Mellie nods. “I get it. The only difference between us right now is that I remember all of it. I never forgot. I think I blocked his face for a while and maybe the house, but when I saw it that day, I remembered everything about Master and our time there.”
“How have you dealt with it all these years?” I watch the emotions play across her face and wonder how she’s processed so much trauma and still be so normal.
“Therapy mostly. Lots and lots of it. And at multiple times in my life. My parents took me right away and I think that helped the most. But when I hit puberty I had a bit of a breakdown and went back into therapy, and later during college. Now I exorcise my demons in my stories. It’s surprisingly fulfilling to kill off those who piss me off.” She chuckles, but there’s no mirth in it.
“I bet there is! Sort of like when I was in med school and hung a photo of this one professor on a dart board and threw darts at him every time he pissed me off.”
“Oh, I like that idea. I might have to get a dart board for my office.” Mellie smirks.
“I think I like your way better.” I’m not a writer, though. I’ll have to stick with the darts.
“Now that we got that out of the way, are you ready?” she asks, and turns to glance at me before focusing on the road again.
“Yes and no, but yes.” I wish Tony were here to hold me while I learn the truth, but I also don’t want him to know, at least not yet. I don’t want to see pity when he looks at me, or horror—that would be worse.
“Okay,” she starts, and then exhales her breath in a whoosh. “We were four. I’m not sure who you were with, but my mom had brought me to the little playground in town. You were there too. We were playing together by the jungle gym. I think he lured us with a puppy. It’s the only part of my memory that’s still fuzzy.
“I think he probably drugged us. I remember being in a van with you and then waking up in a room with no windows. We had one cot and there was a bucket in the corner for us to use as a bathroom.
“He changed our clothes while we were out. We were in matching dresses with nothing underneath and no shoes or socks. He’d put our hair in pigtails with ribbons. We looked like little dolls. We were crying and wanting to go home when he came in that first time, and he smacked us both across the face.
“Everything happened to both of us at the same time. If one of us did something he didn’t like he punished both of us. He hated when we cried or made noise. He wanted us to be his dolls.”
“Dolls?” I choke out as sweat breaks out on my forehead. The panic is back, but I push it back. Forcibly unclenching my fists and taking slow, deep breaths as I let her words wash over me. I need to listen and not react. It’s just a story, right? I’ll deal with the repercussions later.
“Yes, the sick fucker,” she spits out.
It’s the first time I’ve heard her use a real curse word instead of one of those Southern terms. But she’s right, he is definitely a sick fucker.
“Did he just treat us like dolls? He’d dress us up and just look at us?” I ask, though I dread the answer.
“No, unfortunately. Master liked to touch, too. He’d strip us naked, then tie our hands together with rope and attach us to hooks on the wall. We’d be side-by-side so he would have both of us at the same time.”
It takes all my willpower not to ask her to stop, or to pull over so I can vomit. When I look over at Mellie, silent tears run down her cheeks. Reaching over, I lay my hand over hers on the steering wheel and give it a squeeze. She glances and me and nods.
“You’d don’t have to go on, I know enough now to be ready for what we can walk in to. Thank you, Mellie. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you.”
Mellie nods and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. That’s when I notice the butterfly tattoo on the inside of her wrist. I know immediately what it means. She survived, endured, and transformed into the beautiful woman she is today.
Her voice is rough with emotion when she continues, “No harder than for you to listen. We only have another fifteen minutes give or take and we’ll be at my parents’ house. How about we open a bottle of wine and toast to surviving?”
“Yes, a million times, yes. I love that idea.” Even as the horrors are swirling in my brain as I struggle to understand how I could have forgotten all of this, I vow to find a tattoo shop when I get back home and get my own butterfly.
“By the way, my parents know you’re coming. They’re excited to meet you.”
“Really? I wouldn’t think they’d be happy to have a stranger come stay in their home.” Then again, I remember they are big on Southern hospitality down here.
“Well, you’re not exactly a stranger. I used to talk about you all the time. I think in some ways it was a blessing he took us both. I wouldn’t have survived all that alone.”
I consider her words and realize she’s right. It would have been almost impossible without some form of support, especially for a young child.
While I’m mulling that over and wondering for the fiftieth time if I should break down and text Tony to come here as soon as possible, the van slows and we turn into a driveway.
“And we’re here. My childhood home. I loved this place, and hated it. After the abduction my parents wouldn’t let me out of their sight. But I still have wonderful memories of chasingfireflies in the front yard and sitting on that porch swing while Daddy read to me on summer evenings.”
“It sounds wonderful.” And was nothing like my childhood. Not that I’d wish that on anyone. The house is old, two-story, white clapboard, with a wraparound porch and the requisite porch swing. It looks like it fell out of a nursery rhyme. Mellie pulls to a stop as the front door swings open and an elderly couple step out.
“My parents. Elmer and Trudy. Mom will have a huge dinner ready, I’m sure.” Mellie hops out of the van and grabs her bag from the backseat as she waits for me to get mine. Then we’re heading for the porch, as Mellie says with a huge smile, “Mom, Daddy, this is Providence Sheridan, live and in person.”
