Computer. Desk phone. Cell phone. Car keys.
All gone from Leah’s room. And the formidable deadbolt lock on the door required two keys, which Angie, a thirty-something housekeeper with an impressive double chin and long black snake-braid, withdrew from her skirt pocket. She didn’t seem friendly, and I was too emotionally numb to care. She asked if I was hungry and I nodded, although I’d lost track of time and appetite.
“I’ll be back with your lunch,” she said coolly. The lock double-clicked behind her.
Something clicked inside me, too — outrage, panic, fear — and I rushed to the door, rattling the knob and pounding on the wood.
“Let me out!” I shouted. Then I kicked the door and ranted about unfairness, threatening to report everyone in this household to child-protective services. They were all cruel and awful and hateful.
My rampage only lasted about five minutes, until my voice cracked and my throat burned. I sagged against the door in defeat. Leah’s father had completely shut me off from the outside world. I might as well be in the crazy bin wrapped in a straitjacket — I’d have more freedom than in this princess prison. I sank to the plush carpet and huddled against the door. Tears warmed some of the numbness. I hugged my knees, rocking to ease my shivers.
Everything was so wrong and all I wanted to do was go home. I had to let my family know I was alive. Aunt Suzanne said they were suffering, and knowing that made me feel worse. Why had I given up so quickly? Aunt Suzanne didn’t know me that well — she didn’t even like me. If I’d reached my parents or friends, I could have convinced at least one of them. But now I was totally cut off. Alone behind a locked door, everything seemed hopeless.
I have no idea how long it was before I heard a key in the lock and smelled delicious aromas. Wiping my face and pushing back my tangled hair, I jumped to my feet so the door wouldn’t smack me as it opened.
“Here’s your lunch.” Angie avoided looking directly at me, double-locking the door behind her as if she expected me to bolt for freedom.
She carried a covered silver dish on an oval tray. Wonderful lemon and buttery smells revived me a little. My stomach rumbled.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “It smells good.”
Angie ignored me, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I called out. “Stay a minute. I’d like to talk.”
“About what?” she asked, flipping her braid over her shoulder in a defiant gesture. With her hands on her hips, she eyed me with suspicion. She was younger than I’d originally thought, maybe in her late twenties. Yet her plodding manner and sour expression made her seem much older, as if her inner bitch had matured fast.
“I need help,” I told her sincerely. “I have to get away.”
“As if!” She snorted like I’d said something funny.
“This is life-or-death important,” I added, desperate enough to beg. It was awful being at a stranger’s mercy, especially when there was no hint of compassion in her narrowed eyes. “Please, will you help?”
“You’re saying ‘please’ to me?” She folded her arms around her curvy chest. “Hell must have frozen over.”
“So you’ll help?” I asked eagerly.
“Absolutely, positively never gonna happen.”
“I have to get out of here! If you don’t help me something terrible will happen.”
“You can’t threaten me anymore — your father already knows about Luis’ past, and he doesn’t care. You’re a real tool and I’m not dumb enough to get screwed again.”
“Huh? Whatever I did … I’m sorry.”
“Sure, sorry you can’t push me around anymore,” she said with thick sarcasm. “I work for your father. Not you.”
“He isn’t my father.” I sighed as her expression closed. “I mean, he doesn’t act normal. It’s cruel to lock me in.”
“Consider yourself lucky. He should have sent you to the loony bin. I hear you flipped out, have a dozen different personalities.”
“I’m not crazy. I’m in trouble … and running out of time. At least take a message to someone for me.”
“If you mean Chad, forget it. The way you jerk guys around like dogs on a chain makes me want to puke. I don’t know why a sweet guy like Chad puts up with you. I was out of my mind earlier, sneaking him in and risking my job.”
“You can always get another job.”
“Says who?” Her dangling braid snapped like a whip as she shook her head. “My man and I got it good here. We don’t want any problems. Jobs like this might not seem much to you, but Luis and I like it. So I’m doing exactly what Mr. Montgomery says. No more breaking the rules.”
“But I don’t belong here …” My word trailed off. Anything I said would only sound more crazy. Angie’s narrowed dark eyes confirmed that she wasn’t going to help. Leah may have popularity-plus at school, but not at home.
There had to be someone in this house who would help. What about Leah’s mother? When she’d visited the hospital, she’d seemed to genuinely love her daughter.
“Could you at least tell Mrs … my mother … that I’d like to see her?”
Angie shook her head. “She’s not here.”
I didn’t believe her. “Where is she?”
“At one of those meetings.”
“Meetings?” I questioned.
Angie answered by cupping her hand and bringing it to her mouth. As she turned to leave, she gave me a scathing look, like I was the most pathetic person in the world.
Before she reached the door, keys jangling in her hand, Angie touched her palm to her head and swore under her breath. “I almost forgot. Here.” She withdrew a folded paper from a pocket and thrust it at me.
My fingers closed around the paper. The door banged shut accompanied by the sound of locks clicking. I didn’t make any move to read the paper, Angie’s words sinking in. Just like that, I knew what she’d meant by “meetings” and her hand-mouth gesture.
Drinking.
Leah’s mother was an alcoholic. And the meetings were Alcoholics Anonymous. So that was the “badly kept secret” Mr. Montgomery referred to, and the reason his wife didn’t accompany him to social events. Taking his daughter instead might be normal in ultra-rich society but, combined with that butt slap, reeked of inappropriate behavior to me. Way too much dysfunction going on around here.
The paper Angie had given me rustled in my hand. I bit my lip, hoping it had nothing to do with doctors, medication, or Botox. It was worse, I realized with a groan. I found a daily exercise schedule that included swimming laps, lifting weights, and working out for an hour on gym equipment. I mentally tallied the time: two hours of exercise a day. One hour would be torture. Two hours was insane! I’d never survive.
And if I stayed here, my real body had zero chance of survival.
But there wasn’t any way for me to leave, and it was hard to ignore the appetizing smells wafting from the silver tray. I had this motto that helped me deal with life’s disappointments: When all else fails: Eat. So I lifted the shiny lid, my mouth watering at the sight of grilled lemon chicken, steamed carrots and broccoli, and a potato. Kind of low-cal for my taste, but I was too beyond starving to act picky.
As I chewed, I thought longingly of noisy dinners at home surrounded by triple high chairs and my sisters flinging food. Or all the times Dustin, Alyce and I pigged out on cheeseburgers at Grumpy’s Grill and I’d laugh when Dustin pretended to get mad because I’d swiped some of his French fries. Also there was that chocolicious meeting with that boy, Eli, over the dessert buffet. Food was a primal connection that linked me to life — my real life. And I’d do anything to get it all back (my life, that is, not more food … although food was always good).
Unfortunately, I was out of options. Being trapped in this room was as frustrating as being trapped in this body.
There was no way out.
Or was there?
I thought about how I’d gotten into this mess. I’d heard the screech of tires but I never felt the crash. Bright warm light had rescued me, welcomed me, and I had been somewhere else, far from anything physical, floating toward the outstretched arms of my beloved grandmother. Locks and doors didn’t matter where Grammy was. I was sure she didn’t know I was in trouble now, or she would come to help. Cola might tell her … or he might not. I’d have to do it myself.
Maybe there was another way out.
All I had to do was die.
Again.