25 Days, page 13
If she could, Chloe would have volunteered to take over. The problem is that she sits on the side that the toilet door opens toward, so she can see neither the sink nor the soap. And so, it’s big sister to the rescue again.
Their improvised rope consists of the same elements as before—Chloe’s shirt and Abby’s sweater and coat—but they’ve tied a couple of extra knots at the end this time, hoping it will make it easier to pull the soap down.
To the floor, she adds inside her head. If it ends up in the sink, it’s game over.
“Elbow, forearm, wrist,” Abby whispers at the other side of the room, after which she bites her lower lip and pulls her arm back.
Hearing those words give Chloe a lump in her throat. It was a mantra their dad taught them when they first started playing basketball together. A way to make sure they had the right technique before throwing the ball.
“You can do it, Abby,” she stammers.
Abby nods without taking her eyes off the target. Then she slings her arm forward. The rope shoots through the air, twisting like a snake. It hits the doorframe with three consecutive thumps—one for each knot—before falling limply to the floor.
“Damn it,” Abby mumbles and starts to pull back the rope. She does it with slow, strained movements, pausing several times to catch her breath. During one of these pauses, it actually looks like she is about to pass out.
“Maybe we should…” Chloe starts, but Abby sends her a look that silences her.
“I can do it,” she hisses. “I just… I just need a minute, okay?”
Chloe nods, holding her hands up in front of her.
Abby takes her minute—and then another. After that, she gets up, picks up the rope, takes aim, and throws it once more.
Chloe follows the three knots that make up the head of the symbolic snake as it darts forward and vanishes through the doorway.
As before, there are three thumps as the knots encounter resistance—but this time, three more follow right after. Since she can’t see into the bathroom, she has to read the reaction on her sister’s face to know what the sound means.
And Abby is smiling.
“You got it?”
“I freaking got it.”
With pursed lips, Abby begins to pull the rope back, and sure enough; with the second-to-last knot comes a small, cream-colored bar of soap. She picks it up and stares at it with teary eyes while she lets out a sound that lies somewhere in between the chuckle of a madman and a desperate sob. Then she pulls off her boot and her sock and starts smearing soap on the areas above and below the shackle.
“It’s too dry,” she mumbles when the first attempt to pull off the chain fails. “I need some water.”
She looks at the floor around her, and finding that none of the small puddles are within her reach, she grows desperate and starts spitting on her hands. This doesn’t change the result, though. Her shackle stays where it is.
“Let me try,” Chloe says. “I don’t think mine is as tight as yours.”
“Give me a sec. I haven’t given up yet.”
After those words, Abby spits on her palms once more and rubs them on the soap bar. This time, foam appears between her fingers… but it doesn’t help much. No matter how hard she pulls, the shackle doesn’t get past her heel. And she does pull hard. So hard that the white foam turns pink when her skin tears.
“Come on, Abby,” Chloe says. “Let me give it a try. I’m telling you, mine is looser.”
Abby stares at her hesitantly for a moment. Then she pushes the soap across the floor to her. Chloe picks it up, removes her footwear, and starts rubbing the soap against her skin. It breaks off in small flakes that resemble scales.
Unlike Abby, Chloe does have water within reach. It lies in a small, pear-shaped puddle on the floor below the pipe she is chained to. She places her hand flat in the water, soaking her palm and fingers. Next, she grabs her foot and moistens the soap scales. It foams a lot more than it did with Abby. It almost looks as if she has just pulled her foot out of a foamy hot tub.
Except it isn’t hot. Her foot is cold, and the metal feels icy against her fingers as she grabs the shackle and pushes it downward.
Her foot hurts. On the inside, in the bones. So much so that she can’t help but grind her teeth as she presses again. It’s either that or screaming. And it’s too dangerous to scream, in case—
A wet squelch sounds, and before she has time to react, her bent leg shoots upward like a tightly wound spring suddenly released. The collision between her knee and jaw floods her vision with flickering spots and sends her toppling backward, so instead of sitting on her butt, she ends up flat on her back.
For a moment, that’s all she registers. That—and the rusty taste of blood in her mouth. Then she hears Abby say:
“You did it! You actually did it, Chloe!”
Chloe blinks a few times and looks down at herself. Abby is right; she is free from the ankle shackle.
“Hurry up,” Abby says, waving her hand. “Come over here and help me!”
Chloe nods, then grabs the soap and crawls over to Abby with it in her hand. She doesn’t use it right away, though. In fact, she just opens her hand and drops it on the floor when she gets there so she has both arms free to embrace her sister.
* * *
“Just give it up, Chloe.”
“No.”
“I’m serious. It’s no use.”
“So am I. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“We don’t have time to fight about it. I—”
“Then shut up.”
“Chloe…”
“No!”
“Look at me, Chloe!”
Chloe doesn’t want to. Abby’s green eyes are the last thing in the world she wants to look at right now because she knows exactly what she’s going to find in them.
Abby leaves her no choice. She grabs both sides of Chloe’s head and turns it upward until she can no longer escape eye contact.
“I can’t,” Chloe cries. “I can’t just leave you here.”
