Bel was awake before her eyes opened, forced out of sleep with a gasp in her throat.
She sat up in bed. Checked the phone on the nightstand: 2:04 a.m. Something must have woken her, but was she pushed out or was she pulled? A bad dream or—
There was a noise downstairs. A rustle, a quiet press of steps.
Rachel was awake, moving around.
She must be trying to go somewhere, thinking Bel would sleep through.
Well, Bel hadn’t, drinking too much coffee today, and the last two nights, to make sure she slept shallowly, dipping in and out. To make sure Rachel wasn’t going anywhere in the middle of the night. But now she was.
Bel swung her legs out of bed, moving as quietly as she could.
She thought Rachel might try something like this. Bel hadn’t given her another choice; she’d been her constant companion the last two days. Faked a cough to stay home sick from school, wouldn’t let Rachel leave the house on her own.
“I have to go to the bank.” “I’ll come too”.
If Rachel caught on, she never showed it, never hesitated.
“That’s OK, B-Bel. I don’t like being on my own either.”
Bel heard another hushed swipe of shoes downstairs. A muted thud; something picked up and put down.
She threw on a hoodie and grabbed her phone, navigated to her message thread with Ash; they hadn’t texted since Tuesday. She typed:
Hope this wakes you. Rachel is sneaking off somewhere, I’m going to follow her. Meet me with the camera. I think this is it.
She slid the phone into the front pocket of her hoodie and tiptoed to the door, feet as light as Rachel’s.
Though Rachel wasn’t silent now; Bel could still hear her, shuffling around down there, skulking, shaping the darkness with the sound of her feet. She must have thought she didn’t need to, with Bel being asleep and Dad being gone.
Bel opened her door slowly, cursing where the bottom edge scuffed against the carpet. She stepped out into the hallway. Rachel would be heading toward the front door soon, Bel was sure. Then probably her car, which was Bel’s first problem. But she could follow on her old bike; it was in the garage and she could be fast, she had everything to lose if she wasn’t. Or if Ash left right now, maybe he’d get here in time with a car, pick her up and follow Rachel’s trail.
See, she could make plans too.
Bel was a shadow among shadows, a dark shape among dark shapes, standing at the top of the stairs. She walked down them, weight in her toes before lowering her heels, a quiet sound among quiet sounds.
She stepped over the one that creaked and stopped three from the end.
Looked toward the living room.
Rachel was in there still, the scratch of shoes on the rug, the rustle of fabric, the beating of Bel’s heart inside her own ears.
If Bel headed to the kitchen, she could circle around, try see what Rachel was up to, from the open doorway that adjoined the rooms. Get herself ready to follow as soon as Rachel left.
Bel crept down the final steps, across the hall and into the kitchen, the tiles cold through her socks. It was pitch-black in here too, no lights on
downstairs, only the weak silver glow of the moon. If Rachel thought Bel was asleep, why hadn’t she put on a light?
She slid along the counter, hidden from Rachel by the wall between them, past the dining table, stepping over chair legs. Bel pressed herself against the wall, wrapped three fingers around the edge of the open archway. Leaning into them, she pulled herself closer, silently, head floating just around the corner, eyes wide and searching.
Rachel was standing with her back turned, by the TV cabinet. She was holding something in both hands, looking down at it. Bel recognized the swirling gold photo frame. She knew exactly what picture that was: her and Dad, taken during a family meal out at Rosa’s Pizza, his arm draped on her shoulder. Carter was a blur, walking through the background.
Why was Rachel so interested in this photo now? She’d had weeks to study it if she wanted.
Rachel bent to replace the photo, a gentle clunk as it touched down.
She straightened up in the darkness, standing tall, too tall, half a foot too tall, her shoulders shifting, growing wider than they should.
Bel’s heart broke free, the flush of its fight-or-flight heat beneath her skin. She blinked to break apart the darkness, to see what she was scared she’d see. Moved out a little farther to be sure.
It wasn’t Rachel, it was a man.
Bel couldn’t help it, the noise in her throat, her sock slipping under her.
The man whipped around, head snapping her way. He looked just the same, darkness stealing all sense of direction. They stared at each other, these two dark shapes, her here, him there, frozen and unmoving.
