Losing Leah Read online

  Amber’s face closed up. She stalked off toward third period without as much as a backward glance. Her movements had finality to them. A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to call her back, to beg her to not be mad, but I couldn’t do it. I let her walk away. I crumpled up the late pass she had given me and chucked it into the trash can. As I walked down the hallway, I was well aware that the creature was following me. I didn’t pause again at my locker or stop by the office to offer up some lame excuse they would likely buy. After all, I was the good girl, the one who was always on time for class and never missed a day. I got straight As and dated the perfect guy. I managed to do it all in spite of losing my twin sister and living in a house with a family that was a shell of its former self. My life had already been tragic enough. I had no idea what I had done to deserve any more.

  I didn’t head for the side entrance everyone else used when they wanted to ditch. I walked boldly out the front door, giving no thought to the possible consequences. I left my school behind without bothering to look back. I had one thought: Leah. I needed to connect with her the only way I could. I needed the journal tucked away under the mattress in my room.

  10

  LEAH

  I WOKE to a buzzing noise in my ears. I couldn’t see anything, but it gave me comfort to have my eyes open. Judging by the familiar spring poking me in my left hip, I knew I was on my bed. My throat burned like fire had scorched its way down my windpipe. My hands moved to see how tender it felt to the touch, but I was stopped by the rattle of a chain and the cold steel of a handcuff binding my right wrist. I jerked my arm toward me in a panic. The sudden movement made the metal bite painfully into my wrist. I gasped. Not from the pain, but from the surprise of being shackled. I yanked again, harder. The result was the same, only this time I did hurt my wrist. My hand closed around the chain, following it until I reached where it was firmly locked around the metal frame of my bed.

  A slight whimper left my lips before I could stop it. Mother had never chained me up before. I knew she would be angry if she ever found out about my plan, but I only wanted to show her that it was okay if I went out at night. I never planned to hurt her or abandon her. I just wanted a chance to be outside, even if for a moment. If she would only listen, I would explain it to her.

  My reasoning gave me some comfort. Surely Mother would understand. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the burning in my throat. I reached with my free hand, searching the small table beside my bed for a glass of water. Mother would never chain me up without providing provisions. I fumbled around blindly on the table, refusing to give up hope. After a few futile seconds, I realized she had proven me wrong. It wasn’t worth it to panic. Mother had to be planning on returning soon. This was my punishment for stepping so far out-of-bounds. Mother had her reasons and I had to respect them. She would understand when I finally explained everything to her. Maybe I could even try again to convince her to let me go outside under the cloak of darkness where the sun could not hurt me.

  The idea gave me some comfort as I let sleep coax me back into its embrace. Mother would return soon.

  * * *

  Mother did return.

  The basement lights came on, jerking me from an uneasy sleep. I tried to climb out of bed, but forgot about the shackle on my wrist that limited my movements. I sat up so I could take in the rest of the room. My heart sank when I spotted my empty bookshelf. Every single one of my books had been removed. My couch was completely stripped. The cushions that hid Daisy from sight for so many years were gone. My heart pinched painfully in my chest at the loss of my beloved doll and friend. She was my one and only confidant and champion and now she was gone. I had no idea what I would do without her. I wanted to weep at the loss of my belongings, but I knew I needed to stay strong. I would earn them back. I would prove to Mother that I could be good.

  I could hear her heavy footsteps as she descended the stairs. She appeared in the doorway and stopped, staring expressionless at me. I smiled tentatively as an initial apology, searching for any sign that the storm had passed. When she turned her eyes away, I knew all was not forgiven.

  I remained patient as she bustled about my bed, roughly removing the blanket and sheet from around my legs and waist. I opened my mouth to apologize. The words were broken and scratchy, hurting my tender throat. Mother never acknowledged me, even when I begged and pleaded for her forgiveness.