“Of course you can,” Abby whispers, pressing her forehead against Chloe’s. “Besides, you’re not actually leaving me. I mean, you’re coming back, right? You’re just getting help.”
“But what if he—”
“You don’t need to worry about that at all. You only have to worry about getting out of here and finding a phone or something so you can call for help, okay?”
Chloe closes her eyes and nods. A part of her wishes they had never gotten ahold of that stupid bar of soap. Because it’s not fair. Getting so close to freedom, only to see it dissolve right in front of them like a fata morgana in a desert. And her being able to get free of the chain, while her older sister can’t, somehow just makes it worse. Because from this moment on, whatever happens will be on Chloe’s shoulders. Her actions will determine Abby’s fate.
“Now, I want you to listen carefully,” Abby says, grabbing her shoulders. “Can you do that?”
Chloe wipes her cheeks with her sleeve and responds with a solemn nod.
“Good,” Abby says. “When you get out, I mean all the way outside, you have to run. No hesitating and no looking back. Houses, roads, telephone poles—anything that looks like it could lead to cities and people—that’s your compass, okay?”
“O-okay.”
“But not in here,” Abby says sternly, gesturing toward the building that surrounds them. “As long as you’re inside this place, you take it easy, okay? You sneak around without making any noise, and if you hear any sounds, you hide. Voices, too. Even if…”
She hesitates for a moment and then clears her throat.
“Even if it’s me or Mom you’re hearing.”
“But—”
“Promise me, Chloe! Promise me you won’t come back until you’ve found help.”
For a long time, Chloe does nothing but stare at her sister while biting her lower lip and breathing through her nose in small, short puffs. Then she nods, slowly and reluctantly.
“I want to hear you say it,” Abby insists.
“Fine! I promise, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
Abby doesn’t answer that. She simply leans forward and plants a kiss on Chloe’s forehead. After this, she gives her a gentle nudge in the direction of the door.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will.”
“Good. Now get on out of my room, sis.”
DECEMBER 17
Adam
THE FIRST SNOWFLAKE—A delicate, symmetrical miracle—falls softly from a silvery sky. Adam’s eyes observe it, watch it closely as it twirls in the wind, as if it’s dancing to a melody only it can hear.
With bated breath, he studies the small, star-shaped ice crystal as it floats past his face, and his heart is filled with a quiet awe.
The snowflake continues its elegant journey downward until it lands gently at its destination; an outstretched palm.
Abby’s outstretched palm.
For a moment, the snow crystal lies there, sparkling like a small diamond in the light of the winter sun. Then the heat from her skin begins to melt it.
But that’s okay, because Abby is laughing—a bright and joyful sound that echoes through the cold air. And there are more snowflakes on the way. They’re pouring down from the sky now, surrounding them, enveloping them, as Abby looks up at him. Her eyes are large and shining, filled with a mixture of wonder and joy.
Abby is three years old, so this isn’t the first time in her life she has seen snow. But it’s the first time she looks at it with such an expression in her eyes—and it fills Adam with a feeling of love so strong that it almost hurts. Love for her, and for her mom, who is leaning against his shoulder with her arm around his waist.
This is the first time Adam has the thought and feels its undeniable truth in his heart.
He would die for his family. He would give his life for theirs, without hesitation and without reservation.
Many years have passed since that day and that moment. Now, Adam is staring at another first snowflake falling from the sky. Yet, this little dancing ice crystal doesn’t feel like a miracle from the hand of nature. It feels like a threat, a reminder that time is running out. That his only hope—a trail in the snow that has already been halfway erased by the wind—will soon be completely buried under the white blanket of oblivion.
His legs feel heavy, every movement a battle against the icy cold that bites through his clothes, paralyzing his muscles. His breathing is unstable, and each inhalation causes a painful flame to flare up in his chest.
White dots fill his field of vision now, swirling around him, taking away a little bit of his hope every time one lands on the ground.
How long has he been out here, staggering forward, trying to keep his gaze locked on what’s left of the snowmobile’s tracks in the snow? Three days? Four? Five? He has no idea because it all flows together. It feels like he’s being helplessly swept along in a river of light and darkness—and it’s not just the nights bringing darkness. For even though, by some stroke of luck, the bullet passed clean through, allowing him to get back on his feet with the help of the first aid kit in his backpack after about a day, he’s still badly injured. Still drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point, he collapsed while the sun was high in the sky—and when he opened his eyes again, the moon had taken its place.
They melt so fast, Dad, Abby from the past whispers, and that one second where his focus falls back to the three-year-old version of his daughter is enough for him to lose control of his legs and tumble forward. He sinks into the snow, and his knees hit something hard—a rock or a tree stump—with a creaking sound.
“I… can’t,” he moans, his voice almost drowned out by the howl of the wind. He lets himself fall forward so that his forehead meets the surface of the snow. The cold spreads to the rest of his face, a strange caress in the endless pain. His eyes slip shut, and exhaustion drags him down into darkness as the snow continues to fall around him. On him. He is going to witness his own burial, not underground, but beneath a pile of white ice crystals.
