Читать книгу The Price Of Silence - Kate Wilhelm - Страница 12

Mornings in the Schuster house were always hectic after Mame Schuster left for work. Jodie scurried around making sure the boys were up and getting dressed, making sure they didn’t settle in front of the television, that they ate breakfast. She tried on one shirt after another, not satisfied with the results, and finally pulled on a sweatshirt that she would wear all day no matter how hot it became. She had never worried about her body until this semester, her first in high school, when all her friends were getting real figures. She was saving money to buy a padded bra, but she had decided not to tell her mother. Saturday she would go to the mall with her best friend Kelly and buy it.

She yelled at her little brothers to get moving or they would be late, and for Bobby for heaven’s sake to tie his shoes. His socks were not matched, but he liked it that way. Half the kids in his second-grade class would have mismatched socks. They thought it was cool.

“And put your dishes in the dishwasher!” she called on her way to the bathroom to give her hair a final brushing. She was putting her algebra book and spiral binder in her backpack when the boys left. They would ride their bikes down to the field across Brindle Creek where the school bus would come. They liked to get there early to fool around with the other kids. She checked the table, wiped up a little milk. Bobby always managed to spill a little.

She was worried about one of the algebra problems, certain her answer was wrong, but it was the best she could do. Algebra was hard for her. She closed her backpack, grateful that this year she had one with wheels. It was time for her to leave.

They always used the back door, as she did that morning. She stepped out, maneuvered her backpack over the sill, reached past it to shut the door, and someone grabbed her from behind, an arm hard around her chest, something cold pressed on her face. She tried to kick, but she was being held too tight, and she couldn’t breathe. Her struggles weakened, then stopped.

She moaned and twisted her head, trying to escape a bright light that hurt her eyes. Her head ached and her tongue was thick and dry. After a moment she opened her eyes and, shielding them with her arm, she sat up. She was on a bed. A wave of nausea rose. She thought she would vomit and closed her eyes again, but it passed. After a moment she cautiously opened her eyes just a little, squinting in the bright light.

It wasn’t a real bed. Just a mattress on the floor. And her clothes were gone. She was wearing a dress of some sort, pink and soft, and nothing else. No underwear, no shoes or socks.

Memory rushed in and with it a tidal wave of fear.

“Who’s here?” she said faintly. “Where is this place? Where are you?”

She pulled herself to her feet, shaking, holding on to the wall behind her, and looked around. She was in a long narrow room with lights in the ceiling. Everything was pale yellow, the walls, a carpet on the floor, the ceiling.

There were two doors, one partly open. She hurried to it and pushed it open farther. A bathroom. She ran across the long room to the other door. It was locked. Frantic, she looked around the room again.

There was a table with two chairs. A television was high on the wall, out of reach, with a remote control on the table. A bookcase, books, magazines. A small refrigerator. No windows on the smooth walls.

She was breathing in long shuddering gasps, as if she couldn’t draw in enough air. She ran to the table and tried to lift one of the chairs. Break down the door! The chair was bolted to the floor. The table was bolted down, the remote on a chain. Desperately she looked for something to use to break the door. There wasn’t anything. She ran back to the door and tried the doorknob again and again, then pounded on it with her fists, yelling for help. She turned to face the room once more, rising panic making it hard to breathe. Her fear gave way to terror. She began to scream.

Above the door a red video camera light had gone out; Jodie was out of range. On the underside of the table, a tape recorder taped every scream until she collapsed, exhausted, when it turned itself off.