Losing Leah, Page 2

  “Yes, Mother,” I answered.

  “Do we need to cover manners again?” She made her point by indicating the leather strap hanging within her reach.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes purposely averted from hers. Any display of defiance would only elicit severe punishment. It was better to ignore the taunting reminder of my weakened will. “No, Mother,” I said, casting my eyes to the ground in obedience. It had taken me a long time and countless beatings to get to this point.

  In the beginning, I wept for my family, begging to be returned to them, but my captor’s anger was swift. I fought the foreignness of my surroundings until eventually I lost every speck of my former identity. The monster who punished me time and time again slowly transitioned until she became Mother. When the flesh-eating leather strap didn’t stop my tears, she would retaliate by giving me a shot in the arm. I spent most of my first few months in a dark slumber. Wonderful blissful darkness that allowed me to escape my harsh reality. She thought she was punishing me, but I grew to love the darkness. I coveted it.

  “Very well. You can set the table,” Mother finally said with pursed lips. “Did you sleep well?”

  Obviously I had been forgiven for my faux pas. At least the day remained on the right track. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, reaching into the tiny cupboard above a single sink that sat against the wall near our dining table. I pulled out two plates and two glasses and sat them on the table. Our utensils were kept in the small drawer beside the sink. Mother unlocked the dumbwaiter and extracted the serving tray she used for our food. I then carried the tray to the table while she relocked the dumbwaiter door, giving the lock two tugs to make sure it was fastened. It was the same regimented routine day after day, unless of course I did something that deserved punishment.

  The dumbwaiter had a lock for my benefit. When I was nine, I shimmied up the rope. My arms shook from exertion, but I finally made it to the top. I don’t know what my plan was if I made it to the kitchen. Maybe just a glimpse out the window at the sun or a blue sky filled with cottonlike clouds. The issue was Mother never allowed me to go outside. She said I suffered from a severe case of photosensitivity, an allergic reaction to the sun that would affect my immune system. At the time I guess I didn’t care. I slid the dumbwaiter door open to find Mother waiting for me with a shot in hand. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, other than when I woke up the dumbwaiter door had the new lock installed.

  “You may use the bathroom,” Mother said once the table was set and the food was in place.

  “Thank you, Mother,” I murmured, walking sedately to the bathroom though my bladder was screaming for release. The bathroom had no door, but was separated from the room with a single curtain. It offered little privacy, but I was always thankful for anything.

  Once my bladder was empty, I stood at the sink and squirted a liberal amount of industrial soap in my hands. Mother was a nurse who had seen her share of unnecessary sicknesses brought on by a lack of cleanliness. She was fanatical about germs. Hands were to be washed and scrubbed thoroughly on the front and back sides, making sure to get under the nails. I went through the motions without a second thought. I’d done it thousands of times before.

  Our meal was simple. Eggs, toast, one slice of bacon, and a glass of orange juice. Obesity claimed over a hundred thousand lives per year. Even though I had a slight figure, Mother wasn’t willing to take any chances. Over the years I had learned to eat my food slowly, savoring each bite. My lunch would be a sandwich and a piece of fruit that already sat in a brown paper bag on the counter. It was my choice when to eat it, but it was all I got until Mother joined me for dinner. Patience was a virtue forced on me.

  “Before I go to sleep I want to check over your schoolwork from yesterday,” Mother said as I finished the last sip of my orange juice. “Did you complete your algebra equations?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They were easy,” I said, beaming with pride when she smiled at me.

  “That’s good. Math is an important skill. What about science? Did you finish your gravity formulas?”

  I nodded, standing up to clear our empty plates from the table. With a little dish soap and the washrag, I cleaned and dried our dishes, handing over any of the items that belonged upstairs.

  I joined Mother on the small couch where she was going over my class work. I knew everything was right. The answers came to me easily.

