, I hit and pushed up at the lid with my hands over and over and over. The plastic on the inside was old and brittle, breaking in places as I hit it. I peeled some off, ripping the insulation out, and pushed up on the metal of the lid. I still couldn’t break through it. I also tried to use my feet to kick up, but I couldn’t get enough force. Finally, my body bruised and battered, I had to rest, gulping for air, almost hyperventilating. The darkness pressed in, squeezing all the air out of my body. My legs were vibrating, my heart whooshing in my ears. The world tilted sideways and I thought I might pass out. Then I remembered.

  We’re in the field, picking huckleberries, while everyone else is on a walk. The air smells dense and heavy with heat. I’m wearing shorts and a loose T-shirt, but the sweat makes it stick to my body. I keep pulling it away from my front, not liking the way Aaron’s looking at me. My hands are stained red with berries, and I try to wipe them on my shorts. He’s watching me, and says, “I want to meditate.”

  The berries I’ve eaten churn in my stomach, their sweet taste now bitter in my mouth. I know what he really wants.

  I say, “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

  “Don’t you care about your mom?”

  “You’re not helping her. She’s getting worse again.” In the last couple of weeks, she’d been moody and quiet, sleeping in her cabin all day, barely eating.

  He says, “In our meditations, she said that she’s been thinking about killing herself again. I’ve been talking her out of it, healing her. But maybe I don’t want to do that anymore either. Maybe she’d be happier on the other side.”

  I stare at him. He’s telling the truth, I can see it in his face.

  He says, “Lie down, Nadine.”

  I get on my knees and lie on my back in the long dry grass. My eyes are already filling with tears. I try to think about the grass scratching against my leg, the buzz of dragonflies floating in the air nearby. But I’m scared.

  He lies down next to me and presses his mouth against mine. My hands grab helplessly at the poppies. He undoes my jeans shorts, puts his hand down them and touches me between my legs. He yanks them farther down, and rolls on top of me, starts pulling down his shorts, and tries to shove himself inside me.

  It hurts, and I cry out. He presses his mouth harder against mine.

  I twist my face away. “Stop. I don’t want to.” I push at him and hit him with my fists. I kick out, kneeing him in the groin. He yells, cupping himself. I pull up my shorts and take off running for the barn, looking for my mother, my brother, anyone who can help, forgetting in my panic that they’re all on their walk. His footsteps are loud behind me. I make it partway up one of the haystacks when he grabs my foot, pulling me down, until I’m close enough for him to grip my hair, yanking my head back. I try to scream, but he slaps his hand over my mouth. He lets go of my hair, wraps his arm tight around my chest and shoulders, so my arms are pinned, squeezing the breath out of my lungs. Then he lifts me against the side of his body, like a sack of grain, and carries me to the back of the barn, where they’ve been digging a root cellar under the storage room.

  He stops by the hole, turning his body so that I’m over the edge, my feet dangling, and removes his hand from my mouth. I look down. At first I don’t understand why he’s showing the cellar to me. Then I realize the hole is only a few feet deep and wide, and I think he’s going to make me dig, as punishment.

  Then he says, “Do you see, Nadine? Do you see where you’re going?”

  Now I understand. He’s going to put me in the hole.

  I kick and struggle, but he’s holding tight. He steps backward and swings me around, then grabs one of the old metal barrels that are stacked against the wall. With one hand, he pries the lid off. He lifts my body over the barrel.

  I catch a flicker out of the corner of my eye, a shadow moving by the door, blocking the crack of light. “Help!” I yell, thinking someone is there, someone will save me. But only a flurry of birds rushes up to the rafters.

  I bite at his arm, try to get my legs on the outside of the barrel, but he punches me hard in the temple. Stunned, I’m limp in his arms. He jams my legs into the barrel, uses his knee to press down on my back. I grasp at the metal rim. He raps my knuckles, bends my fingers back until I have to let go. He’s grunting with exertion, scrambling for something, then the lid is coming over my head, and he’s pushing down with all his weight. I’m screaming, loud, but it’s muffled.