  She was all business as she tugged my pajama bottoms down and held the bedpan under my bare bottom. It was truly embarrassing. I was capable of using the bathroom if she would just let me up. My bladder couldn’t resist the cold plastic and quickly emptied. After I finished, Mother set the pan aside and jerked my pants up without looking at me.

  “Mother, I’m sorry,” I pleaded as she carried the full container to my bathroom.

  She flinched, but didn’t answer, working instead to finish her chores. I could hear her rinse out the bedpan before flushing the toilet. A few minutes later she returned with the small cup I used when I brushed my teeth. I searched her face for any sign of forgiveness, but her expression remained as hard as granite.

  She held out the cup. I croaked out a thank-you, clasping it tightly. I was afraid she might take it away before I could drink. The first few drops teased my dry lips. I parted them desperately, letting the cold water sooth my burning throat. The contents of the cup emptied long before I was ready. I wanted to ask for more, but she had already turned for the stairs before I could get the words out.

  “Mother, I’ll be good,” I promised in a raspy voice.

  It was as if I weren’t there. Her only response to my plea was to switch off the lights, plunging the room into darkness again.

  I tried not to cry, I swear I did, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. Large tears streamed down my face, soaking the pillow on either side of my head. I could have swiped them away but I continued to let them fall. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself the indulgence. Years of repressed moisture escaped my eyes at an alarming rate. I cried for the mistakes I’d made and for the sins I had committed. I cried for my sister who was stronger than I was. I knew if Mia were here she would be the perfect girl. She would never commit the countless infractions that seemed to come so easily for me. Mia was the good girl. She would never disappoint Mother.

  I cried until I dozed off. It was a troubled sleep. The slightest noise would wake me again until eventually I gave up. Lying in the dark, I tried passing the time by counting. That lasted until I grew weary of seeing numbers in my head. I switched to recalling some of my favorite book passages. I would break them down scene by scene to see how much I could remember. My throat dried again to a dull ache with a burning sensation that heightened every time I swallowed.

  I found myself yearning for light, even the smallest of beams. The very darkness which had always held me in its tender embrace was now betraying me as an enemy. Its oppressive torment was almost too much to bear as seconds and then minutes and then hours trickled by.

  At least my other heightened senses picked up the slack. My ears zeroed in on the muted sounds above me—the creaking of the floor, the faint sound of running water. I was tempted to call out to Mother, but I knew better. I just had to wait. Wait for her return. Wait for her forgiveness.

  I was in the process of trying to recite all the US presidents and vice presidents in order when my bladder began to clamor again for relief. I shifted in the bed, ignoring my stomach that cramped from hunger. Crossing my legs, I tried distracting my mind by thinking about anything that didn’t have to do with water.

  Sometime later, it could have been an hour. Or maybe it was only a few minutes, I had no way of knowing, my bladder hit a new level of insistence. My mind played tricks on me, pushing me to stand when I knew I was unable to. The urge to get to the bathroom was so strong nothing else seemed to matter. I jerked on my arm, letting the cold steel dig into it. It was agonizing, but still I tugged. I knew my attempts were futile. There was no way my frail stren
gth was any kind of match for the chain that bound me in place. My wrist was tender and raw with fresh abrasions from the cuff. I felt a thin trickle of liquid run down my arm. Without thinking, I moved my arm to my mouth, tasting the slight hint of iron in my blood. It was a reminder that I was still me.

  Somewhere between trying to recite poetry and the words to my favorite songs, I lost my battle with bladder control. I would like to have said that I was embarrassed, but the truth was I felt nothing but great relief when it emptied. Mother would be upset over the mess, but my aching side practically wept with joy. I scooted myself as close to the edge of my bed as possible so the majority of the urine would flow to the floor rather than soak my mattress. My pajamas were, of course, soaked, but even that was a small price to pay. When Mother finally returned she would help me clean up since soiled clothes were not allowed. She could punish me again if need be. None of that mattered anymore.

  Time continued to drift.

