30

Cheryl placed the tray on the small table beside the bed. She placed a finger over Anne’s mouth to keep her from crying out. Bouchard’s eyes were wide with confusion as she surveyed her surroundings. The room was austere with painted walls and minimal furniture. Bouchard sat up and stared at the fetter on her left wrist. Her eyes followed it to where the other end was hooked through a loop of heavy chain, which was in turn fastened to a beam in the ceiling.

“Keep your voice down,” Cheryl said, her mouth close to the woman’s ear.

The new arrival sat up and stared at her host. She saw Cheryl staring at the small circular scar on her left shoulder.

“Is that a bullet wound?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you the story another time.”

Cheryl kept her eyes averted and whispered. “He’s probably listening . . . everything he does is some sort of stupid game or test.”

The woman lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you alright? Has he hurt you? Has he . . . ?”

“Raped me? Every time he’s tried anything, he couldn’t get it up—I think he’s impotent.”

“Impotent?”

“Yes. I guess I won’t be here much longer now that you’re here. There was another woman when I arrived—we talked through a hole in the wall. But then she wasn’t there anymore.”

She reached out and touched Cheryl’s arm.

Cheryl panicked at the sound of the chains rattling.

“My name is Anne Bouchard. I’m a private investigator and will try to get you out. Your grandparents are looking for you.”

Cheryl looked cynical. “You told me that—right before he caught you. I don’t see how you’re going to help me,” she pointed at the chain, “considering you’re in the same situation.”

“I’ll need your help. Can you get me something to remove this manacle?”

“Are you kidding? If I’m not locked in my room Willard doesn’t let me out of his sight for two minutes.”

Bouchard lifted the chain and manacle on her left wrist. “Does he still chain you?”

“No, I think he believes I’ve given up all hope. But he still locks me in my room at night.”

They heard the sound of loud footsteps outside the room, and Cheryl spun around. “I got to go.”

Cheryl stepped into the hall and stopped abruptly when she came face to face with him. “What took you so long? Only takes a minute to drop a tray and leave.” He slapped her.

“I was telling her the rules.” Cheryl rubbed the side of her face and fought to control the anger she felt. “You don’t. You expect us to know what’s going on.” She clenched her fists, and her voice rose. “You’re the one who told me to take care of her.”

He flinched. “Keep your voice down.” He cast a worried glance at Mum’s door.

“Why? She can’t hear anyone but you. You may have noticed that she’s never said a single goddamned word to me!”

He regained his composure and grabbed her. “Get your ass back to your room. We’ll talk about this later.”

Back in her room, Cheryl sat in front of her window and stared out at the cove. She whispered, “My days are numbered. I’ve got to get out of here soon.”