  He hammers the lid in place with his fists.

  There are only a few inches of air between my body and the lid. I’m surrounded by metal, my knees up near my chin, no room to move, to breathe.

  The barrel is tipping. I land on my side. I stop screaming, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Now the barrel is rolling, the sensation of falling. I drop with a thud, my body slamming into the metal sides. I gasp for breath.

  For a second, everything’s silent. Then I get some air, scream again and again, but no one comes. I’m hot and sweaty. It drips down my face. I’m panting.

  I hear a thud, realize it’s dirt hitting the barrel. I yell, “Please, no, please let me out!”

  More dirt hits the barrel. I get one hand up by my ear, push at the lid, but it won’t budge. Thick heat presses in on me like a blanket, closing my throat up with each breath. I claw at the smooth walls, try to squirm my body around, and it makes the air thicker, even harder to breathe. I’m crying and gasping. I hear strangling sounds from my throat, more dirt falling, over and over. Then silence. I’m moaning, sobbing in broken whimpers.

  A soft thud, like someone jumped into the hole.

  “Please, please. Let me out!” I’m frantic, crying.

  Aaron’s voice, “Are you ready to surrender to the Light?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m ready.”

  Silence again. Then, “I don’t believe you.”

  Another thump as dirt hits the barrel. Shovelful after shovelful rains down. I scream, a frantic high-pitched screech, until I can’t get my breath and start hyperventilating, tears and snot mixing on my face.

  Finally, he stops, and calls down, faint through the dirt and metal, “Do you want to be released from your fear, Nadine?”

  “Yes,” I sob. “Yes. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  A pause. He’s going to let me out. My body fills with relief.

  Then he starts throwing more dirt down. I can’t tell how much now, whether I’m almost buried, but the sound is getting softer. I’ve peed myself. I think of my mother, of Robbie, and my father. I’m going to die. I close my eyes, chanting in my mind, Please, please, please, please, please, please.

  The noise stops. There’s nothing but silence. Has he left? I’m dizzy, shuddering with sobs and panic. Seconds tick by. I’m sure now that he’s gone. I can’t last much longer. I gasp for air, but I can’t get my breath.

  Then a sound near me, something scrapes the top of the barrel. I tense. Another scrape, rhythmic, and I realize he’s shoveling away at the dirt. A surge of hope, followed
by fear. Is it just another game? I push again at the lid, beg with the last of my strength, “Please. I don’t want to die.”

  Then the sound of metal against metal, the lid is being pried off. I blink up at the light, gasping and gagging for air. Half-blind, I can only see Aaron’s shape in the light from the doorway. He reaches down, lifts me out, setting me on my feet, but I’m disoriented and weak, and I fall to the ground.

  He crouches in front, clasps the back of my head, and looks into my eyes.

  “You can’t run away from me, Nadine. We’re family now.”

  I slur my words, my tongue and lips dry, my throat raw from screaming. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me, please.”

  His hand on the back of my neck grips harder. He leans close, his body reeking of sweat. He’s about to say something. Then, in the distance, we hear the singing voices of the commune members, coming back from their walk.

  I open my mouth to scream.

  He slaps me. My head rocks back, hitting the barrel behind it, stunning me again. He puts his hand on my mouth, grinding my lips into my teeth. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll do it again—but I won’t let you out.”

  His hand presses harder. I taste blood. He says, “I’ll bury you alive. Do you understand?”

  I nod, terrified.

  He says, “Wait for a few minutes, then go down to the river and clean up.” He leans close to my ear, his voice muffled and distorted and seeming to come from far away. “Remember, tell anyone, and I’ll leave you to die next time.”

  He lifts me out of the hole, dumping me on the floor of the storage room.

  Then he is gone.

