Page 40 of Desperate Creed

Brodie pulled the blanket up around her neck even though the breeze coming in through the curtains was warm and damp. The blanket was so soft. So were the socks. Pink and fluffy, they made her feet forget about the cold and damp concrete and all the cuts and scrapes she had learned to endure. Ryder had bought her a whole drawer full of socks, waiting for her when she arrived.

The drawer of socks was just one of the luxuries of living in this house surrounded by a beautiful forest. She wasn’t cold or dirty or hungry. No rats. No foul smells. Instead, fresh air brought the scent of blooming flowers and wet pine. She could feel and hear the comforting purr of Kitten curled up in the nook of Brodie’s knees.

She already missed Ryder. She had felt safe just knowing he was close by. It didn’t feel right with him being gone. She liked Hannah. She trusted her. She liked Jason, too, and Dr. Avelyn. They’d all made her feel welcome. But Ryder made her feel safe. He had been there when she woke up in the Omaha hospital room back in October. He had promised that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

In the shadows she could see the basket Hannah had left on the table in front of the window. Her eyelids were heavy, but it helped her sleep to think about the good things that surrounded her. Today the basket was filled with two bananas, an apple and an orange.

Shortly after Brodie arrived, she started finding a basket of food inside her room whenever Hannah left fresh towels or linens for her. The basket usually contained fruit. Sometimes there was also a freshly baked muffin or a few cookies, each individually wrapped and tied with a ribbon. They reminded Brodie of little gift packages given for a special occasion. But there were no special occasions, and yet, the gifts continued.

Brodie mentioned the baskets to Ryder once when she still worried that perhaps all that food wasn’t meant for only her.

He told her, “Hannah believes food can feed the soul as much as the body. It’s probably her way of telling you that you’ll never go hungry in this house.”

Brodie didn’t really understand the part about the soul, but she certainly knew what it was like to go hungry. Iris Malone had withheld food as punishment dozens of times. And when she did feed Brodie, too often there were drugs hidden inside.

The drugs played games with Brodie’s mind. They blurred her vision and sometimes incapacitated her so much she felt paralyzed. Almost always they made her sick to her stomach. Sicker than going without food. And now, she still broke apart her food, unconsciously looking for the capsules, the pills, or the powder that didn’t belong. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Hannah. It was like her fingers did it on their own.

She thought she’d gotten better, but over the last several days she found her mind playing tricks on her. The memories, the nightmares seemed to trigger something inside her. And then, it took concentrated effort to tamp down the unwanted thoughts that came without warning. There were voices, too.

For a long time after she’d been rescued she still heard Iris’ voice, so close, so real. And it sounded exactly as it had so many times before: Iris lecturing her from the top of the basement stairs or outside the locked door. Lately, it wasn’t Iris that Brodie heard. Instead, it was some version of Brodie’s own voice, whispering to her, reminding her of things, raising suspicions, questioning her judgment.

But tonight Brodie listened to the storm outside. Her eyelids closed against the flicker of lightning that danced across the ceiling. The thunder remained in the distance, a low, gentle hum that couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. The rain increased its tempo, the tapping now accompanied by running water flowing through the gutters and downspouts.

She had no idea how long she’d been asleep when something startled her. Brodie jerked awake. She glanced around sensing someone’s presence. A flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom, and she bolted upright when she saw the child standing in the open doorway.

“Issac? Thomas?”

A second flicker of light revealed that it was neither boy. The little girl had long, stringy hair. The front of her dress was stained. Her shoes muddy. She gestured for Brodie to come follow her.

“Charlotte?” The question came in a whisper that Brodie barely recognized as her own. “What do you want?”

A crack of thunder woke her up for real this time. Brodie sat up. She was drenched in sweat. Her jolt startled Kitten. Her eyes darted to the doorway and strained to see. The door was closed. She scrambled out of bed and hurried to check the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand, and relief washed over her so overwhelmingly, so completely that she felt a deep chill.

She pulled the door open and peeked around the frame. There was no one in the hallway. Her pulse raced. She found herself tiptoeing to the top of the stairs, clinging to the railing as she walked. She was breathing hard. No, not breathing...panting, almost ready to hyperventilate. And yet, she wished she could hold her breath as she passed each door, straining to listen. In the back of her mind she could remember walking down another hallway, dark and quiet. Each door she passed eased open just enough for eyes to peer out at her. A door had opened a sliver more, and she saw the little girl watching her.

“Who are you?” Brodie remembered asking the girl.

“My name is Charlotte. Who are you?”

Then another door opened. Another little girl. Down the hall, a third door and another pair of eyes.

Brodie shook her head, wanting the images gone. Her knees wobbled as she crept passed the closed doors. Her pajamas were soaked with sweat and she was shaking from the wet dampness. She made it to the top of the stairs and her legs collapsed under her. At the bottom of the stairs a shadow emerged, and her heart skipped a beat. Her hand flew to the railing, gripping it and hoping she had the strength to pull her body away. She needed to move. She needed to hide. But already she heard a door opening behind her, down the hall.

“Brodie?” The voice called from down below. “Are you okay, Sweet Pea?”

It was Hannah! Not Iris. Iris Malone was in a prison a thousand miles away.

Relief unclenched her fingers from the railing. She let her body slide back to a sitting position on the top step. Something brushed against her side and startled her until she felt the soft fur against her arm. Kitten climbed up into her lap.

There were footsteps behind her and before she turned, Isaac sat down on the step beside her.

“Sweet Pea, there are no locked doors that you can’t unlock,” Hannah called up to her.

It wasn’t about the doors. It was what was on the other side. The eyes peering out at her. Little girls that looked exactly like her. All of them named Charlotte. Just like her.

But then she remembered what Hannah was talking about. Something similar had happened one of her first nights here in this house. She woke up and didn’t recognize where she was. She’d raced out of her room and down the stairs, straight for the front door, frantically searching and pulling and twisting at locks.

The next day, Ryder had taken her around the entire house. He showed her every single door and explained how she could undo every single deadbolt and every simple push-button doorknob lock.