Page 4

FOUR

clodagh

I wake to the sound of the door creaking open. My body tenses as I hear his heavy footsteps approaching. God, it wasn’t a dream. My mammy, daddy, and Dylan... he hurt them.

"Rise and shine, pretty girl," he says. His voice is cheerful, which makes me shudder. What’s wrong with him?

I keep my eyes squeezed shut, hoping that if I don't move, he might leave me alone. But I feel his hand on my shoulder, shaking me to wake. It’s rough and painful.

"I said wake up!" he shouts, yanking me into a sitting position.

My eyes fly open, and I see his face inches from mine. His breath reeks of alcohol, and his eyes are red.

"P-please," I whimper. "Let me go home."

His face twists with anger. "This is your home now!" he roars, backhanding me across the face.

The force of the blow knocks me back onto the mattress. Pain explodes across my cheek, and I taste blood in my mouth. Oh my god, what is he going to do to me? Mammy and Daddy never hurt me. They wouldn’t. But him? He’s a monster. I hate him. I want to go home!

"Don't you ever talk about leaving again," he hisses, grabbing my hair and pulling my face close to his. I can’t control the shudders that wrack through my body, nor can I control the way my bladder releases, soaking through my trousers. "Or I'll hurt you worse than you can imagine. Understand?"

I nod frantically, tears streaming down my face. He releases me, and I curl into a ball, sobbing.

"Clean yourself up," he grunts, tossing a ragged towel at me. "You stink."

He stomps out of the room, locking the door behind him. I lie there, shaking, for what feels like hours. My cheek throbs, and I can feel it swelling. I know I should try to clean myself, but I can't find the strength to move.

As I lie there, I think about my family. About Mammy and Daddy and little Dylan. I wonder if they're really gone, or if there's any chance they survived. But deep down, I know the truth. I'm alone now, trapped with this monster, and there's no escape.

I curl tighter into myself, squeezing my eyes shut. "Please," I whisper into the empty room. "Someone help me. Anyone. Please."

But no one answers. No one comes. There is no one to save me.

* * *

Days blur together in this dark, windowless room.

I've lost track of how long I've been here.

The man—I still don't know his name—comes and goes, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just to stare at me or yell.

The bruises from his hits have faded from purple to sickly yellow, but new ones always replace them.

I tried to escape once. When he forgot to lock the door, I made a run for it. I almost made it to the trees before he caught me. The beating that followed was the worst yet. Now, my ankle is swollen and painful. I can barely walk.

Today, he enters the room with a cruel smile. "Got a surprise for you, pretty girl," he says, setting down a small TV on a rickety table. "Thought you might want to see this."

He turns it on, and my heart stops as I see a news report. There's a picture of me on the screen—a school photo from last year. The reporter's voice fills the air:

"It's been two weeks since the brutal murder of the O'Rourke family and the disappearance of their daughter, Clodagh. Police have no leads on the eleven-year-old's whereabouts. If you have any information..."

I can't breathe. It's real. They're really gone. And no one knows where I am.

The man laughs, a horrible sound. "See? No one's coming for you. You're mine now, forever."

As he leaves, locking the door behind him, I curl up on the dirty mattress. I want to cry, to scream, but I have no tears left. Instead, I close my eyes and try to remember Mammy's face, Daddy's laugh, Dylan's smile. The memories are all I have left of my old life.

In the darkness, I whisper a promise to myself: I will survive this. Somehow, someday, I will escape. I have to—there’s no other choice. I’ll die here otherwise.

* * *

I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, my body aching from hunger and the latest beating. The dirty mattress beneath me reeks, but I barely notice anymore. Time has lost all meaning in this dark room.

All he does is disappear for days on end, and when he returns, he beats me until I’m a bloody mess or unconscious. I’m so grateful that he hasn’t done more than beat me. I've heard stories about what can happen to little girls when they’re kidnapped.

The hope I had of getting out of here vanishes as each hour passes. My body is too weak to do anything and I can barely lift my head off the filthy mattress.

Suddenly, I hear heavy footsteps approaching. My body tenses instinctively, preparing for another assault. The door creaks open, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. Maybe if he thinks I'm not awake, he'll leave me alone this time.

But instead of his rough hands grabbing me, I hear a commotion. There's shouting, so much shouting. Am I dreaming?

"Police! Don't move!"

"Get on the ground now!"

"We've found her! We need medical assistance immediately!"

My eyes fly open and I look around, hardly daring to believe what I'm hearing. The room is suddenly filled with light and noise. People in uniforms are swarming around, their voices way too loud in my ears after months of near-silence.

I try to sit up, but my body is too weak. A woman in a police uniform kneels beside me, her face etched with concern.

"Clodagh? Clodagh O'Rourke?" she asks gently.

I nod, unable to speak. Tears begin to stream down my face. I can’t believe it. I've been found. Someone was looking for me. They’ve found me.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe now. We're going to get you out of here," she says, carefully wrapping a blanket around my trembling body.

As she lifts me, I catch a glimpse of the man being wrestled to the ground, handcuffs clicking into place.

Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and I see the rage in his face.

But for the first time in months, I'm not afraid of him. He can’t hurt me now.

I pray that this is the last time I ever see him.

They carry me out of the cabin, and I blink in the bright sunlight. It hurts my eyes after so long in darkness, but it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

As they load me into an ambulance, I hear one of the officers say, "We got him, boys. The O'Rourke family killer is in custody."

A wave of grief washes over me as I remember my family. They're gone, and nothing can bring them back. But I'm alive. I survived.

As the ambulance doors close and we drive away from my prison, I close my eyes. For the first time in months, I allow myself to hope. The nightmare is over. I'm free.

But what happens now?

Where do I go?