  After a few moments, I pull myself together, stagger away from the barn, through the back field, down to the river, going to a pool farther below the commune where none of the members swim. Crying and shivering as I wash myself in the frigid water. I wash my clothes too, spreading them across a rock in the sun, curl my naked and bruised body up into a ball, hiding behind a big rock, the warm sand wrapping around me. I fall asleep.

  Hours later, when I come back to the commune, my mother asks where I’ve been. I tell her I’ve been at the river. That I split my lip on a rock.

  I can’t remember anything else.

  * * *

  Now, I forced my body to relax, to breathe in and out. I was terrified, my legs shaking, but I had to break this down into moments, analyze the situation, and take it step by step. Take some deep breaths. You can get out of here if you keep calm.

  Aaron wasn’t coming back for me. He had warned me years ago, and his rage was too great. This time he would let me die. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I searched for a crack of light at the edges of the lid, but I was just surrounded by blackness and the scent of old horse feed, musty and rancid. My head filled with terrifying memories of freezers being recalled in the seventies because so many children died, and all the warnings to never play in one.

  I tried to calculate how much air I had, how long I could live. I knew that if I panted too much, I would use it up faster, so I tried to slow my breathing. I didn’t think I had much time, the air already felt different, my head light and my blood seeming loud in my ears. I tried to accept the fact that there was a very good chance that I was going to die. I thought of my family. What would happen to Lisa? Would she ever know where my body was? Tears leaked from my eyes as I thought of Robbie, wondering if he was also buried somewhere, staring up at a lid, screaming for help. Would death come easy for us? Would we just fall asleep, or die gasping for breath, suffocating in our makeshift graves? Panic surged over me again, rage at my helplessness. I hit up at the lid, an angry shove that got me nowhere. I burst into tears, sobbing in the dark like I had as a child. I pressed my hands to my eyes, took some breaths, and tried to refocus.

  I had two choices. Accept my fate, pray that Daniel would realize his father intended to kill me, and somehow overpower both men. Hope that Mary would call the police, that somehow, some way, I’d get lucky and survive this.

  My other choice was to die trying to escape.

  I bent my knees and, bracing my arms on either side of the freezer, kicked my heels into the wall. It didn’t give. I tried to push against the side walls, the wall behind my head, and the lid. The freezer was solid.

  I wondered if I would have more strength if I used my shoulders to push up. Angling my body and trying to double over in the small space, I reached down and braced my hands on the floor of the freezer. Then I reared up as hard as I could, using all the strength of my back. My neck and shoulders were in agony from the blow, my knees throbbed. But I thought I felt a slight give. Could the latch on the lock be rusted? Or maybe the screws that attached it to the freezer?

  I pushed up hard again and heard a slight noise, like something might be giving. I pushed up again and again, sweating and grunting with exertion. I took a break, sucking in big gulps of air, scared about how much oxygen I was using, but then the thought: If I’m going to die, at least I’ll die faster.

  With the last of my strength, I slammed my back up against the lid, sending a jolt of pain down my spine. Then a louder, tearing sound, a feeling that the lid was loosening, like the lock was giving out. I pushed up again, using everything in my body. A rip of metal as the bolts started to pull out. Now I just had to push a few more times, straining up, almost standing in the small area, until the padlock latch finally tore out, and the lid flipped opened.

  I climbed out of the freezer, my back and legs screaming in pain. Hands out, I felt my way around the dark room, stopping to listen for footsteps. Then I was at the door. I’d thought Aaron would’ve blocked it as well, but when I gave a tentative push, it swung open. He obviously hadn’t thought I’d be able to escape.

  * * *

  I crept around the side of the barn, skirting the edge of the forest, keeping the house in sight as I came around behind it. I didn’t know how I was going to get to the vehicles—mine was at the front, but now I also saw a green truck behind the house. It had to be Daniel’s. It looked familiar, and I remembered the truck that slowed down outside my place. Daniel must’ve been keeping an eye on me, maybe trying to protect his father. As I got closer to the house, I heard raised voices. I crouched behind a tree and listened. It sounded like they were fighting. Daniel was angry, saying, “You said you just wanted to talk to them—you didn’t tell me anyone would get hurt. When are you going to let her out?”

