She nods, her lips parting as though she wants to say something.
“Just try to stay quiet for a while,” I say, cutting her off. “Your vocal cords sound like they’re trashed.”
I take the bag to the car, peering through the side window for signs of trouble. Nothing.
Back inside and I want to leave my mother a note, tell her not to worry. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. A quick text might get through but the thought of relying on technology sends my anxiety to the roof.
A note. I scrawl a message and tuck it into her pill bottle. She’ll find it there once she remembers to get herself home.
I lift Em into my arms again, carrying her through the connecting door. When she wriggles, I hold her closer. “Shh. Just bear with me a while longer. I’ll get us somewhere safe.”
The promise sounds good. Em relaxes again in my arms.
I pray that I’m right.
The drive is silent. I’m afraid to turn on the radio in case I miss something in Em’s breathing. Whenever my hand isn’t needed, I lay it on her knee, feeling her warmth, the tiny movements that means she’s alive.
We finally arrive and Em recovers enough to fight me as I lead her into her new home. Home? Prison? The difference isn’t great enough to worry about terminology.
I press her into a chair while unloading my bag. “You want a drink of water?”
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere safe.” I walk over to her, crouching so our eyes are level as I unscrew the cap on the bottle, holding it up to her mouth until she grabs it away to chug half of it, her face contorting with pain at the effort. “Somewhere you can recover in privacy.”
Her nose wrinkles then she falls asleep, sending my nerves into a tangle. I rescue the tipping bottle from her hand, then she snorts and wakes, eyes bleary.
“Now, keep quiet. You need to rest your voice.”
“I want to go. Put me back.”
I close my eyes, struggling to process information. It’s never been this hard to think before. Sludge drags at every thought, weighing them down.
If I make the wrong move, say the wrong thing, she might die.
She’s not strong but she could still slip away, get hold of something. There are knives in the kitchen. There’s the gun I already regret bringing with me.
She could use her siren voice and talk me into doing something I’ll immediately regret.
Safety comes first.
It’ll be easier to think once I know she’s safe.
There’s a bandage in the first aid kit. I wad up some into a ball, then pull out the tape to secure it. Em’s eyes open wide, nervously scanning my face as I advance on her. “What are you—?”
“If I put this in your mouth, it’ll force you to be silent. I don’t want to do that, your airways have already experienced enough trauma tonight without me deliberately blocking them, but I will do it.”
She presses her lips hard together, her expression lost. When she opens her mouth, I shake the tape, and she closes it again, visibly struggling to swallow.
“Hold out your hands.”
I have to repeat myself before she obeys. I remove the water bottle and place it on the table beside us. Her face becomes even more confused as I snap the bondage cuffs over her wrists, linking the chain through the slatted back of her chair.
“This isn’t to hurt or punish you. I’m just keeping you secured while I make some dinner, okay? If you’re good, you can take them off while you’re eating.”
“Caylon…”
I hold up a finger. “No talking.”