  “Everything looks good,” Mother said, closing up the file. “You will continue on conjugating verbs today in English, and I want you to finish your paper on the Civil War.” She stood up. A small kernel of relief blossomed like a flower in my chest. Mother had always stressed the importance of education and it was one of the ways I could always please her. “I will see you at dinnertime. You may shower today, but no longer than five minutes. I will know if it is longer.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, standing with her.

  She pulled me in for a brief hug. “You’re a good girl.”

  I obediently returned the gesture. “Thank you,” I said, readily accepting the praise. Hugs from Mother were a treat and few and far between. A warm tingle spread throughout my body. Making her happy was my one and only goal. I treasured these moments. They were my reward for being good.

  As if she could read my thoughts, Mother stiffened and abruptly dropped her arms. The mood of the room changed to dread, like storm clouds moving in before a thunderstorm. I panicked, quickly going over the events of the morning in my mind in a dire search for any mistakes I had made. I knew I only had moments to figure it out and apologize for my transgression.

  She stepped back, reaching for the strap I knew all too well. My time was up.

  What did I do? What did I do? I racked my brain for an answer, but came up empty. What was I missing? It must have been something really bad. Mother hated to punish me. She had told me time and again that she only did it for my own good.

  “Leah, what is that on your ceiling?” she asked, looking toward my bed with the strap in hand.

  “My sun,” I whispered, suddenly realizing the mistake I’d made. How could I forget to take it down? It was a weak sun anyway, hardly worth the price I would have to pay. I drew it in lemon-yellow crayon like a little kid and cut it out in a perfect circle with my plastic scissors that were useless for anything more than the thinnest piece of paper. It hung over my bed using two thumbtacks I had found years ago and kept hidden. I only wanted it to shine down on me while I slept.

  “Your sun?” Mother asked in a shrill voice. “Do you miss the sun?” she shrieked, making me flinch. “Do I need to remind you of what the sun does to you? Or the fact that your own parents abandoned you because of your illness?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then why would you hang one above your bed? You want to leave me, don’t you? You can’t wait to leave me all by myself.” The leather strap followed her words, tearing at my body before I could protect myself. It snapped across my back like a streak of fire.

  “No, Mother,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to leave you. I promise,” I cried out as the harsh strap found my bare legs. My flesh tore away with every strike, leaving white-hot, painful, bloody contusions. “Mother, I love you.”

  She stopped in mid-swing, gasping from her anger-induced exertion. “You promise you won’t leave me.”

  “I promise,” I answered. It took all my strength to stop myself from whimpering as I spoke. Crying would only antagonize her again. Mother did not like to see tears. “I love you,” I continued. The words felt hollow and disingenuous, but they were what she needed to hear. It was more my fault anyway. I should have remembered to take the picture down.

  All of Mother’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had surfaced. She pulled me in for a remorseful, tight hug. Inside I was screaming in pain as her arms circled the open wounds on my back, but I couldn’t show it. I had gotten what I deserved.

  “I love you too. I wish you wouldn’t make me punish you,” she said, pulling awa
y.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll take the sun down.”

  She nodded, refusing to look again at the offending scrap of paper. “You understand why it upsets me?”

  “I do. It was wrong. I shouldn’t want anything to do with something that could hurt me so severely,” I said, parroting the words I’d heard hundreds of times before.

  She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Good girl. Go take your shower,” she said, shooing me toward the bathroom. “I think an extra five minutes will be okay,” she added, smiling brightly like nothing had happened.

  I responded to her smile instantly. Mother was a different person when she was happy. “Thank you,” I said, closing the curtain behind me.

  As I stripped out of my pajamas, I could hear her footsteps walking up the hollow staircase, followed by the sound of the dead bolts locking on the basement door. I switched on the shower and turned the water to a lukewarm setting. I braced myself before stepping inside, knowing that the water wouldn’t feel much better on my tender skin than the leather strap that left me scarred. By now you would think I’d be used to the pain. Only when my head was under the flow of water did I allow the tears I’d been holding back to fall freely. In the shower they were not tears, but merely water from the showerhead, lost among the other drops of water combined with blood that circled the drain before disappearing forever. I couldn’t cry for long though, and use up my precious minutes of shower time. The shower was one of the few times I felt like I was somehow in control. I got to pick whether the water was hot or cold. How much soap or shampoo to use. As long as I stayed within Mother’s allotted time, I was the queen of the shower.