  Aaron answered, “When the Light says it’s time. She’s not ready.”

  Daniel yelled, sounding desperate, “She’s going to die.”

  Aaron was talking, his voice lower, like he was trying to calm Daniel, but I couldn’t make out the words. I hoped Joseph was also inside.

  Staying low behind the tree, I thought about my plan. I was going to have to get all the away around the house without their spotting me and run to my car. When they heard the car start, they’d come after me, so I had to disable the truck too. Adrenaline gave me strength, narrowing my focus to only this moment as I crawled over, then slowly stood up, peering into the cab of the truck. No keys in the ignition. I’d have to rip out some wires. When voices rose inside the house again, I eased open the truck door, holding my breath as I popped the hood.

  There was silence from the house, and I worried they’d heard me, then Daniel started yelling again: “We can’t do this—we can’t let people die.”

  I quickly yanked out every wire and hose I could get my hands on. When I was finished, I glanced over at the house and saw Mary by the back door.

  She was watching me. We stared at each other. I was sure she was going to call the men, but she just gave a brief nod, then turned and walked back inside.

  I ran around the house and climbed into my car, saw the keys dangling from the ignition. I started the car up and began to pull away. Daniel, Joseph, and Aaron came running out of the house. In the rearview mirror I saw Mary grab Daniel’s arm, holding him back. The dogs were also running out, and one dodged in f
ront of the car. I tapped my brakes, trying not to hit it, and swerved on the loose gravel, coming to a stop in front of a tree as I slammed on my brakes. I put the car in reverse.

  Motion out of the corner of my eye, and I saw Aaron running toward me. He threw something at my window and I automatically ducked. Glass shattered and a rock hit my arm. Pain shot through me as I gripped the steering wheel and pounded the gas, trying to get around him. Joseph ran in front of the car. The gun in his hand pointed at me.

  I hit the brakes, ducked again. Aaron reached his hand through the broken window, punched me hard in the side of the head. I sat stunned as he unlocked my door and put the car in park. I scrambled across the passenger seat, he grabbed at my legs, dragging me. I clung to the steering wheel. Kicked back with all my strength.

  Where was Joseph? I glanced to the left. He was still standing in front of the car, the gun aimed at me, waiting for his next command from his brother.

  I looked through the rear window, searching for help, an escape, anything. Mary was crying hysterically, hands over her mouth. Daniel was staring transfixed, his face full of horror and panic. And in his hand, he held the other gun.

  I yelled out, “Daniel, shoot him. You have to shoot him. Heather loved you. She wouldn’t want you to let this happen.”

  Daniel was crying now. The gun rose.

  Aaron didn’t turn around. He was still trying to pull me out of the car, so confident in his control over his son.

  I heard a crack. And Aaron let go of my legs. I looked over my shoulder. Aaron was clutching his side, his face stunned as he crumpled to the ground.

  Joseph walked over and stared down at him, the gun by his side, his face expressionless.

  Daniel was running toward Joseph. He tackled him.

  The men fought on the ground while I clambered to put my car in gear. Joseph broke away and ran toward the truck, Daniel hard on his heels.

  Without looking back, I stomped on the gas and tore out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I drove as fast as I could on the narrow gravel roads, fishtailing around one corner and nearly going over an embankment. When I passed an area of logging, I noticed a large excavator and flashed to an image of Robbie’s excavator at his house down by the septic field—the dirt pile fresh. Now something stuck out as odd. I tried to bring back the scene in my mind. Another image came forward: The lids for the new tanks were covered. From what I knew of septic systems, it was better to leave the lid exposed. And the septic wasn’t even hooked up yet.