Gone

Gone
By Miranda Charles

I walked the same way home each day after school. Rain or shine, I refused to take the bus. I refused rides from friends. I knew that I should walk. If someone other than myself showed up and my father happened to be there, there would be questions. There might even be a conversation. Conversations would start out fine. Then I might express an opinion about something. That was sure to bring an argument because I would be wrong. I did not want that. I only wanted to be alone.

As I crossed the street to my house, I waited for the last car to pass on the needless highway. It was a friend of mine, Anna. She smiled and waved. She laughed a little as she passed. I had trusted her enough to confess my feelings about Stew Fields. Stew was a football coach. Coach Fields did little other than football. I did not know what else but I had him for Study Hall. He always had his playbook and paid most of us little attention. Except those of us that were football players. Those guys got his attention and permission to do what ever they liked. Do not get me wrong, he kept them in line. There was no horseplay allowed.

While Anna and I had been talking, myself doing most of the talking. I had told her mild and frank how I thought that Coach Fields was so cute. He had perfect blond hair that framed an incredible smile. It was high wattage. His lazy blue eyes fell on me at times and I could feel them. I am sure that it was not what he saw but what I wanted him to see. Anna had teased that maybe I should play football and perhaps I could get a pat on the tush. We had laughed barrels at that.

Not that there were not girls that played football but my small frame and feminine demeanor had no place for football. Except to watch it from the sidelines. Then it was only an excuse to get out of the house and perhaps I would bump into Stew. It never happened though.

I had Stew on my mind. I had not told another soul. I wrote about it in a Journal I kept for English Class. Ms. Masters was the only other one to read it and she kept it in strict confidence. I knew there was a lot more juicy stuff going on besides my obsession with Coach Fields. There was a wicked rumor of flings between Mr. Waters, our guidance counselor (and volunteer psychiatrist at the local mental facility) and his secretary Mrs. Jones. A couple of students even said that they had seen the two in their naked glory.

Stew was still on my mind and I did not see the car that swept up in front of me in the far lane. The car was an older four-door and the driver was dressed in dark clothes. That was all I gathered before the driver threw open the door and snatched me in, pulling and then pushing me across and into the floorboard. I could feel the car whipping in turns and curves. I was stunned and then terrified of what had just happened and what may happen still. I could not say a word. The driver, my kidnapper, had not said a word either.

When the driving evened out, a heavy blanket was thrown over me. Then we turned again and stopped. I was instructed not to move and advised that he would be returning. I headed the warnings. The day had been dreary and dark. The night crept on the evening quick and full of vengeance.

I listened for a long time. A door had been opened and closed. I felt for the front of the seat. Despite my tumultuous arrival in the car, books and papers were still piled in the seat. The only book I had been carrying, a book of ghost stories, had been dropped. These were books from my locker and my journal from Ms. Masters class. I did not recognize the car to belong to anyone that I knew. The door that had been opened and closed a moment ago had done it again. I crouched back into the floorboard.

“Stay down,” the voice said. I knew that voice. Who was it? “Emily, we will be making a few more stops. If you don’t want me to kill you, you will keep down and silent.” It was the voice that belonged to Mr. Waters. Tears filled my eyes and my head swam in confusion and lost hope.

In between stops, while Mr. Water’s was away, I checked the doors and there were no handles. He always took the keys. There was no escaping. Soon, my books had been removed and the seat was empty. I knew I would not be going so easy.

The last time that Mr. Waters got back in the car, he drove a short distance and pulled the blanket off of me. He grabbed my arm and hauled me into the seat. “I am taking you to Grover’s Hospital. Don’t even think about escaping. I have all paperwork here,” he pointed to a file on the dashboard. “I’ve done this quite a few times, it’s best if you know you have no options. If you accept this, it will be easier for you. Your name change, your disorder, your disappearance. It has all been set up. You now belong to me and I will visit you regularly.”

He had kidnapped me for his use. I fear sexual but time will tell. My belongings had been planted; someone would have to take the fall for my absence.

He stopped at a road I knew, that was one road down from the hospital. The hospital he volunteered at. I was going to be his new patient. He pulled me out and ordered me into a uniform. There on the side of the road, he had me strip down. The moon hid and would not expose me. He did not care and when I did not move fast enough, he rushed me a long. His hands hard on my neck and then pushed me against the car. I looked into his eyes, not knowing what I was looking for and not knowing what I was going to see. I saw nothing in them. He wanted to make sure that he had my attention. He did have my attention. He put me in the car and took his seat behind the wheel.