Until Bel did move, instinct taking over. Eyes still on the figure, she snaked her hand along the wall, fingertips alighting on the cool plastic of the light switch.
A brief flash of hope before the flash of light, that the shadow standing in front of her would be Dad, finally home.
She flicked the switch, eyes watering in the sudden yellow glare. Bel blinked.
It wasn’t Dad.
But it wasn’t a stranger either; she knew that face, that look in his eyes.
A man in his fifties, ten years older than the last time she saw him. Dark close-shaved hair, graying in orbits around his long ears, covered with a baseball cap. The wide-set eyes with too much white that made him look forever shocked.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Bel tried to keep the fear out of her voice. She failed. “We have a restraining order against you, Phillip.”
Phillip Alves smiled, finally coming to life in the light, unlocking his arms, swinging them at his sides.
“Oops,” he said, splitting into a laugh that sounded like a dog in pain, wheezy and unnerving. “In my defense, you weren’t supposed to be here either. Thought the house was empty.”
Empty? The word flipped over in Bel’s head. The house wasn’t empty, and Bel wasn’t alone, because if Rachel wasn’t the one sneaking around the living room, then she had to be upstairs, in bed.
“Rachel,” Bel called, across the kitchen, toward the hall. “Rachel!” Louder now. “Mom?!”
“She’s not here,” Phillip said. He’d moved closer, while Bel’s eyes weren’t there to hold him in place.
“Mom?!”
“Rachel’s not here, I said.” Phillip raised his voice, over her shouting. “I wish you’d listen. I saw her drive away twenty minutes ago.”
Bel stalled, lips half formed around the next Mom, swallowing it down, thick and gelatinous. Rachel wasn’t here. Rachel had snuck out, and Bel had missed it, missed her chance. Rachel was gone and now Bel wished she wasn’t for a different reason.
“You been watching the house again, Phillip?” Bel lowered her voice, softening the edges, almost friendly, trying to undo the damage her shouting had caused. The air pulsed with the presence of this man, pushing against her ears. Bel didn’t know what he was capable of, and she didn’t know if her sharp tongue would set him off.
He nodded. “Since Rachel returned.”
Bel nodded too, cursing Ms. Nelson for being right, herself for not believing her.
“OK, well, as you said, Rachel’s not here right now, so maybe you can come back another time.”
That wheezing, hitching laugh again, eyes frozen nightmare-wide. “How’s she been, your ma?” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“Since she’s been back?”
“Um…” Bel didn’t know what to do, how to make him leave. Maybe she should keep him talking, keep it friendly. She’d texted Ash and he might be on his way here right now. Unless he was asleep, his phone on silent. Or maybe good old Ms. Nelson had seen Phillip breaking in and already called the cops. Fuck, no, Bel had just told her to stop watching their house, to stick her nose out. She hadn’t realized she’d need it so soon, lashed out and only hurt herself.
“Hello?” Phillip waved at her.
“Sorry.” Bel swallowed. She shouldn’t keep him waiting. She could talk about Rachel while she figured out what to do, speak his language. An obsession sixteen years couldn’t shake, because here he was again, right where they started.
“She’s been fine,” Bel said.
“Fine?” Phillip didn’t like that answer.
“It’s been an adjustment,” Bel said, reusing everyone’s word. “But she’s OK.”
“OK?” The word cracked open in Phillip’s mouth. Didn’t like that answer either.
“Well,” she said, trying, “it hasn’t all been good. It’s strange, someone coming back after all that time. There’s been disagreements, old things coming back up, you know.”
Phillip made a sound in the back of his throat. “She told you anything?
About where she was?”
“She was kept in a basement.” Bel swallowed. “She didn’t know the man who took her.”
Phillip laughed again. “OK, OK,” he said, hands up, fingers twitching. “And what about where she really was?”
Bel scratched the back of her head, gave herself time to think. What did
Phillip want to hear? What would make him go away? “She was in a basement.”
“OK,” he said, cartoonish and mean, mocking her, head bouncing around on his neck. “So why’d your dad run away, then, huh?” He took a step toward her. “Rachel Price comes home and then a week later Charlie Price takes off. Seems suspicious, don’t it? Don’t tell me you think that’s just a coincidence, thought you were a smart girl.”
Bel felt the red-hot surge in her gut, told it that now wasn’t the time. She had to keep a cool head.