  No Mother.

  I slept.

  No Mother.

  I woke.

  No Mother.

  The same pattern continued over and over again. The second time I emptied my bladder was easier than the first. I gave no conscious thought to it when it happened. Without any food and water, I knew I had likely reached the point where I would have nothing left to give.

  11

  MIA

  MY HAND wouldn’t stop bleeding. Not that it was gushing. I watched with morbid fascination as steady droplets of blood bubbled to the surface of my hand before rolling down my palm, past my wrist and over my forearm. The blood left a crimson trail along the hairs of my arm before dripping off and collecting on the thick cream-colored carpet in my room. It was a brilliant red that would have made for a perfect shade of nail polish. I’d worn my fair share of red polishes, but none had captured the brilliance of blood with the way it glistened.

  I knew I should get a tissue and Band-Aids, but I remained sitting on the floor with my journal propped up on my knees. The journal was complete. Every single line was filled. Blood stained the pages where my hand rested. The broken plastic pieces of my pen littered the floor around me. It had finally buckled under the pressure of my squeezing grip. For a time while I was writing I lost my head, treating the pen like an appendage. I wanted my own blood flowing from the pen to form the words on the pages.

  The emotions I felt upon finishing the journal were as tangible as I expected. There was no relief that my open letter to Leah was finally finished. Even though she had been taken from us so long ago, I couldn’t help feeling like she had only now truly left me. The memory of my sister was slowly slipping away, and yet the ache in my heart made me feel as though there was something more. Maybe I really was losing my mind.

  A quick rap on my door distracted me from my bloodfascination trance. Before I could answer, Jacob pushed my bedroom door open and stepped into the room.

  He took in the blood on my carpet and on my arm and without a word went into my bathroom. I could hear the water running, but didn’t move. A moment later he returned with a wet rag. I watched with indifference as he gently lifted my hand and began to clean the blood away. He carefully washed the cut that was the source of all the blood, but I didn’t even flinch. It was as if the cut belonged to someone else.

  After he finished, Jacob wrapped the rag around my hand to capture any remaining traces of blood. “What’s going on, Mia?” he asked, scooting back against my bed.

  I shrugged. It was such a broad question. Even if I decided to confide in him, I had no idea where to begin. How did I tell my brother I was losing it? That some monster of darkness was dogging my every step, following me everywhere I looked. How did I find the words to tell him that I was still missing the sister we’d both lost so long ago? It felt wrong to pick at that scab, to reopen the wound that he’d worked so hard to heal. It was selfish on so many levels. I could not tell him any of it.

  “Mia?” he probed.

  I fixated on the small pool of blood on the carpet that was already drying in a deep rust color that no longer resembled the beautiful red color that had fascinated me earlier. Now it was an ugly color that no girl would want as a polish. “I’m fine,” I finally answered when Jacob poked me in the side.

  “Liar,” he answered immediately, studying me critically.

  I shifted on the floor so that I faced him. “Seriously. I accidentally cut my hand with my pen while I was writing, that’s all. I was about ready to take care of it when you showed up.”

  He continued to eye me with the same doubtful expression he always wore when he knew I was hiding something.

  I clamped my mouth closed before my tongue could betray my secret. Jacob had a way of getting me to talk. He always had, especially after Leah’s disappearance. He was a natural-born listener. Even when my problems were juvenile and adolescent, he never judged me, and he was never condescending.

  Jacob’s powers of attrition once again overwhelmed my ability to hold firm. I barfed up all the secrets from my vault like an overflowing sewage tank that had to be emptied. I had to hand it to Jacob. He sat patiently listening as I spewed and spewed. He waited to comment until I had finished. I expected to hear him tell me I had lost it, and that I needed to lay off drugs. What else would explain the crazy shit I had admitted other than my brain had to be damaged.

  “And you see this ‘dark monster’ everywhere?” Jacob asked, peering around my room. He would never say it aloud, but I was sure Jacob was skeptical since he couldn’t see what I had described for himself.

