Page 2 of Little Child Gone

“I went to a concert in Rochester,” Rebecca snapped back. “No one there knew me, I promise.” She yanked her arm out of her mother’s grasp and headed back into the kitchen. The counter split the room, the refrigerator and stove across from each other in the narrow galley. She grabbed a bowl and spoon and then poured Cheerios into the bowl.

“You don’t know that,” Bianca hissed. She blocked Rebecca’s path. “This isn’t just about you, Rebecca. Other people could get hurt.”

“You should have thought of that before.” Rebecca stood toe-to-toe with her mother wondering why she’d once worshiped the ground she’d walked on. “All of this is your fault.”

Her mother smacked her, her rough hands stinging Rebecca’s cheek. Her fist clenched; she’d never hit her mother. She might not be able to stop if she did. Still, Rebecca couldn’t help but get one last insult in. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be sober enough to notice I was missing.”

She waited for the battle, but her mother’s face had turned white. Her shaking hand pointed past Rebecca. “Look.”

At first, Rebecca saw only the storm outside the big kitchen window. It looked like nighttime, with rain hitting the window. Then the lightning flashed.

A piece of white material looked like it had been stuck into the tree with something. Bianca grabbed Rebecca’s hand, and they crept toward the window.

Eternity passed as they waited for the next flash to light up the sky. It struck close, the thunder following quickly.

“It’s my veil,” Bianca whispered. “He’s here.”

Panic built in her chest until it reached Rebecca’s throat. “Call the police.”

Bianca picked up the phone and then set it back down on the receiver. “The landline isn’t working.”

Rebecca’s knees weakened. She helped her mother pay the bills. The phone hadn’t been shut off. “It could be the storm,” she tried.

“It’s not the storm.” Her mother’s brown eyes searched Rebecca’s before pulling her daughter close. “It’s going to be okay. We practiced this.” She smoothed Rebecca’s dark hair. “I need you to be strong, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you.” Rebecca spoke into her mother’s neck.

Her mother’s nails dug into Rebecca’s arms as she pushed her away. “Yes, you will. It’s our only chance.” She quickly took something from her pocket and pressed it into Rebecca’s hands. “You remember where the gas station is?”

Lightning flashed again, and Rebecca thought she saw a shadow running across the yard. “Mom?—”

“Go now! Get Bailey.”

Rebecca raced into the guest room, where the three-year-old slept. She gathered Bailey in her arms, ignoring the sleepy complaints. She raced across the house and breezeway, refusing to look outside. Once she’d reached the apartment, she locked the door and then set Bailey on the floor. Rebecca grabbed the bungee cords they’d kept near the door. She wrapped one end tightly around the doorknob and anchored the other to the cellar stairs.

Bailey seemed to understand something wasn’t right and stayed quiet as Rebecca hurried them down the hall to the bathroom. She banged on the door. “Jason, get dressed. He’s here.”

Her brother opened the door, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, a towel around his waist. “What?” He looked terrified.

“Yes.” She thrust Bailey into Jason’s arms, smoothing the baby’s soft hair. “I’ll see you guys soon. You know what to do.”

She hurried into the little kitchen while Jason and Bailey took refuge in the bedroom. Jason would secure the door the same way she’d secured the other one. Rebecca yanked open the drawer where they kept the burner phones. Both were gone.

She didn’t have time to worry. Her running shoes were by the side door. She shoved her feet into them and reached for her sweatshirt. Her stomach bottomed out. The sweatshirt was in the bedroom, along with her wallet, just in case. She had no time.

Rebecca locked the porch door behind her, wishing she could do more to secure it. Cold rain lashed at her skin, and the sky seemed darker than ever. She reached for the cement block that hid the handgun her mother had purchased not long after they’d arrived.

But it wasn’t there.

Instead of taking the stairs leading toward the main house, Rebecca slipped under the porch rail and shimmied down the wood, splinters embedding in her hands. Without looking back, she ran past the old machine shop, darting into the dead cornfield.

Heavy spring rains had turned the ground into mud, slowing Rebecca down. She kept running, knowing she would come out near the road, not far from the gas station.

Adrenaline carried her through the field, and she burst out of the stalks blinded by cold rain. She started for the road and slipped down the ditch.

She wasn’t going to fail.

Rebecca crawled up the embankment, finally reaching the roadside. She didn’t see a car in sight, so she started running toward the gas station, her lungs begging for air. Headlights emerged over the hill, and Rebecca ran into the other lane, waving her arms and jumping up and down.

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