It’s been two weeks since Cal said he’d get a doctor here, and I still haven’t seen a soul. When I asked him a few days ago if he knew when they’d be coming, he just muttered something about them all being very busy and not considering my situation an emergency.
‘They’ll come when they come,’ he had said with a tone that signalled he was quite done with the conversation.
The blessing, if you want to look at it that way, is that the pulling sensation stopped almost as quickly as it had started, and I haven’t felt it again since. Cal was probably right. It was likely just a normal sensation that comes with pregnancy. According to the books, sharp pains and the kind of pulling I felt that night are merely a symptom of the uterus growing. But whether it was usual or not, I still want to see a medical professional. Also, though I’ve been careful not to mention anything of the sort to Cal, the more symptoms I experience the more I wish I had a mother to chat things over with.
‘I hope you have a good day.’ I smile as I help Cal into his work jacket. I’ve been especially nice to him, taking on my good wife act again in the hopes that it might be seen as ‘behaving’ in his eyes.
‘Aye. What’s for dinner?’
‘I thought I’d do a shepherd’s pie with that mince you brought in yesterday.’
He nods approvingly. Shepherd’s pie is one of his favourites. He spent ages in the skinning barn last night preparing the mince. I try not to think about what else he might have done while he was down there.
He bends down to give me a kiss, and I try to make my kiss back feel as genuine as I can. Even though I’ve been back to waiting on him hand and foot recently, things still aren’t the way they were. There’s still something there, some layer of distrust from him lingering beneath every conversation, every kiss, every cuddle. It’s like he’s trying to figure out what I’m up to. I’m not acting well enough.
As he drives off, I watch him from the doorway, watch the dust flying up into the air and the rustle of the trees as he disappears into their thicket. Maybe, just maybe, today will be the day when he’ll return with someone who can help us.
Clinging on to that hope, I make my way into the kitchen to get a start on preparing the vegetables for tonight’s dinner. I prefer to slow cook mince throughout the day. It always tastes so much better. There’s a slight whiff of off food as I open the cupboard and I make a mental note to check and rotate our supplies.
I pause, my hand lingering in mid-air in front of the shelves.
Potatoes.
Where are the potatoes?
I lift myself up onto tiptoes and scan the very back of the cupboard, moving various tins and jars aside to see if they’ve rolled behind something. Nothing. I chew on my lip as I pull back from the cupboard. How am I supposed to make a shepherd’s pie without potatoes? I’m almost certain I had some left over.
Frustration eating at me, I haul on my coat and head out into the vegetable garden. My robin friend is there waiting for me on the fence, and I nod to him. I don’t think there will be any potatoes ready for pulling, but I might as well check. If not, he’ll have to make do with dumplings.
The thought stirs as I’m on my knees by the root vegetable patch. It’s a crazy thought. Absurd. But it’s there and it niggles at my brain making it impossible to ignore.
There were carrots missing too a few weeks back. He mentioned the lack of them in the stew I had cooked. It hadn’t occurred to me as odd then, but I don’t understand how I could have mistaken our food levels twice in such a short space of time. I have a fairly stringent stock rotation system. It’s a necessary part of being a self-sufficient household. We need to know what we have and nothing can go to waste.
My eyes drift across to the skinning barn. Of course. There’s food going missing because he’s feeding it to her. What was it he used to give me? Steamed vegetables. Just enough to sustain me, to keep me alive, but lacking in nutrients enough to make me weak.
I fall back to rest on my heels, wishing I could take something more substantial to her. There was a padlock on the door last time I checked. But if I had a key, I could get to the cage.
The day crawls by at a snail’s pace. The closer it gets to nightfall, the less confident I am in my plan, and the more my nerves start to get the better of me. Cal isn’t best pleased at the lack of shepherd’s pie when he gets home, but when I explain we’ve run out of potatoes he seems to drop it, which only confirms my suspicions. Dinner is more fraught than usual, I think. Perhaps he can see it in me. The disobedience. The insolence of what I’m planning to do. If he can, he does not say anything.
On and on the hours drag until finally we’re clambering into bed, but still the seconds tick by at an agonisingly slow rate. I have to lie here, staring at the ceiling, not letting myself fall asleep while I wait for him to, though truthfully I have no chance of drifting off. I’m wired. Hyped up on adrenaline. I know now that I’m going through with it, despite any reservations I’ve had since I first made this plan. I can’t not. The least I owe to this woman is a decent meal.
When he finally descends into a deep, rhythmic breathing and his usual snore starts to rattle through the room, the dread of what I’m about to do unfurls in my gut. I wait a while longer, maybe half an hour, maybe more, until I’m absolutely certain he won’t wake. Then, so slowly and so carefully I’m barely moving, I slide out of bed.
His jacket is hanging up as usual. I creep over to it, being careful of where I’m placing my feet, avoiding the floorboards that creak. My fingers slide into his pocket and brush against his set of keys. When I withdraw them, I take a moment to study them. There’s the little square one for the medicine box, the one I found the spare of above the kitchen cabinet. Next to it are two slightly larger keys with round tops. I assume one of these is the barn key. Next to those is the key to his truck. My thumb strokes it.
I could drive away.
But I’ve never even sat behind a wheel.
It can’t be that difficult.
I need to wait until he’s distracted. That’s the plan.
To hell with the plan.
Where would I go?
I don’t know.
I shake my head, forcing the argument to the back of my mind. Now is not the time. I need to focus on what I’ve been waiting all day and all evening to do.
Removing one of the round-topped keys from the keyring and gripping it knife-like between my fingers, I grab some of the leftover stew, slip on my boots and trudge outside. It’s not like the last time I approached the barn. Last time I was wracked with nerves, terrified of what I might find. Though the fear still lingers, this time it’s overtaken by a steely determination. I have to help her.
The moon is shining down on me, its light like a comforting hand on my back, encouraging me forward. The cameras that raise the alarm on Cal’s phone are further out than this, near the ‘no trespassing’ sign, so he shouldn’t be alerted to what I’m doing. I raise the key and will my hand to stay steady enough to slot it into the padlock.
The barn is larger inside than I remember. I had expected it to be cramped, packed tightly so that you could barely move. Instead it’s spacious. A dark void. I blink a few times to help my eyes adjust now that I no longer have the moonlight to guide me, and a few details start to appear. Over to the left are the carcasses hanging up from Cal’s most recent hunting session. I’m quick to avert my gaze. That’s one of the reasons I’ve never returned to this barn since he let me out, because I can’t stand to look at them. In the centre of the space, directly opposite me, are the larger power tools he uses and his tractor. To the right, shelves, though I can’t quite see what they hold.
A shaky breath escapes my lips. Maybe she’s not in here after all. Maybe he’s got rid of the cage. I’ve convinced myself that my plan worked but perhaps that’s just my guilty conscience talking.
My heart finally beginning to slow, I turn to leave. I’ll lock it up again, slip the keys back into his jacket, slide into bed and he’ll never know. But as I’m about to step back outside, something catches the corner of my eye. I retreat back into the belly of the barn and narrow my eyes. There’s a boxy shape in between the shelves, pushed right up against the wall. It’s large, large enough for a cow or some sheep. Or a human. The sight of it has unlocked something inside of me. A cold, creeping dread.
I take a few tentative steps towards it. Then a few more. As I get closer I can see details more clearly. Rows and rows of metal bars, locked shut with yet another padlock.
The air seems to close in around me.
It’s the cage. It’s still here. And there is a woman inside of it.