You’re not anywhere in the house. I’ve searched every inch, even the outbuilding in the garden. You’re not here. After checking every room again one last time I make my way back to the master bedroom and curl up in the corner, cradling the screen, tears streaming. I couldn’t see you on the video feed. He must have been holding you just out of its line of sight. We got so far away from that cabin and you’ve ended up right back there. I feel sick at the thought.
You’ve stopped crying so there’s no sound coming from the speaker anymore, but I press it against my ear and rock, praying that I’ll hear the tiniest little noise. Nothing. I peer at the screen again, squinting, scrutinising the familiar view of the area just outside the front door of the cabin. There’s no hint of movement. He’s not there anymore. You’re not there anymore.
A shudder works its way down my spine as I watch the motionless screen. It wasn’t just Cal watching me all that time, making sure I didn’t attempt an escape. It was his mother, too. No wonder I never got away with it. No wonder Gemma got caught.
I know I haven’t got that long until she’ll start to come to and I know I need to be formulating some kind of plan, but I’m out of ideas and out of hope. I’ve never felt pain like this. I almost wish I’d overdosed on those blasted drugs they were feeding me if only to put me out of this misery. Almost. I’m no good to you dead.
A noise on the other end of the monitor startles me and I scramble to listen. It’s hard to make out what it is. Rustling. Perhaps you moving around. Starting to wake up. And then, yes, your little voice, strong and clear as you cry and bellow.
‘Shhhhh.’
My blood turns to ice.
‘It’s OK. Your da’s here. There. Dinnae cry.’
I squeeze my hand over my mouth. My fingernails dig into my cheeks. You’re crying and instead of me being there to comfort you it’s him. Anger curls up inside of me like a snake and I stand, launch the screen across the room. I stare out at the land surrounding the house, chest heaving, fists clenched. For my entire adult life I’ve only ever seen the Highlands from one view. Seeing it from a different angle is disorientating, but I think I recognise the largest mountain that stands near the loch. If I’m right, that means the cabin is in that direction. But it’s far. So far. I attempt to wiggle my toes and fire shoots through my entire foot and ankle. There’s just no way I’m going to be able to walk that kind of distance.
My gaze drops to the ground. Cal’s mother’s truck is parked up outside.
Unlike Cal, his mother keeps her keys easily accessible in a little dish near the front door. After getting changed into a top and pair of jeans, courtesy of Cal’s mother’s wardrobe, I pluck the keys from the dish and hurry out. Cal’s mother’s trainers are a tad too tight for me, but it was that or bare feet. When I get outside, I realise just how much of a charade I’ve fallen for. The house I’ve been kept in is the least hospital-like building imaginable. It’s quaint and reminds me of descriptions of cottages in fairy tales. While the inside of the house was fairly tidy, the front is unkempt, long grass in desperate need of cutting and overgrown bushes providing privacy from the outside. Through the tangle of grass weaves a stepping-stone path, moss-covered and cracked. Beyond the path, the driveway and truck, and beyond the truck, looming trees. I look around as I make my way, trying to be sure of my position. I don’t have the stars to guide me this time.
I open the driver’s door and slide behind the wheel, my hands shaking. My body tenses as I slip the key into the ignition. When I first thought about attempting to use the truck to get back I didn’t think I’d ever driven before, but sitting here behind the wheel sparks something. It feels familiar. Not a memory, as such, but a hint of recognition. Yes, I had a few lessons all those years ago, around my seventeenth birthday. Flexing my fingers, it’s like my muscles know what to do. I turn the key. The engine rumbles to life, a dormant beast stirred from its slumber. My foot hovers over the pedals, hesitant at first, then presses down. The engine roars but the truck doesn’t move. I look around desperately, sure that at any second Cal’s mother or even Cal himself will throw open the door and drag me out. My eyes land on the stick in the centre console. Yes, I’ve seen this before. I don’t allow myself to think too much, just allow my hand to do what it needs to do. I shift the stick down to the ‘D’ and try the pedal again. This time the truck lurches forward, and I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles whiten.
‘Come on,’ I mutter to myself, willing strength into my voice. The path back to the cabin is etched into my mind, a trail of breadcrumbs that now leads me back to hell. Or salvation. Once the road becomes too narrow for the truck I veer off, making sure I keep the hiking trail in my sights so I don’t lose my way. Trees blur past as I force the vehicle along the track, jerking the wheel left and right to avoid the rocks and potholes that threaten to unseat me. The land becomes hillier and I feel an alertness come over me. I’m closer to the cabin now. Closer to danger.
My hands are slick with sweat on the steering wheel. As I approach a particularly sharp bend in the road, I ease off the accelerator too late and the truck bounces over a large rock, causing me to jolt forward in my seat. I grip the wheel tighter, preparing for impact. It doesn’t come though. The truck steadies itself and I’m back on route.
Finally I see it. The cabin in all its run-down glory. I can’t believe I’m back here. Voluntarily, at that. As I near the clearing, I kill the headlights and slow down. With a shuddering sigh, the truck nestles into the anonymity of the treeline, hidden beneath the dense canopy. I cut the engine and the world falls silent.
I don’t have time to second-guess – I slip out of the truck and press myself against its cold metal, scanning the area. I hadn’t really thought this far ahead. It’s all very well getting back here, but I have no idea what my next move is. I wish my head wasn’t so sluggish still.
Fortunately, a plan presents itself to me.
