Never Knowing

“She doesn’t believe I’m her grandfather — you have to tell her. She won’t stop screaming.” He sounded frustrated. My heart broke, thinking how scared she must be.

“She’ll be okay once she sees me.” I prayed it was true.

He led me a couple more paces, then a door opened.

“Watch your step,” he said as he lifted one of my legs and placed it inside a vehicle. I flinched at the sensation of warm rough hands on my calf, but he didn’t linger. The door slammed beside me. My throat tightened in panic. What if this was just a ruse to get me alone? What if Ally was really still back in the house, maybe tied up in the garage with Moose? My mind couldn’t go to the other, far worse possibility. Instead I focused on what the books said about dealing with a serial killer — there’s no dealing with them. Negotiation, pleading, or resisting generally doesn’t end well. Escape is your best option. I had to keep him calm until I found Ally, then look for a chance to escape.

He started the truck and it clunked as he shifted into gear. A standard. I had no idea if the information was useful, but it made me feel better to know something.

“So here we are, finally together.”

“I don’t understand why you came to the house early. I thought we were going to meet later at the park and—”

“You weren’t going to meet me, Sara.”

I was silent, trying to think of a response that wouldn’t sound like a lie.

Finally I said, “You didn’t give me a chance to think—”

“I told you, there wasn’t any time. I’m not crazy — I know what I’m doing.” He sighed. “I’ll explain later.” Then he said, “I brought some of my guns to show you — my Browning.338 and my Ruger 10/22. I really wanted to show you my Remington.223—that’s a great gun, but the firing pin broke on me last week and it’s still at the shop.” He paused. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I sensed he was waiting for a response.

“Sounds great.” But it would be better if I could convince him to let me hold one. My mind filled with images of shooting him and fleeing with Ally. He changed subjects, explaining how different the lush coastal forest is on the island compared to the drier scrubby terrain of the Interior. I wasn’t sure if he was just excited to have an audience or nervous, but he barely stopped for breath.

When it felt like we’d been bouncing over potholes for a while, I said, “Sorry to interrupt, but is Ally okay where you left her? It’s hot, does she have water and—”

“I know how to take care of a child.” He was annoyed again. “She’s just scared because she doesn’t know me. But when she sees you she’ll be fine.” I was glad that he seemed to want to keep us happy. But what was going to happen if I couldn’t calm Ally down? She had to be terrified.

“John, there was a female police officer at the house. Did Ally see you hurt her?”

“No.” Thank God for small mercies. “I didn’t want to hit that woman so many times, but she wouldn’t go down.”

My body started to shake.

The truck slowed for a few curves, then bumped and swayed over rough ground like we were on an old logging road. After another few minutes it came to a stop. John got out and slammed his door.

A moment later my door opened. “You can get out now.”

As soon as I stepped out of the truck, he lifted my blindfold off and I was standing in front of my father. In my nightmares his face was always angry and twisted, so I was shocked to see that he was handsome in a rugged kind of way. I couldn’t stop staring. It was all there — my green eyes, my bone structure, even my left eyebrow that arches higher than the right. His hair was cut short, but it was pretty much my shade of auburn. He was a lot taller and broader than me, but we both had long limbs. Dressed in a workman’s jean jacket, plaid shirt, baggy faded jeans, and hiking boots, he looked like a lumberjack. Or a hunter.

When he hitched up his pants, his eyes slid away from mine and he smiled awkwardly.

“So … here I am.”

I said, “You look like me.”

“No, you look like me.” He laughed and I forced myself to laugh back, but my eyes were searching the camp. Where is Ally? We were in a small clearing surrounded by fir trees. On my right a camper trailer was parked a few feet from his truck — a red Tacoma. A plastic fold-out table was set up near a fire pit, which was surrounded by a couple of canvas chairs and a smaller pink plastic chair with a Barbie head stenciled on the back. John turned in the direction of my gaze.

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

I glanced back at him. His eyes were anxious.

“She’ll love it.”

He looked relieved.

“Where is she?”

He smacked his head, like he couldn’t believe he forgot, then motioned me to follow him to the camper. He took his key and opened up the back.

As soon as the door swung out I said, “Mommy’s here, Ally.” I peered around his broad back but couldn’t see anything in the dim camper. I heard a small noise.

“Sweetie, you can come out now.”

A scrambling sound, then movement under the table. I could just glimpse the top of Ally’s head as she crawled out, but when she saw John she scooted back under the table.

He looked wounded. “Tell her not to be scared — I’m not going to hurt her.” If only I could believe it.

I stepped into the camper. “Ally?”

When I peered under the table her big green eyes gazed up at me. Her mouth had a bandanna tied over it and so did her wrists. She threw herself into my arms with muffled whimpers.

“Oh, my God! You gagged her.” My fingers fought with the knot at the back of her head.

“I made sure she could breathe — I told you, she wouldn’t stop screaming.”

I had the bandanna off, but Ally was almost hyperventilating. I forced myself to keep my voice calm.

“Ally, take deep breaths. It’s okay, I’m going to undo your hands, everything’s fine. Just do what Mommy says, okay?”

She was still gasping while I wrestled with the knot on her wrists. I had to calm her down. Then I remembered a game I used to play with her when she was younger and her attention span was even worse.

“Remember wiz-a-boo, sweetie?” Ally’s body stilled.

John said, “What’s that? What are you telling her?”

“It’s just a word that means we can trust someone because they’re a friend.” It actually meant to pay very careful attention to Mommy because the fairies were listening. If she was a good girl, they left little presents for her around the house — glass flowers, tiny bells, little crystal shoes. She soon caught on that it was me leaving the trinkets, but I hoped she understood what I was trying to tell her now — she had to listen to me.

She lifted her head and looked into my face with tear-filled eyes.

“The man cut my hair and he tied my hands and put me in here and—”

John said, “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.” I glanced out. He was pacing at the back of the camper. “Tell her! Tell her who I am.”

I took a deep breath. “Remember when Mommy told you she was adopted? Well, this is your grandfather.”

She stared at me and her voice quivered as she said, “He is not!”

“Yes, he is, Ally, he’s my real father. Mommy has two dads, like you. But I didn’t know about him until recently. He wants to get to know you, but he just did it the wrong way and he’s sorry he scared you.”

John said, “It’s true, Ally. I’m sorry.”

Ally was sobbing. “He hurt my hands.” She buried her face in the crook of my neck. Her body shook against mine. I wanted to kill John.

“He didn’t mean to, honey. Did you, John?”