And it won’t be a hero’s end. He won’t get to give his life for them. He won’t get to save his family. He is going to die alone, not knowing their fate, and he is too weak to fight it.
He allows it to happen, allows the snow to cover him, while his thoughts get slower and slower. As if they are also freezing.
In the dark, Abby reappears. Her shining eyes and her outstretched hand. Her tiny, pink palm and the little crystal that melts on it.
Chloe is there, too. She is standing next to her older sister, similarly captivated by the dance of the snowflakes. Her lips are spread in a smile, and from them, a gentle, melodic laughter flows.
Chloe’s presence makes no sense because it’s still the little three-year-old version of Abby he is seeing… which means that her little sister hasn’t been born yet.
Sense or no sense, Adam doesn’t care. If this image—his daughters in awe of the snow waltz—is the last thing he gets to see, so be it.
Slowly, the image begins to fade, and soon the distant echo of their laughter is all that lingers in the darkness.
No.
There is also something else. A shrill, whirring noise, buzzing in the background. It sounds like an angry wasp trapped under a plastic cup. Or rather; that’s what it sounds like at first, but the noise continues to increase in volume until he can almost feel it buzzing in his bones. It’s as if it’s shaking him. As if it’s trying to—
The realization hits him like an electric shock, and he is pulled back to the present with a gasp.
Confused and weak, but with adrenaline burning in his veins, he fights his way onto all fours and looks in the direction of the sound as it gradually fades out and disappears again.
Did he imagine it? Have the cold and the distress finally pushed him all the way over the edge to madness? Did his own brain create the sound as a last desperate attempt to get him to continue despite the tracks in the snow being gone?
No. It did happen. It was real. He heard it, somewhere on the other side of the wall of trees towering in front of him.
The snowmobile.
DECEMBER 18
Beth
FOOTSTEPS. HE’S BACK.
Beth sits up, anxiously staring at the doorknob, unable to decide whether she hopes it will be pressed down or not.
Her hatred hasn’t diminished. That’s not the reason. But her abductor hasn’t brought her food and water for a long time, several days, and her body feels like it’s being eaten away from the inside.
Everything hurts; her muscles, her bones, her guts. Each and every cell is screaming for nourishment. And it’s not that he hasn’t been close, because a couple of times she has heard him driving to and from the site on the snowmobile. The sound of its engine is shrill enough to find its way into her cell via the ventilation duct.
More footsteps. She opens her mouth to ask if he’s out there, but her throat is coated with gravel, and the only thing crossing her lips is a dry, squeaky cough.
The footsteps stop. Right outside the door, judging by the sound. Suddenly Beth is overcome with indignation. Is he just standing out there, listening to her cough? Is he chuckling behind his mask while she is withering away due to lack of fluids?
In that thought, she finds the strength to crawl forward and kick the door while dragging words up through the graveled tunnel of her throat.
“Are you having fun? Does it turn you on to listen to me coughing myself to death?”
Silence. Not that it comes as a surprise. By now, she’s well aware that the freak doesn’t—
“Mom?”
Beth stiffens and curls up. It’s a trick. It has to be. Somehow, he is changing his voice to fool her.
“Is that you, Mom? Are you in there?”
It’s not him. It’s Chloe, her voice fragile and full of the same wary doubt that Beth feels. She’s also afraid that it’s a trap.
“Oh my God, Chloe,” Beth stammers. “Yes… yes, it’s me.”
For a while, there’s no answer, but she can hear Chloe’s breathing on the other side of the door. It’s uneven, wheezing. She’s crying. So is Beth now.
“Mom, h-he’s still got Abby,” Chloe sobs. “I tried to get her free, I really did, but I couldn’t, and now I can’t get back to her, and I can’t get out, either. I’m…”
“It’s okay, sweetie. Breathe. Deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”
“Y-yeah… yes, I think so.”
“Good. We’ll do it together. In… and out. In… and out. That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay. Then I want you to do something for me, okay? I’d like you to look at the lock on the door and see if you can open it. Can you do that?”
For a while, it’s completely quiet on the other side of the door. In fact, Beth is just about to ask if Chloe is still out there when there is a loud clank as the locking bolt is pushed aside.
The door opens with a screech, and Beth’s heart bursts.
“Oh God, sweetie,” she moans as the girl falls into her embrace. “I was afraid that…”
She never completes the sentence. Instead, she squeezes tighter and kisses Chloe on top of her head. Her hair is messy, and it smells of oil.
For a while, they sit like that, mother and daughter in a tight embrace. Then reality suddenly hits Beth again, and she pulls back a bit so she can make eye contact with Chloe.
“We can’t stay here. If he comes back—”
“He’s not here,” Chloe interrupts. “He left last night. I saw him go out, and I heard the snowmobile as he drove off. He hasn’t come back yet.”
“You saw him?”
“Yeah, I… I can’t get out, so I’ve had to hide. But there’s this storage room he never uses, and that’s where I’ve been most of the time.”
“How long?” Beth asks in a quivering voice. “How long have you been out there alone, Chloe?”
