Don't Tell Ellie

No. Absolutely not. Impossible. There are only so many different ways you can try to tell yourself that what you are hearing is untrue, but the problem with what Benjamin has just said is that I’m not all that certain it’s a lie.

I tell myself that I would have remembered his face, his voice, definitely the way he smells— like fresh laundry and firewood. Instead, there’s a memory tugging at the back of my mind, a feeling of safety, maybe even peace.

I think about the night I was taken, a moment I’ve suffocated with drugs and alcohol for as long as I can remember.

I was sleeping. Bluto woke me up, he was barking downstairs at some nocturnal animal scurrying across the yard--that was what I’d thought at the time, anyway.

I crawled out of bed half asleep and ambled down the stairs, “Shush, Bluto,” I’d whispered as I entered the dim living room, but he wouldn’t stop making noise—barking, whimpering, swiping at the door. I looked out of the small circular window on the front door to see that it was pouring.

The rain was sweeping the ground in curtains and falling onto our porch in heavy torrents. I couldn’t find what he was barking at though, “Come on,” I grabbed his red collar and tugged but he wouldn’t budge.

I was about to give up, and I probably should have, but then I saw the light. The attic window of the Victorian house was illuminated, a shadow flickered behind a drawn curtain as if the light source were a candle and in my little mind I was certain it was a ghost.

Excited, I pulled open the front door and Bluto pushed passed my legs and rushed out onto the front porch, I followed him. I remember it was colder than usual, but I only had on my white nightgown on and the rain didn’t help, I stood there anyway, staring at that attic window as if sooner or later the walls would melt and I’d be able to see what was going on inside.

I stared up at the window as the rain whipped against my face, suddenly the curtain moved, someone had pulled it aside and a face peered out. It was a woman, I could tell by the delicate lines of her face, she moved closer to the glass and her mouth spread into a smile and then she waved as if she knew me, a simple quick movement of her hand, and I realized she did know me—it was my mother.

I wondered what she was doing in the house, why would she be across the street so late in a place that was the center of ghost stories and for all intents and purposes abandoned? I had to find out and I couldn’t wait. My feet splash across my muddy front yard and into the street, I didn’t even look both ways as I darted through the onslaught of rain aiming for the front door.

“Mom?” I called for her as I pushed open the unlocked door. The Inside was dark, darker than it had been outside, my eyes squinted through the darkness, but I couldn’t see a thing, I stretched my arms out in front of me and called again, “Mom! Why are you in here?”

There were footsteps to my left and then suddenly on my right, I jumped. “Hello?” Who else was in the house with her?

A cold hand brushed my cheek and then cupped my chin, pulling my head up as if examining my skin, but I still couldn’t see anything. The excitement I’d felt only moments ago had vanished, I was scared, where was my mother. Bluto let out a howl from the porch of my house, and then I felt as if I were falling as if my subconscious were trying to wake me from a nightmare. The last thing I remember before I lost consciousness was the smell— the smell of the rain on concrete, the smell my father told me was called petrichor.

Benjamin is pacing in front of me. For the first time since I’ve met him, he seems uneasy. His hands are moving in erratic patterns—to his hair, then his chest, then to his pockets.

“Benjamin,” I say, standing. His head jerks in my direction but he doesn’t reply, “What did you save me from?”

“I had no choice,” he murmurs. “He took everything.”

“Who took everything?” I move toward him and touch his shoulder. “Hey.”

“We have to go back.” His voice is strong again, “We have to fix what happened.” He grabs my hand abruptly and drags me behind him. Down the stairs to the tiled hall lined with wooden double doors. He passes the doors that lead to his study and stops in front of another.

He drops my hand, but I don’t move. He places a key in the lock and swings the doors inward.

The room is bright as if the sun has been stolen and locked in this room. I enter behind him and look around. It’s some sort of nursery or child’s playroom, there are toys everywhere, colorful wallpaper decorated with clouds and teddy bears, haven’t I seen this wallpaper somewhere before? He walks toward a wall and pulls aside a baby blue curtain, behind is a smaller door than the one in his study, we’d have to crouch under to make it through. He places his hand on it and says something under his breath until there’s a loud clicking sound and the door pops open.

He turns and reaches toward me, “Come here,” he says softly, “I’m going to show you the reason you were taken.”