“My dad didn’t run away,” she said, coolly.
“Yes-he-did,” Phillip retorted, words in one quick slur, enjoying himself. Bel took a breath to slow her heart. Come on, Ash, please be awake,
please be close. “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t do that.”
Phillip pressed his lips together, like he was trying not to laugh again.
Thank God he didn’t.
“Yes he did,” he said. “I saw him.” Bel abandoned her next sentence. “What did you say?” she asked.
He flashed those strange eyes. “Now you’re listening.”
“What do you mean you saw him?” Bel took a step forward now, regretted it.
“I was watching the house,” he said, simply. “It was late, around two a.m., and I saw your dad, walking out the front door. He’d packed a bag. Closed the door real slow, like he didn’t want to wake anyone.”
Bel shook her head. “When was this?”
“You know when. The night your dad left, Saturday before last. He got into his truck and drove away. I was across the street. Thought he might have spotted me, thought he’d be coming back, so I left.”
Bel was still shaking her head, hadn’t stopped. “No, that’s not right. His truck was still here in the morning, how could he have driven away in it?”
Phillip shrugged, hands hanging in the air by his ears. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Just telling you what I saw.” “Was he on his own?”
“He was on his own.” A swipe of his tongue, wetting his lips.
Bel still didn’t believe him. Phillip was a liar. Of course he was a liar: he was a stalker, unhinged, lost everything because he couldn’t let the mystery of Rachel Price go. Still couldn’t. Still had more to lose.
“So tell me why you think your dad ran away?” Phillip perched on the lip of the sofa, settling in.
“He didn’t.”
“Rachel must have told you something.”
Bel shifted her weight onto her other leg. “She told me a man took her and kept her in a basement for sixteen years, then he let her go.”
“Bullshit,” Phillip spat in that whisper-yell Bel remembered. “You must know something.”
“I don’t,” Bel said. But she did, she knew a lot more than something. But why did Phillip Alves deserve those answers when no one had given them to her? Fuck him.
“Tell me.” He jumped up again, scratching his neck, leaving a swipe of four angry red lines.
“I don’t know anything!” She was that eight-year-old girl again, sitting in the backseat, a stranger dressed up as a police officer screaming in her face.
“Come on,” Phillip said in that breathy shout of his, so much worse than if he just screamed. “You’ve been living in this house with both of them. You must know something. Seen something, heard something?”
“No.” Bel watched the change in Phillip, the rage, red spreading from the scratches up his face.
Come on, Ash. Come on, Ms. Nelson. No one was coming, were they?
Bel was on her own.
Not quite on her own: her phone was right here, in the front pocket of her hoodie. Could she call 911 without Phillip seeing? Not really, it was
touchscreen, she couldn’t try without seeing the screen. Still, she slid one hand into the pocket, touching the phone, to know it was there.
“You have to know something. I need to know what really happened.
I’ve waited so long.”
He hadn’t waited as long as Bel, it wasn’t his parents, it wasn’t his life falling apart. A flash of anger, building in the knot in her gut, but she couldn’t let it out, she listened to her fear instead.
“Why don’t you believe what Rachel says happened to her?” Bel asked instead, trying to calm him down.
“I need a better answer. The truth. If her story was true, your dad wouldn’t have taken off.”
“Or maybe Rachel did something to him?” Bel said, the truth escaping anyway.
“Why would she do something to him, if he hadn’t done something to her first?” Phillip grinned, thinking he’d trapped her with that one. “I saw him leave, remember. She wasn’t with him.”
Bel exhaled. “My dad didn’t have anything to do with Rachel’s disappearance, Rachel has said that herself. He had an alibi.”
“Sure.” Phillip mocked her again.
“He was found innocent,” Bel said, holding it in when she wanted to explode at him, this man who’d made her story his own, who didn’t deserve any part of it. “You didn’t see his face when Rachel returned. He didn’t know she was alive, I can promise you that. I know him better than anyone. He was at the hospital that day, then he drove home. He wasn’t involved.”
Phillip lurched forward, doubling over with that terrible, wheezing laugh, the sound creeping through her.
She gripped the phone harder.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know, scared that Phillip Alves was the end point of the way she’d chosen for herself. Did she sound like this when she talked about Rachel?
