Still Missing

scared.'

One minute he was staring at me, his face burgundy with rage, and the next his hands were up and she was dropping. I managed to catch her, losing my balance and falling hard on my knees at the same time. Whether from surprise or finally fatigue, the baby gave an exhausted hiccup and was quiet in my arms. He knelt down, putting his face close to mine, so close I felt his breath against my face.

'You've turned my daughter against me. Not good, Annie. Not good at all.'

My voice a shaky whisper, I said, 'I would never do anything like that--she's just confused, because she's not well. She loves you. I know she loves you, I can tell.' His head was cocked to the side. 'When she hears your voice her eyes move in that direction. She doesn't do that for me when you're holding her.' Total bullshit, but he had to buy it.

His eyes drilled into mine for an excruciating minute, then he clapped his hands and said, 'Come on, our breakfast is getting cold.' I placed her in her basket and followed him, my body tensed for her screams. Thankfully, she'd fallen asleep.

After breakfast he stretched his hands over his head and patted his stomach. I had to try again.

'Maybe if you let me look through the books I could find some herbs or plants that grow up here for medicine. That's natural, and you could look at the books too and check what's okay to give her.'

He glanced at her bed and said, 'She'll be fine.'

But she wasn't. Over the next couple of days a fever raged through her. Her silky skin burned against my hands and I didn't have a clue what to do for her. Coughs left her gasping, and I put hot cloths on her chest in an attempt to loosen her congestion, but that just made her cry more, and cold cloths made her scream even louder. Nothing worked. She started waking up every hour at night, and I never went all the way to sleep--I lay half awake in a constant state of fear. Sometimes I heard her breath hiccup in her throat, and my heart froze until I heard her take another.

The Freak decided that if she cried during the day we had to ignore her so she would learn self-control, but he usually only lasted maybe ten minutes before he stormed outside while screaming, 'Deal with her!' I was quick to get her when she cried at night, but if he did wake up, he'd throw the pillow--at her, at me, or put it over his head. Sometimes he punched the bed.

So he could go back to sleep, I'd hide in the bathroom with her until she calmed down. One night, hoping the steam would help her breathing, I ran the shower, but I never found out whether it would have worked--he came tearing in, yelling at me to shut it off.

After a few of these nights, I was a zombie. On the fifth night she was sick, it felt like she was waking up every half hour and it was getting harder for me to stay awake in anticipation. I remember my eyelids feeling so heavy I just wanted to rest them for a second, but then I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up with a start. My first thought was how quiet the cabin was, and, glad she was finally resting, I let my eyelids drift closed. Then I realized I didn't feel The Freak next to me and I bolted up.

The cabin was dark. Even though it was summer, it had been cool the night before, so he'd had a small fire going, and from the glow of the embers I made out his shape at the foot of the bed. He was hunched over slightly, so I thought he was picking her up, but when he turned around, I realized he was holding her. Groggy, I reached out.

'I'm sorry, I didn't hear her cry.'

He handed her to me, turned on the lamp, and started getting dressed. I didn't understand why. Was it already time to get up? Why hadn't he said anything? The baby lay quiet in my arms, and I pulled the blanket away from her face.

For the first time in days it wasn't twisted in discomfort and her cheeks weren't red or sweaty. But their paleness didn't seem right either, and her rosebud mouth was tinged blue. Even her eyelids were blue. The sounds of his dressing were muffled by my heart whooshing in my ears, and then everything grew quiet in my head.

When I laid my cool hand against her cheek, her cheek was colder. She didn't move. I brought my ear to her mouth, and my chest tightened as my own lungs fought for breath. I heard nothing. Felt nothing. Then I put my ear to her small chest, but the only sound was my own racing heart.

I pinched her tiny nose, blew into her little mouth, pushed on her chest. I was aware of mewling sounds in the room. My heart surged with joy--until I realized they were coming from me. In between CPR attempts, I pressed my ear to her mouth.

'Please, oh, please, just breathe. God help me, please.'

It was too late. She was too cold.

I sat frozen at the foot of the bed and frantically tried to deny the fact that I was holding my dead daughter in my arms. The Freak stared down at us with an impassive face.

'I told you she needed a doctor. I TOLD YOU!' I screamed at him while pounding on his legs with one hand and clutching her to me with the other.

He slapped me across the face, then in a flat voice said, 'Give me the baby, Annie.'

I shook my head.

He gripped my throat with one hand and curled the other under her body. We stared at each other. The hand around my throat began to squeeze.

I let go.

He lifted her out of my arms and brought her to his chest, then stood up and walked toward the door.

I wanted to say something, anything, to make him stop, but I couldn't make my mouth form words. Finally I held her blanket up in the air, thrust it toward his retreating back, and choked out, 'Cold--she's cold.'

He stopped, then came back and stood in front of me. He took the blanket but just stared at it in his hand, his expression unreadable. I reached for my baby, eyes pleading. His gaze met mine and for a moment I thought I saw something cross his face, a slight hesitation, but in the next second his eyes darkened and his face grew hard. He brought the blanket up to cover her head.

I began to scream.

He was headed out the door. I leapt off the bed, but it was too late.

My fingernails clawed, desperately, uselessly, at the door. I kicked it and threw myself at it until I couldn't lift my bruised body off the floor. Finally, I lay with my cheek against the door and screamed her secret name until my throat was raw.

He was gone for about two days. I don't know how long I spent pressed against the door, screaming and begging for him to bring her back. I bloodied my fingers, destroyed every one of my nails scrabbling at the door without managing to make even a mark on it. Eventually I made my way back to the bed and cried until there were no tears left inside me.

In a pathetic bid to buy time against the pain, my mind tried to reason out what had happened and make sense of it, but all I could think was that it was my fault she died--I'd fallen asleep. Had she cried? I was so in tune with her every sound, surely I'd have heard her. Or was I just so exhausted I slept right through? It was my fault, all my fault, I should have woken up and checked on her during the night.

When he opened the door, I was sitting up in the bed with my back against the wall. I wouldn't have cared if he'd killed me right then. But when he strolled toward me I realized he was holding something in his arms and my heart lifted. She was still alive! He handed the bundle to me. It was her blanket, only her blanket.

I hurled myself at The Freak's chest and hammered on it. With every blow, I repeated, 'You sick fuck, you sick fuck, you sick fuck!' He gripped the upper part of my arms, lifted me up, and held me away from him. Like a demented alley cat I clawed at the air.

'Where is she?' Spit flew from my mouth. 'Tell me right now, you bastard. What did you do with her?'

He actually looked confused as he said, 'But I brought you her--'

'You brought me a blanket. A blanket? You think that's going to replace my daughter? You idiot!' Hysterical giggles bubbled through my lips and turned to laughter.

He let go of my arms, my feet hit the floor with a thud, and I staggered forward. Before I was able to regain my balance, his arm cocked back and his fist slammed into my jaw. As the floor rushed toward me, the room turned