Page 61 of Good and Gone

44

Tyler

For a moment, we just stare at each other in horror. The girl is shaking and sobbing, and I want to comfort her, but I don't move. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. The man is dead on the floor, but pieces of his brain and blood are everywhere. Then suddenly, Hailey is in the room with us, rushing toward me. She throws her arms around me and starts to sob.

I hold her tightly as relief floods through my body. Tristan is standing behind her with an apologetic look on his face that says,“What could I do?”

I turn to look at the girl, who is still staring at me with shock and fear.

I know she will never forget this moment, the moment when she was finally freed from her tormentor. And neither will I.

The girl begins to cry, and I go to her, untying her hands and helping her to her feet.

"It's okay," I say softly. "You're safe now."

I ask Tristan to lead her out of the room and down the hallway.

“Wait in the truck,” I say. “And watch the front door. I’m going to check the rest of the house."

“My God,” Hailey says and suddenly she is opening doors, three so far, and behind those doors are scenes that are unimaginable.

The first room is a bathroom. The second room is a bedroom, where I find a bed, complete with a bloodstained mattress. The last door leads to a closet. It is filled with the smell of filth. I don't know what I might find inside, and I brace myself.

I suck in a breath, hold it and peer inside.

Deep down, I know that I won't find anything, at least not anything living.

The smell is overpowering. Bile creeps up my throat. It burns my nostrils.

And then my eyes adjust to the darkness and I see.

I see the body. It's lying on its side, the face still and vacant. It looks like it's been there for days. Maybe weeks.

I step back, my heart pounding against my chest.

I turn to face Hailey, who is staring at me with wide eyes. She has seen the body, too. “She’s dead?” Hailey asks, though she knows the answer.

A girl steps into the doorway of the room and stands there looking at us. Her face is pale, like wax paper. She has dark, raven colored hair and black lips. A headscarf covers her eyes. The shadows it casts add to her eerie demeanor. “You shouldn’t be in here,” she says, removing the scarf. “She’s being punished.”

The girl can’t be older than fifteen. She is very pregnant. When she speaks, it’s in a low, hushed whisper, so that her words are barely audible. “Her test was negative again.”

“What test?” I say, though I can guess the answer.

The girl just looks at me blankly, and I feel an intense wave of anger wash over me, like sitting in the center of a fire. She’s pregnant, and she’s been abused. She’s speckled with bruises, and I can see that she’s malnourished.

“The pregnancy test,” the girl tells me, finally. “You should go. You’re unwelcome here. They won’t like it if they find you in here.”

“Who won’t like it?”

“The others,” she says, pointing to the front of the house. “JD. He is the only one who has a key to this room. He'll be back soon. If he finds you in here, bad things will happen.”

"Anyone else?" I ask.

The girl shrugs. Her face registers no emotion. "The doctor comes sometimes."

"The doctor? He comes here?"

Her brows knit. "Of course. Who else is going to take care of us?"

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