“You know,” Phillip said, still laughing, “this isn’t the first time I’ve been inside this house. Almost got caught then too.”
“What are you talking about?” Bel shifted her weight again, legs fizzing.
“I was here sixteen years ago. Got in the same way. The catch on that window is broken, by the way.” He pointed over his shoulder. “You should get that fixed. Anyway.” His eyes stretched wider somehow, unblinking. “I thought I’d find some clues while nobody was in. The police were starting to look at your dad, April I think, before his arrest. I knew it was supposed to be me, to find out who killed Rachel. I was in the kitchen when I heard a car pull up. I didn’t have time to make it outside, so I went upstairs. Into the first door I saw. Turned out to be your bedroom, a crib in the corner.”
Bel’s safe place. Maybe it had never really been all that safe.
“I hid in your room, listening. Charlie came in the front door. He was with someone, another man. I didn’t recognize his voice. I couldn’t hear everything but they were arguing about something. Shh, don’t wake Annabel, your dad said, so you must have been there too.”
Phillip wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at a point just beyond her shoulder, lost in the memory. Maybe now was Bel’s chance, while he was distracted. She shuffled back, hiding one arm behind the archway into the kitchen, swapping the hands in her front pocket.
“I didn’t hear a lot, they were being quiet for your sake,” Phillip said, like it was her fault. Bel closed her fingers around her phone, started to drag it slowly out the other side.
“But Charlie was angry, because he knew the police were looking at him as their main suspect. He shouted one thing and I heard. I’d never forget.”
Phillip still hadn’t blinked, his strange eyes watering over. Bel glanced down, sliding the phone screen clear of her pocket. It couldn’t see her face, asked for a passcode instead, but Bel thumbed the emergency button.
Phillip still wasn’t watching, clearing his throat for the next part. “Your dad said, I don’t care if you’re sorry. We agreed two o’clock. You didn’t keep to the time and now look what’s happened.”
The keypad was open. Bel pressed 9, thumb floating toward the 1, eyes
darting up to check she was clear.
She wasn’t.
She stifled a gasp, turned it into a cough. Phillip was staring at her, waiting for a response. But he couldn’t see what her left hand was doing
behind this wall.
“That could have been about anything.” Bel held his gaze, but she wouldn’t find the 1 without her eyes. “He was probably talking about something that day, someone being late for lunch or something.”
Phillip’s neck cricked, a one-sided twitch in his cheek. “They were talking about Rachel. About the police investigation,” he said, like he thought he’d trapped her again.
“Rachel disappeared around six o’clock,” she countered, eyes itching to look down, watering. She let them, finding the 1, pressing it twice as she returned her gaze.
“But your dad’s alibi began at two o’clock, didn’t it?” Phillip smiled. “That’s when he cut his hand.”
Bel pretended to think about that, dropping her eyes, but they didn’t reach the floor, catching on her phone instead. She found the call button at the bottom, thumb following her gaze to it.
“Hey! What are you doing there?”
A rush of heavy feet and Phillip was on top of her. He slammed his hand down into hers and the phone crashed onto the tiles.
“What were you doing there, trying to call the police?” His eyes were on fire now, fingers gripped around Bel’s wrist, squeezing too hard.
“No.” Bel struggled against his iron grip, the adrenaline hiding the pain from her. “I was trying to show you something. Evidence I found. About Rachel.”
“Oh.” Phillip pulled back, mouth still formed around the ghost of the sound as he let her go. He turned to where the phone had skidded, reached down for it.
“Fuck you,” Bel growled, locking her bones and charging at Phillip. He shouldn’t have turned his back on her, she wasn’t eight anymore, or that abandoned baby in the backseat. She shoved him and he fell, rolling with the momentum.
Bel didn’t wait to see the look of shock in his eyes. She flew toward the back door, forcing the handle down.
Phillip had got up too fast; she felt the disturbed air behind her.
She pulled the door as he grabbed her ponytail, jerking her head back, exposing her neck.
Bel’s arm shot up, elbow first. She slammed it into his face, right between those eyes. Heard a crunch.
Phillip shrieked, slapping his hands to his bleeding face.
Bel slipped outside the open door, into the dark night. Crossed the patio in three strides, onto the wet grass, soaking through her socks.
“Help!” she screamed. “Hel—”
Her ponytail jolted back again, ripping at her scalp.