“I read your obsessive rants about Stew, sweet innocent Emily. How you are not. Why he is a man more than twice your age! You should be ashamed.” He was mocking me. Then, his tone changed. “I have your papers there, changed your name to Misty Rienhold. Added to your age a little, we can’t have anyone under twenty at this facility. Your suffering from a bipolar disorder coupled with personality confusion. Yes, it’s going to take a while to heal you.” He patted my leg and eased his hand up my thigh. “You also have some sexual confusion that we will be working out.” Here comes he head swimming again. Then, for a moment, I think I may vomit. He anticipates this and flips the air conditioner on. “Can’t have you upchucking in here, sweet innocent Emily.” He smiles, the condescending nature in his voice is gone and it is camouflaged by a caring and endearing angelicness that I can still hear the truth is there somewhere.

Once at the center, I see Ms. Master’s aid propped against the desk. It is night and the crew is bare. A nurse here and an orderly there. Ms. Masters’ aid looks at me with questions bombarding her but her expression changes to worrisome please as she takes my folder from Mr. Waters. “Process it,” he tells her, just as he had said when he pushed me against the car. We pass by rooms and down a corridor to a darker area. There are rooms with clear walls to the front. Then more rooms. I am put into a room that looks more like a bedroom than anything I have seen so far. “No one can help you. If you speak, you will be dealt with. Suze will be in; she is my personal assistant and nurse to my patients. She will be your caretaker while I am away. You are not to speak to her either. If you do, she will tell me.”

Waters leaves and I crawl into the red satin bed. It is identical to the bed that I had written about in my journal. One I had hoped to share with Stew. The room is filled with things that I had written about. Including an antique styled phone and curio at the foot of the bed. The lushness overtakes me until I touch the cold walls of the hospital. I reach for the phone but the handset can’t be removed and the cord is stiff. It isn’t a cord at all. It is all fake.

The door is open and Suze comes in. “Up,” she orders me and places a pill in my hand and a small paper cup of water. “Take it,” she adds but she is looking at me. “You are younger than the rest of them, but you aren’t the only one. Don’t think you are special because of this red satin bed, sweetheart. You only think your fantasies are coming true.” She looks me over. I dare not say a single word. Then she searches my mouth to make sure I took the pill. I did as told. I will get to live another day. She sets there a moment and I study her face. Here face is carved with lines deep in it that are not natural. “He did this to me.” There are fresher carvings in her arm and some blood seeps through her blouse. She leaves out of disgust of my not talking and swears I will want her ear soon. The one she has left. When she tosses her long curly hair, I see she only has one ear. The other one, she claims he lopped it off.

Drifting off to sleep, I hear tender love songs from the eighties. My red satin pillow will be soaked with the tears. Tears not of fear from what my happen to me but I am afraid that I will not see Stew again.

When I wake, it is dark. Someone is in the room but I can’t see them. The cologne smells like Stews and I think for a moment it had all been some terrible nightmare but it was not. The moon peeks and there is Waters standing in Stews jacket. Smelling of Stews cologne.

“Close your eyes,” He tells this to me in the same endearing angelic voice from before. I can not bear anymore and I am gone. The pill has helped me through this.

When I awake in the morning, I can tell that what I feared was not some nightmare that I only recall pieces of. It was all true. It all happened. This is evident by the bruising on my inner thighs. I feel soreness all over my body. I know it is not my fault but the guilt still clings to me. I feel a wash of hopelessness. I fear I will not be let out alive.

A few days pass and they blend into a routine. Suze comes to give me a pill. I have a horrific nightmare shrouded in reality. When I start to vomit, there are more pills.

Then Masters visits seem to occur with less frequency. I hope he has died but Suze remarks that I have caught a break, he is only out of town. I do not have to take the pills when he is not planning a visit and I feel like I am coming out of a haze.

When Masters does return one day, I am afraid because I was not given a pill. I am terrified of what I do not remember. Only, he hands me a pad and pencil. Instructs me to write down what is bothering me. He smiles and is filled with professionalism. He pats me on the shoulder.

As he leaves, I began to write. I assume this will go in my file, so I steal a few sheets from the back of the pad. I will leave a note stuck in little hole I have found in the wall under the bed.

I am afraid that Waters will frame Stew for my disappearance. He had taken Stew’s jacket. He has my journal. So, I am keeping these notes so that someone will know that Stew never hurt me. I hope that Masters will pay for this. I do not know how long it will take. I pray that someone with good in their heart will find my notes.