Page 120 of The Vanishing Place
Then they ran at the water. But Cameron was too fast, his legs were too long, and Adam tripped and stumbled to the ground, his mouth filling with sand.
“Shit.” Cameron knelt next to him. “Sorry, buddy.”
He dusted the sand from Adam’s face, then ruffled his hair.
“What are you silly boys up to?”
Dinah collapsed onto the sand next to them, lying with her arms out like a Christmas angel, and Adam snuggled into her. Dinah wrapped her arms around him and kissed his head—not like at home.
“Can we go swimming?”
“I think we need to get back,” she said. “Dad will want lunch soon.”
“Can we go tomorrow?”
“Maybe. We’ll see how Dad is doing.”
“He’ll just be reading his silly book.”
“We’ll see.” Dinah squeezed his hand a bit hard. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
2025
Time was dividedinto two. Complete dark and almost dark.
During the day, light peeked in through the cracks and small gaps, and Effie could make out the outlines of her fingers and legs. During the day, the air turned a shade lighter than ink, and the items in the room took shape.
A bed. A chair. A small desk. A solid metal chain.
Effie reached down and touched her ankle, where the skin had been rubbed raw, and tried to move into a more comfortable position. Two days had passed. Twice a line of light had entered through the small boarded-up window, spilling across the floor in a white ribbon, and Effie had watched it shrink and disappear.
She forced a piece of bread through her teeth, the dough moving around in her dry mouth, then she took a sip of water. The packages—food and water and a bucket for relieving herself—were snuck in during the night. There was no face or voice that went with them. At night, when the bedroom door opened, no light came in with it. The room on the other side was just as dark.
Effie grimaced at the pain between her eyes. The headaches and the dizziness were constant. Whoever had thumped her had done a bloody good job of it. The last thing Effie remembered was wadingacross the Roaring Billy, then waking up in the hut. In her parents’ old bedroom.
“Fuck.” Effie swore and punched the bed, the sudden movement making her nauseous. “Fuck.”
When the spinning eased, she crawled forward until the length of chain pulled tight against the solid bed frame, and she threw the stale bread the remaining meter to the door. It hit the wood with a soft thump.
“What do you want with me?” she shouted.
Nothing.
“Let me go, you cowardly shit.”
Nothing.
Effie focused on the bottom of the door where there was a strip of light, a small gap in the darkness. It was still daytime somewhere out there. She lifted the plate and threw it at the wall. The loud clang split the quiet, vibrating in her chest and fingers. Then she turned, searching the shadows. Looking for something. For anything. On her right, she spotted the silhouette of a row of books. She lifted one after the other and hurled them at the door.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
As Effie reached for the fourth book, a shadow—perhaps two feet—moved across the strip of light.
“Stop.” The female voice was quiet—frightened. “Please. He’ll punish you.”
“Who?” Effie clambered toward the voice. “Who will punish me?”