She slipped with the force of it, falling to the grass, the air knocked out of her in one desperate rasp.
Phillip dropped too, pinning her wrists to the ground.
“What evidence do you have?” he panted, blood dripping from his nose onto her face, sliding into her hair. “What do you know?”
“Help!” Bel screamed. “Ms. Nelson—”
Phillip let go of one of her wrists, slapping his palm against her mouth to silence her, the salt of blood and his clammy hands. But he couldn’t hold her mouth and both her hands at the same time. She reached up, fingers outstretched, scrabbling at his strange eyes. Her nails scraped something soft and wet.
Phillip screeched, squinting, holding both her wrists again, releasing her mouth.
“Tell me what you know!” he roared.
“I don’t know anything!” She pushed against the grass, trying to buck him off. Come on, Ms. Nelson. Come on, Ash. Help her. Please.
“I need to know!” His scream pulled at the tendons on his neck, sinewy and red-raw.
“Fuck you,” Bel spat in his face, forced a knee into his chest. “You don’t need to know. I do! Why the fuck do you deserve the answers?”
“Tell me!”
“No!”
A scream. But it wasn’t Bel and it wasn’t Phillip. Two pale hands shot out of the darkness.
Phillip was thrown off her, rolling in the moonlit grass. Bel looked up, breath fast and ragged.
Rachel was standing there, against the starless sky.
Her eyes were glittering and mean, mouth bared, showing all her teeth. She glared down at Phillip and roared again. A desperate, terrible sound, but Bel wasn’t afraid anymore, wasn’t alone.
“I’ll kill you!” Rachel screamed. She doubled back, grabbing the rake from the patio. “Touch my daughter, I’ll fucking kill you!” She raised the rake above her head, stumbling toward Phillip.
She was going to do it, she was.
Rachel swung but Phillip scrabbled back, the rake catching one of his ankles. He screeched. Rachel dragged it back to go again.
Phillip didn’t give her the chance. He pushed up to his feet and bolted, across the dark grass, into the trees at the back, disappearing into the night.
Rachel dropped the rake. Bel sat up.
Rachel’s eyes whipped back to her, not mean anymore, still glittering.
She hurried over, falling to her knees at Bel’s side.
“Are you OK?” she said, gently holding the sides of Bel’s head. “You’re hurt.”
Bel glanced down at her gray hoodie, stained with spatters of red. “It’s not mine,” she said. “Think I broke his nose.”
“Are you OK?” Rachel asked again, and maybe she didn’t mean the blood after all.
“Fine.” Bel’s voice cracked. “Where were you?”
“I’m sorry.” Rachel pulled Bel closer, arms around her, one hand pressed to the back of her head, like it was made to fit right there. “I’m sorry.”
Bel wanted to push her away, but she also wanted to stay like this for a moment longer, exhausted, the shakes coming on, Rachel warm against them. Bel’s body betraying her, forgetting that it was Rachel they were supposed to be scared of.
“It was Phillip Alves,” she said, giving herself a reason to pull away. “The police told you about him, right? The one who was obsessed with you,
with the case. The one who took me when I was eight.”
Rachel watched her closely. No stars in the sky but there were in her eyes.
“I won’t let him near you again, I promise,” Rachel said. “My job to protect you.”
“You weren’t here.” Bel’s voice shrank.
“I need to call the police,” Rachel said, wiping her eyes. She rubbed a hand down Bel’s sleeve and straightened up. “Then we’ll get you inside, OK?”
Rachel swiped at her phone, raised it to her ear.
Bel could hear the dial tone ringing, splintering the quiet night like their screams must have done.
A click.
“Officer Winter?” Rachel turned, facing the back of their house. “It’s Rachel Price. It’s an emergency. Phillip Alves was just in our house. He attacked Bel.”
“I’m fine,” Bel called in the background, standing up, wiping wet grass from her legs.
“Yes,” Rachel said, an answer to some unheard question. “Yes.” Another. “He ran off through the backyard. Send officers now. You have to get him.”
Rachel turned back, eyes picking Bel out of the darkness. The yellow glow of inside lit up half her face, the gray light of the moon on the other. She breathed in. “It’s him, Dave. Phillip Alves. The one you’re looking for. The man who took me.”
