Gone (Gone #1) (14 page)

"It's so good to see you, Heather." The woman stepped back, looking Macy over. "You're so beautiful—and you haven't changed a bit. Except that you're taller. My, how you've grown. Look at her, George."

The elderly man turned to her and smiled. "She looks exactly like you when we met, Ingrid."

Ingrid looked back at Macy. "You know, you're right. We could have been twins had we been the same age. There's no doubt we're related, is there?" She gave Macy a warm smile.

Macy nodded, not sure how to respond to that.

George looked at her. "Where's your mom, Heather?"

"I…." Macy's eyes widened. What was the story? Had she been told what she was supposed to say about her fake mom? If she had been, she couldn't remember. Everything was a blur, and really, she didn't care about some fake story.

Her captor glared at her again. He then turned to his parents, giving them a fake-genuine look of sadness. Macy knew better. "I didn't want to tell you over the phone, but she decided to stay in Paris."

"What? Why?" Concern washed over Ingrid's face.

"Let's sit down and talk about this over lunch," said George.

Ingrid shook her head. "I need to hear this first."

"We can hear it while we get lunch ready." He shook his head, and then walked around them to the kitchen.

Everyone followed him into the kitchen, where he was already pulling everything out of the fridge. Ingrid joined him, throwing things into a large pot. Was she going to make soup from scratch? Macy watched her in awe, forgetting that she was being held against her will. She had always wanted to learn to cook, to really cook—from scratch, but her mom never wanted to make anything. Why make it when you could buy it?

Ingrid looked at Macy. "Come help me, Heather."

"Okay." Despite everything, Macy actually smiled. At least she was going to get
something
out of this nightmare. Maybe she could cook her family some real food from scratch when she got back. Ingrid handed her an apron, and then pointed to some potatoes.

"Peel those."

Macy nodded, slipping the apron over her head. She wanted to kick herself for feeling excitement, but it wasn't as though the sweet, old lady had anything to do with her kidnapping. Macy grabbed the peeler and rubbed it against the potato. Not even a thin slice of skin came off.

"Oh! Has it been that long?" Ingrid exclaimed. She grabbed the potato from Macy, glaring back at her captor. "Haven't you had her make any food all this time? Don't tell me you've been buying her packaged food, Chester."

He glared at his mom. "You know I go by Chet."

She shook her head. "Not around here, you don't, Chester."

A smile spread across Macy's face. Chester shot her a menacing look, but it didn't have the same effect with his parents between them.

Ingrid brought the potato out from the sink. "First things first, Heather. Now that it's washed, you hold it at an angle like this. Watch." She slid the peeler down, and as she did, a perfect slice of potato skin fell onto the cutting board. "Now you do it."

Macy gave it a try, and before long, she had a perfectly peeled potato. She was actually proud of herself. She managed to chop it into small pieces without cutting herself in the process, though there were a few close calls.

Soon, she and Ingrid had put together a full pot of soup. Ingrid winked at her. "That will be ready in time for dinner. Shall we eat the sandwiches your grandpa made?"

Macy was disappointed she would have to wait so long for the soup, but at the same time, she wasn't really all that hungry. Sandwiches would be perfect. They all sat at the table. As Macy stared at the couldn't-be-less-vegan sandwich, she decided that given everything she had been through, she was going to stop thinking about her veganism. She needed strength, and that could only come from eating. She could go back to being a vegan once she was back home.

Maybe after this whole ordeal, her parents would even support her food lifestyle. That was another benefit to the nightmare. She bit into the roast beef sandwich with five layers of cheese, unsuccessfully pretending it was avocados and cucumbers with sesame seeds. It definitely wasn't that.

Ingrid finished hers before Macy got through her first half. She looked at her son. "All right, Chester. What happened with Karla? Why is she still in France?"

He glared at his mom. "Chet, Mom. Call me, Chet."

"Where's Karla?"

"In France, Mother." He slammed down his sandwich.

George glared at him. "Don't treat our table that way, son. What's going on with your wife?"

Chester made a face. "She doesn't want to be part of our family anymore. I didn't want to talk about it in front of Heather. You know how close they were."

Ingrid dropped her fork. "She doesn't want…? I don't understand. You and Heather are her life. I've never seen a more doting mother."

"Until she met Jacques, Mom."

Ingrid's mouth dropped open. "Chester, you don't mean to tell me she met someone else?"

"Chet! My name is Chet." He glared at Macy, who was again, trying not to smile.

"Fine." Ingrid stared at him. "What did Jacques have that you don't?"

"Do we need to talk about this? Heather doesn't need to hear about it."

George looked at him. "It does no good to hide the truth from anyone, son. Tell us what happened."

He sighed. "Karla fell in love with the city. She wanted to move there, but I didn't. We fought a lot, and she started going out for day trips on her own. That's when she met him. He promised her the world. She came back one day, demanding that we move there or she would leave us for him. I told her no, it was time to come home. But she said she was staying there. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't listen. You can't use logic with crazy. So she gave up her family for the lights of the city. Are you happy now? She ruined our lives, and now you know everything."

"That's awful. My poor baby." Ingrid got up, walked around the table, and wrapped her son in a hug.

Macy watched his face. He looked as though he really, truly believed his lies. She was almost convinced herself.

Room

As much as Macy hated her new bedroom, it was better than spending any time with Chester.