  I nodded, picking at the rust-stained carpet. “Crazy, right?” I didn’t need to scan the room with him. I knew where my monster was every second and minute of the day. Without turning my head I knew it was lurking inside my small closet, spilling into my room, but I refused to look at it. “Are you trying to figure out how you can throw me into your car and drive me to some hospital?” I hated the insecurity in my voice, but the thought had to be going through Jacob’s head.

  He squeezed my good hand. “Well, that’s definitely one option. But I was thinking maybe the better option would be to tell Mom and Dad. You could be really sick.”

  I snorted. “Gee, thanks for that one. I already know my head is broken.”

  “Well, duh, we all know that,” he teased. “I’m not talking about that kind of sick, but something has to be wrong with your brain if you’re seeing something no one else can.”

  “I can’t tell Mom and Dad. They’ve already lost one daughter.” I ignored the way he flinched at my words. “They’ve already lost one daughter,” I repeated to make my point. “They don’t need the stress of knowing something is wrong with their other daughter.”

  Jacob shook his head. “You don’t always have to be the perfect daughter. It wasn’t your job to replace Leah.”

  “Yes, it was,” I said sternly. “I had to make up for the wrong daughter being taken.”

  Jacob looked shocked. His eyes darkened by a disturbed sadness. “Why would you say that? If you would have been taken, I would have lost my best friend.”

  I shook my head profusely in disagreement. “That’s not true. You would have had Leah. Don’t you see? Leah would have been the perfect sister, the perfect friend. I’m just the sad replacement.” I felt moisture dripping down my cheeks. I reached up tentatively with my finger to touch the tears. I never cried. Crying was a weakness that I wouldn’t allow myself. Crying would not bring Leah back. All it would do was reopen wounds that had never properly healed. After Leah was taken I wanted to cry so bad I felt like my chest would collapse from repressing my tears. I would lie in bed, biting my hand until the pressure would ease in my chest and I was able to breathe again. The crescent-shaped teeth marks on the backs of my hands held little significance other than as a means to suppress my other pain.

  “Mia, I couldn’t have made it without you. I miss Leah, of course, but you kept me going.”

  There was no mistaking the pain in Jacob’s voice. I was the w
orst kind of selfish. The kind that kept me preoccupied with my own concerns while those I cared about suffered. I wasn’t the only one who had lost Leah or a life that used to be. Jacob was a casualty too.

  I reached over to pat his hand. The rag around my palm unraveled and dropped to the floor. My hand was still seeping blood slightly, but it was less vibrant. I knew the cut should hurt, but I could hardly feel it. I’d been blessed, or cursed, depending on your point of view, with a high tolerance for pain. Even when I used to bite my hand at night, the resulting soreness was slow to come.

  “Jacob, I’m sorry. You’re always so upbeat that I sometimes forget I’m not the only one who lost Leah.”

  He shrugged it off, but I could plainly see what I’d missed so many times before. “It’s not like I was her twin and shared any connection like you two or anything. It just sucks. You know?” he said.

  I nodded, wondering why this was the first time we had ever talked this openly. For the past ten years Leah’s name had been taboo in our house. At times it was as if she never existed. That was why I started my journal in the first place. I needed the constant reminder of the piece of me that had been taken. Looking at Jacob, I realized my family and I had done a huge injustice by not talking about Leah. Not only to ourselves, but more important, to Leah as well. It was up to us to keep her memory alive.

  Jacob and I leaned against each other. Both lost in our own thoughts, the silence swelled between us. “Do you think I’m going crazy?” I finally asked.

  Jacob smiled wryly. “I think we’re all a little bit crazy. Some of us are just better at hiding it. Do I think you’re crazy because you’re seeing dark, oppressive monsters?”

  “One monster. Really, it’s not a monster, I just think of it that way,” I interjected.