  My mind wandered elsewhere while I scrubbed my skin that felt rough to the touch, calloused and scarred several times over after years of punishment. I never dwelled on the scars or what I had done to deserve them. The only important thing was that Mother had forgiven me. My living quarters were once again peaceful when I left the bathroom. Mother worked nights while I slept and then she would sleep during the day while I did schoolwork and read. She used to spend more time with me when I was younger, serving as the teacher for my elementary homeschooling years. As I got older I did the majority of my lessons on my own and she only checked my work. Any questions I had, I saved for dinnertime when she and I could discuss them. As for my spare time, I usually read or listened to music as long as Mother approved of my choices. Anything I knew about the outside world I learned through the countless books I’d read. My own memories of life outside my room were hazy and in most circumstances, gone.

  I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, placing my neatly folded pajamas at the foot of my bed. The bloodstains that covered them would be painful reminders of my transgressions that would taunt me until Mother saw fit to launder them. She had obviously come back down while I was showering, because my drawing and the two tacks were gone. In a way I felt sad, but there was no point in grieving over a piece of paper. It was nothing. Well, it ruined my streak of good behavior, so I guess it was something after all. Now I had to start over again.

  I dolefully worked at conjugating verbs and then finished my Civil War paper before lunch. My goal was to have more time to read. Mother had never been one to buy me toys when I was younger; reading had become my biggest luxury. As long as I did my schoolwork and kept my living quarters tidy, I could have all the time I wanted. One entire wall of my room was lined with bookshelves. Mother had brought me cartons and cartons of books over the years and I devoured every one. It didn’t matter what genre they were. They were my window to the outside world. Books fed my dreams at night and gave me the freedom of imagination.

  My current read was about a girl who lost her memory. It had suspense and intrigue with a little romance mixed in. I enjoyed trying to solve the puzzle even though I didn’t want to spoil the surprise at the end. The main character had amnesia, which in some strange way was something I envied. Being able to forget your troubles sounded appealing. I also liked the portions of the book that took place in a school. Since I’ve never been allowed to leave the basement, I had never interacted with anyone my own age. No school dances. No parties. No sleepovers. Nothing. It made me wonder if I could relate to normal people. When I closed my eyes I could almost imagine walking through the halls, chatting with my very own friends. Maybe I would have a boyfriend or maybe I would even be a cheerleader.

  I looked up at the piece of plywood that covered up the only window in the room. A smile tugged at my mouth, but I made myself return back to my book and the world that belonged among the pages.

  3

  MIA

  I THREW off my covers, happy to have my head still free of the darkness from the other night. Judging by the morning sunlight peeking through the blinds, I was already running behind. I rolled over to glance at the clock, seeing that I had barely enough time to get ready before Jacob left for school. He would wait for me, but I didn’t want him to be late. I showered in record time and pulled on my favorite jeans and shirt before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs.

  Jacob was standing at the kitchen counter with his cereal bowl tipped up to his mouth, slurping the rest of his milk. For whatever reason, that noise had always grossed me out. “God, Jacob. Get a straw or something,” I said, wrinkling my nose as I popped two packages of Pop-Tarts into the four slots of the toaster.

  “Ahhhh,” Jacob said, wiping his mouth with his arm before placing his bowl in the dishwasher.

  “Could you be any more of a slob?” While I waited for my Pop-Tarts, I grabbed a bottle of chocolate milk from the fridge. Normally I’d snag a piece of fruit too, but I knew I wouldn’t have enough time to eat everything during the drive.