Never before had she hated someone so much. He was such a horrible person. Even his own parents got irritated with him. He argued with them, often even ordering them around. They weren't rude to him, but she wouldn't have blamed them if they had been. If she ever had a kid who talked to her like that, she wouldn't take it.

Their early morning conversation drifted into the bedroom, and she could smell coffee brewing. They were probably getting breakfast ready. At least they didn't appear to expect her. She went to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible.

When she finished she almost flushed out of habit, but then decided against it. If she did that, she may as well have rang a bell and shouted that she was awake.

Not wanting to wash her hands for the same reasons, she squirted some sanitizer onto her hands.

Macy tip-toed back to the room, praying she wouldn't be caught. Even just a few more minutes of solitude would be appreciated. She made it back to the bedroom and closed the door. What a relief.

Before she could even crawl back into bed, she heard the doorknob turn behind her. She jumped up and ran to the dresser.

The door opened. "So you're up." Was his tone harsh, or was it her imagination?

She nodded, flipping through clothes.

"Look at me."

Her blood ran cold. She hadn't imagined the tone. What had she done to upset him this time? She swallowed and turned to face him.

"Were you up already?"

She stared at him. No matter what she said, it would probably be the wrong answer. What did he want to hear?

"I asked you a question." He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer.

Macy dropped the pants back into the drawer. It was probably better to tell him the truth. For whatever reason, he probably knew. She nodded.

He moved closer, looking angrier with each step.

Macy swallowed, looking around. Even if there was an exit, she would be stupid to try and avoid him. She would upset him further, and then probably end up in the barn again. Was he mad that she had gone back to the bedroom?

Chester stopped. He was only about an inch from her face. She could smell coffee and eggs. He grabbed her arms. "Don't ever walk away from the bathroom without flushing. Do you understand? That's gross. Gross! Do you know what kind of germs live in there?"

"I—I didn't know. At home, we don't flush if someone is sleeping. If it—"

He stepped even closer, bumping into her forehead with his. "
This
is your home. I don't care what happens in other houses, but here, we flush. Every time. I don't care if you're sick and barely conscious. You flush. Do you understand me?"

She nodded. "I didn't want to disturb any—"

"No excuses. Don't do it again. You've been warned." He narrowed his eyes further, deep creases around his eyes showed.

Macy's eyes widened. "Okay."

He continued to stare, still touching her face. How long was he going to stand there?

"I won't forget."

Mistake

Macy sighed as the third rerun of
Night Court
began. It was actually a funny show, but she really wanted to get out of the living room. She needed to find a way to get out of the house.

Weren't old people supposed to go to bed early? She looked at the clock for the five-hundredth time. It was nine, and she had been watching reruns with Chester and her fake grandparents for hours. Their only break had been for dinner. The soup had been delicious, and Ingrid promised to teach her to make other kinds.

She looked around the room as canned laughter roared in the background. Chester was fidgeting. Obviously, he wasn't all that excited about the show either. Ingrid and George appeared to be having the time of their lives, laughing along with the TV every time someone said something funny.

Usually when Macy watched TV, she was busy texting or playing a game. Her family never just sat in front of the TV. Her dad usually had his laptop. He didn't want to take too long to respond to a comment on his blog. Her mom and brother texted as much as she did.

Her legs ached from sitting so long. She stood up.

Chester looked at her. "What are you doing?"

"Stretching my legs. I have to go to the bathroom."

He glared at her. "We're spending time with your grandparents."

"Let the girl use the bathroom," George said, without taking his attention off the show.

Macy went to the bathroom, finding it hard to believe that she was going into a bathroom because it was more exciting than the alternative. She needed a change of scenery and couldn't take anymore 80s fashion or hairstyles, much less the corny jokes.

She went to the bathroom and washed her hands three times. The last thing she wanted to do was to go out there and watch more TV. What she wouldn't give to be able to text. She stopped. Her phone couldn't be far. In fact, it was probably in Chester's room. He had said he used it to post on her profile, right?

Again, everything was a blur. It was hard to keep anything straight, but at any rate he had to have it. She opened the door as slow as possible and looked up and down the hall. No one was in there. She could hear a beer commercial coming from the living room.

Her heart pounded so loud she was sure the others could hear it. She knew they couldn't, so she did her best to ignore it. She went across the hall, holding her breath. She was listening for anyone coming, but couldn't hear much over her heart and the TV blaring. George spoke pretty loud; Macy thought he might be hard of hearing. Maybe that would be to her advantage, since no one would be able to hear her sneaking into Chester's room.

Even so, she would need to hurry. He would probably check on her if she took too long. Macy opened his door. It squeaked a little, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

The room was dark and chilly. He had to have kept the heat off completely to get it that cold. She got the chills as she stood, looking for where her phone might be. She scanned the room, letting her eyes adjust.

Macy was about to give up when she spotted her clothes in a corner, near a dresser and a chair. Hadn't she thrown them away? Why was he keeping them? They were disgusting. She looked back down the hall. Seeing no one, she walked toward the clothes she would never wear again. She rifled through them, not finding her phone.

There was a stack of papers on the dresser next to her clothes. She picked up the papers and saw her phone behind them. She picked it up, knowing it was too easy. The power button did nothing, which meant the battery was either dead or had been removed. She tried turning it on again, but of course it didn't work. It felt lighter than usual, so she was sure the battery had been taken out.

She opened a drawer full of socks and searched it, hoping to find her battery. It wasn't there. She closed the drawer, and then heard something. She froze. It was footsteps.