Page 13 of Her Last Farewell

Andrea pressed her back against the cage wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. The reality of her situation crashed over her in waves. The cage suddenly felt even smaller, the air thicker and harder to breathe. She forced herself to take deep breaths, fighting back panic.

"Does he... does he hurt you?" she managed to ask.

"Not like you're thinking," Monica replied. Her voice had grown even raspier, and Andrea wondered if she was getting sick. "He feeds us. Gives us water. Preaches to us about the sanctity of life and how grateful we should be. Sometimes he reads Bible verses. But he never... touches us. Not like that. It’s literally like we’re in prison for a crime we didn’t commit."

"The worst part is waiting," Sarah added. "Knowing that someday he'll need to make room again. Wondering which of us he'll choose. I thought there would be a way out…but then he killed Carla, and now I just don't know…"

Andrea studied her cage more carefully now, looking for any weakness. The mesh was thick and sturdy, each wire as thick as her pinky finger. The welds looked professional, and the padlock was far too strong to break. Even if she could somehow get out of the cage, the basement door at the top of the wooden stairs was undoubtedly locked as well.

She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering in the damp cold. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd had on at the bridge – jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a light jacket. Her shoes were gone, leaving her in just socks. The concrete floor leached heat from her body even through the metal grating of the cage.

"What's your name?" Monica asked softly. Her voice was sweeter now, almost ghostlike in the fact that Andrea couldn’t see her.

"Andrea." Her voice cracked on the word. "I'm Andrea."

"I'm sorry you're here, Andrea," Sarah said. "But I'm also selfishly glad we're not alone. The silence is the worst part sometimes."

"Tell us about yourself," Monica encouraged. "It helps to talk, trust me. To remember we're still people, not just things in cages."

Andrea swallowed hard. "I'm…well, he found me because I was about to kill myself. I’m a recovering addict. Three months clean….orwasclean. I thought... I thought things would be better once I got off the drugs. But everything just felt empty instead. Hollow." She wiped at her eyes with trembling fingers. "My boyfriend Keith, he's trying so hard to get clean too. I was supposed to be strong for him. To show him it was possible. But I was weak and I failed and I…I just wanted a way out."

"He'll be looking for you," Sarah said with gentle certainty. "Someone will be looking for all of us."

“You know, I was on the verge of offing myself, too,” Monica said, her voice raspy and a bit loud. "My parents probably think I finally did it. They kicked me out when I told them I was gay. Said they'd rather have no daughter than a sinner. I was so angry, so hurt...just doing away with all of it…with everything…it seemed like the only right answer."

The sound of a door opening upstairs made them all fall silent. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor overhead, then started down the wooden stairs. Andrea's heart threatened to burst from her chest as she pressed herself into the farthest corner of her cage.

The man appeared in the dim light, carrying a plate with what looked like sandwiches. He was wearing different clothesnow – khakis and a blue button-down shirt that made him look like any ordinary middle-aged man you might pass on the street. Only his eyes were the same as they had been on the bridge, that eerie gentle blue that had made her trust him.

"Good evening, ladies," he said softly, his voice carrying that same careful tone he'd used to talk her down. "I've brought dinner. I hope you're all feeling grateful for another day of life that God has blessed you with."

Andrea watched him through the mesh as he approached. Her cage was first, closest to the stairs. He slid her sandwiches through a small gap at the bottom of the door. He smiled politely at her before moving to the right, beyond the wall that separated her cage from Monica’s. The whole time, he kept up a quiet monologue about blessing and redemption, about the precious gift of life and how they would all thank him one day for saving them from their own sinful thoughts of self-destruction.

When he was done and walked back by her cage, their eyes met. His face softened into what he probably thought was a kind smile. "Ah, our newest lamb. I hope you're settling in well. You'll come to understand in time that this is all for your own good."

Andrea said nothing, her throat too tight with fear to form words. He didn't seem to mind her silence, simply giving her a look that, under normal circumstances, might have seemed reassuring and loving. As his footsteps retreated back up the stairs, Andrea looked at the sandwich on its paper plate. Plain white bread, what looked like peanut butter, visible at the edges. Her stomach cramped with hunger, but she couldn't bring herself to touch it.

As if sensing her thoughts, Monica spoke up from the other side of the wall. "You should eat," she advised, her raspy voice even weaker than before. "We never know when the next meal will come. He doesn’t exactly have a set schedule. And you'll need your strength."

"For what?" Andrea whispered.

Sarah's voice came back small and frightened: "For surviving long enough to be rescued. Or for facing whatever comes next."

The basement fell silent after that, broken only by the occasional drip of water from somewhere within the house, and the sound of their breathing. Andrea huddled in her corner, staring at the peanut butter sandwich and wondering if it was poisoned. She was so hungry…but accepting this man's food felt almost like defeat. Like she was giving up hope and relying on him.

She thought of Keith, wondering if he'd realized yet that she was missing. Wondering if anyone would think to look for a woman who'd left her house intending to die.

The irony wasn't lost on her – she'd gone to that bridge wanting her life to end, and now she was trapped in this cage, desperately wanting to live.

CHAPTER TEN

Rachel pushed the sedan to fifteen miles over the speed limit as she and Novak made their way toward Dr. Tharpe's office. The late morning sun cast long shadows across the road, the shadows of trees stripped from the cold weather. Her mind kept returning to Keith Grimm's desperate plea for help at the precinct. The local police's dismissal of his concerns about Andrea not only worried her; it also pissed her off.

"I can't believe they just brushed Grimm off like that," she said, shaking her head. "Missing person cases are time-sensitive. Every hour counts."

Novak shifted in the passenger seat as she looked up from the notes he’d taken on his phone. "Small-town politics," he said. "Once you get labeled as trouble in a place like this, that's it. You're permanently filed away in their minds as someone not worth taking seriously."

"Still," Rachel insisted, "they're supposed to serve and protect everyone, not just the people they deem worthy of their time." She knew the drill, though. She knew Novak was right. It was a sad fact of a good number of small-town police forces. She'd seen it far too often.

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