‘Fuck!’ Cal’s voice is so loud and sudden as he bursts from the cabin a flock of birds takes flight. I don’t blame them. Even from my obscured position I can tell he’s fuming. Perhaps his mother has got in touch, let him know that his poor, pathetic, weak captive bested her. He strides away from the cabin, urgency in his step, and throws himself into his own truck. He doesn’t see me. He can’t. I’m nothing but a shadow here, a ghost in his world.
The moment he disappears into the forest, I dart towards the cabin, my feet barely touching the ground, light and soundless. Weeds are growing through the gravel and a strange instinct comes over me to pluck them out. Cal won’t like it if he gets home and sees weeds. I scold myself and carry on. Every cell in my body screams at me to run, to get far away from this place that reeks of dread, but I push forward. This is my one chance to slip inside unnoticed.
I hurry to the cabin as best I can, slowed by my foot. The bandages are damp and I’m pretty sure it’s either bleeding or the blisters have burst, but I can’t think about that right now. There’s snow on the way. I can feel it in the air. If it snows I may as well give up trying to get away from here once I’ve found you. Time is of the essence.
I nudge the front door open and shoulder my way inside. It’s colder in here than it is outside, if that’s even possible. He’s clearly not been keeping up with the things I used to do like prepping and stoking the fire. The wind whistles through the cracks in the walls and the ceilings and I hate him even more for not even making sure you’re warm.
I search the cabin, though it takes much less time than searching Cal’s mother’s house. My breath quickens as I move from room to room, each inhalation sharp and ragged. My heart is a frantic drumbeat urging me on. Fingers trembling, I scan the bedroom, the room in which I had imagined you spending your nights by my side, back when I believed in my life. I squint in the dim light, desperate for any sign of you.
‘Where are you?’ The words are a whisper, a prayer floating through the stillness.
No coos or cries answer me; no soft gurgle to guide me to you. The cabin is empty, mocking me. Panic claws at my chest, but I shove it down, refusing to succumb to fear.
I move back into the kitchen and the rumbling of my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten all day. I pull open the cooler and grab the first item of food I find. A container of soup. Prising the lid off, I sniff at its contents. It doesn’t smell terrible. I grab a spoon and eat it cold. As I do so I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the mantel. I look nothing like my old self. Such a short period of time and the difference is unbelievable. I shudder and stare into my sunken, bloodshot eyes, ringed by deep dark circles. My cheeks are hollow, bones sticking out so that my entire face looks sharp and angular. My skin is dry and flaking, almost grey in the unlit room, as are my lips. I’m a shell of who I once was. I look almost dead.
Having forced down a few mouthfuls of the cold soup I press my fingers to my temple and try to think where he could possibly be keeping you. The obvious answer is staring right at me. I can feel it through the window. I don’t believe he could be so cruel as to keep a newborn baby there. But of course, that’s exactly where he’d keep you. Away from prying eyes. Away from me.
Cal’s jacket hangs forgotten on its hook, a small victory for me. It’s a new one. No doubt the one I took was too covered in afterbirth and blood for his liking. Its fabric is rough under my fingertips, reeking of woodsmoke and pine. Pockets. Please let the right keys be here. My hand closes around a cold metal ring, heavy with promise. I pull the keys out, confirming that they are indeed the set he dangled so smugly in front of me, and clutch them like a lifeline as I slip back out the door, every sense alert.
I make for the barn, a dark monolith against the afternoon sky. The key slips into the padlock easily, not like the old rusted one. I edge the door open, just enough to slip inside, the hinges protesting with a faint groan that sets my nerves on edge. Inside, darkness wraps around me, thick and oppressive. My eyes strain, adjusting to the lack of light, searching the shadows for a hint of movement, the soft texture of a blanket, anything.
There’s nothing. No cot, no bassinet, no sign of life. Just the hulking shape of the cage. I swallow hard, the taste of fear metallic on my tongue.
I can’t leave her. The other woman. I promised her I’d come back for her.
With reluctant steps, I approach the cage and my stomach twists as I realise she’s lying on the floor. Not moving. I’ve left it too late.
Warning signals telling me to stay away emanate from it, seeping into my bones. I flick to another key on the ring and slot it into the lock, turning it with a click that sounds too loud in the silence. I brace myself, steeling my nerves for what I’m about to discover.
The door creaks open. I force myself to look. She stirs.
‘Come on,’ I urge, my voice barely above a whisper. ‘We have to get out of here.’
I reach for her hand, cold but alive. Her eyes lock onto me, wide and glassy with confusion. I squeeze her fingers, trying to ground her back to reality. My eyes search her face for any hint of understanding, of recognition. I think something flickers in her gaze, a tiny ember of awareness that hadn’t been there before, but it’s gone before I can tell and she just blinks at me, the dim light of the barn casting shadows across her gaunt face.
My shoulders droop, but seeing her like this has only bolstered my resolve. I give her hand a gentle tug.
‘We can’t stay here. Can you move?’
I try to gesture at what I want her to do. After a few agonisingly long moments she seems to understand and pulls herself to standing. She groans and I know all too well that feeling. Aches in your bones like nothing you’ve ever felt before. I hold my arm out to her and support her as she steps out of the cage.
‘Good. That’s good. This way.’
The woman moves so slowly, barely a shuffle, that I’m second-guessing my decision to let her out. I should have found you first. This is taking too long.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard a baby cry …’
My words are cut short and my head flies up. An engine cuts through the stillness outside, shattering any illusion of safety I have.