  Jacob watched in amusement as I gathered my belongings, trying to balance my breakfast and my backpack together. “Isn’t the older brother supposed to do all the eating in the house?”

  I smirked at him. “Don’t be jealous,” I said, stacking one strawberry Pop-Tart on top of a blueberry one before taking a big bite. I liked mixing flavors.

  Jacob rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny my claim. He was a wrestler and had to maintain a strict diet to make weight. “So, are we going to talk about the other night? It looked like a rough one,” he said, doing me a favor by carrying my backpack.

  I shrugged, glancing over at the empty chairs in the living room as we left the kitchen. “Are they awake?”

  “Yeah. Mom came down for coffee earlier. She asked about you. I haven’t seen Dad yet though,” Jacob said.

  “Tell her I said hi,” I answered sarcastically.

  At one time the living room had been the life force of the house, with pictures of babies and toddlers littering the walls. The furniture was sturdy and perfect for making forts. That was when the room was filled with love.

  After Leah’s disappearance Mom cleaned out the room in a rampage, ripping out everything, including the flooring. The shag carpet was replaced with cold slabs of tile. Stark white paint covered up the bright yellow walls along with all the holes from the pictures that were taken down. The furniture was replaced with stiff chairs and furnishings that no longer welcomed children.

  I remember at that time overhearing Mom weeping on the phone to my aunt Cindy that Leah’s doll, Daisy, had been found. The authorities no longer believed that Leah was alive. I was so confused and too young to understand the true gravity of what had happened. I knew my heart ached and that I missed my sister, but wouldn’t I have felt it if my twin was gone? We’d shared a special connection. I couldn’t believe that she was truly gone.

  “You should tell Mom and Dad how bad the headaches are getting,” Jacob said as we climbed into his car. “Maybe they need to change your medication.”

  “It wasn’t all that bad,” I lied, polishing off my Pop-Tarts and taking a big swig of chocolate milk. I neglected to mention that it was my second severe one in three days. That was a need-to-know info drop and Jacob definitely didn’t need to know.

  Stopping at the corner of our str
eet, he looked at me with his signature glare of annoyance. “Puh-lease. How dumb do you think I am? Two nights ago I find you passed out on the floor. Maybe you’re not aware of this but normal headaches don’t do that. Look, I let the matter slide yesterday because I got home late from wrestling practice, but now this is some serious shit, Mia.”

  “Maybe I like to sleep on the floor,” I said dryly, looking out the window. I wondered what he would say if he knew the truth. He knew about the headaches, but nothing about the darkness that came with them that always terrified me. I didn’t want him to think I was crazy, and I definitely didn’t want him to tell Mom or Dad. They were just headaches. That’s all. A small part of me wished they were more though. When I was little I believed they were a bond between Leah and me. I knew it was silly but I felt the headaches connected me to her.

  “Mia?”

  “Jacob, I’m fine. Can we just drop it, please?” I pleaded, imploring him with my eyes.

  I could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to press harder. He took a deep breath, reaching over to pat my knee. “Sure, Mia, we can drop it.” Jacob was overly protective where I was concerned. “Do you need a ride to the football game tonight?” he asked, pulling into the student parking lot.

  “Um, maybe,” I said, opening my car door. “Luke has to be there early and Amber has practice before the game. I might just stay after school though. I can always spend the time studying in the library.”

  “Sounds good. Just let me know, okay? Valerie wants to double, but I don’t want to commit if you need me.”

  I took my backpack from him and slung it over my back. “You should tell her yes. I don’t mind staying after.”

  “And I don’t mind giving you a ride,” he returned, jumping ahead to open the door for me as we approached the entrance of the school.

  “I know you don’t, but seriously, it’s okay. I like Valerie. You should come hang out with us,” I added. “Luke and I are doubling with Amber and Anthony after the game.” I stepped around a couple making out just inside the door. The hallway was loud and chaotic just the way I liked it. Jacob made a face at my invitation. “What—you don’t like Anthony?”