No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE
Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall
TWs: blood and bruises mention, effects of starvation, heavy grief
First part of the story here. Part of the Vingette Era and thus set after this (“Cracking A Cold One”)
Ariel couldn’t rip his eyes away from the screen. The video was of poor quality, grainy and similar to old CCTV security camera feeds. But there was no denying it. That was his baby girl. Ariel held on tightly to his wife’s hand, trying desperately not crush her fingers, trying not to show how fear trembled in every inch of his body. Fear and panic feasted on his insides with massive fangs and claws.
His daughter, dressed up in a skimpy maid’s outfit, with her head shaved. She looked so much thinner, limbs narrow. Her gymnast build had given way to starvation. Her shoulders bowed, curled up, tense and trembling with her terror, but still she kept her head high. That was his baby girl through and through, but he prayed to God that keeping her spine straight wouldn’t break her.
“Good God,” Maria gasps. “What did they do to her?”
The video looped for the hundredth time. It was only a few seconds long, but it continued. She looked so scared. So tired.
All he could hear in his head was Summer sobbing on the phone, admitting she was so scared. Begging him to come for her. He’d been too late. He was too late, far far too late. Months ago, he had failed his daughter in the worst possible way.
“Mi sol…”
“Was there anything else in the package?” Ariel demanded. The frantic urge, the need to do, to try to find any clue to save his daughter, launched him out of his seat and had him tearing through the plain box.
But there was nothing. Nothing but a CD and a printed piece of paper with a troll face on it. Maria approached him from behind, wrapping her arms around him as he cracked and bended and shattered, sobs ripping up his throat.
He failed his daughter.
-
Maddie went straight the police when Dale didn’t come home that night. She came home from her shift to an empty house, no husband lightly snoring on the couch from having tried and failed to stay awake to greet her. The house had been damningly empty and she’d turned straight on her heel to drive to the police station.
What had followed were a few of the most trying hours of her life, and yet it was only beginning. She recounted her last moments with her husband of almost twenty years. Maddie refused to believe that they were the final moments, that the very last thing she said or ever would say to Dale was a joke about not eating the leftover pizza cold while she was gone.
She hadn’t even said she loved him on her way out the door.
Maddie remembered this abruptly, weeks, months, God only knew how long it had been, later. She remembered and she felt sick, as she watched a three second clip of Dale in some fucker’s torture house of horror.
God, Dale looked so pale and weak. Where the fuck were his glasses? And he was shackled, too. Bruised and bloodied. Unkempt, scruffy, far too thin. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but she could see his every last rib. She’d let him eat all the cold pizza he wanted, even if he wanted to put an unholy amount of A1 sauce on it or even anchovies.
She didn’t care to whom she’d have to sell her soul, but she needed him here, by her side again.
She wanted her husband home. She wanted to be able to hug him, hold him, protect him and never let him out of her sight again. Maddie’s chest ached as she watched the clip repeat, again and again, her strong, brave husband whispering, “Please don’t do this,” an echoing refrain for her nightmares.
“Is that enough to trace them?” Maddie asked the detective.
The way the man shook his head was infuriating, as was the delicate way he tried to find the words to crush her hopes.
“The lab is running the note for prints and we’ve requested the CCTV to look for anyone who might have delivered the package.”
Maddie closed her eyes, not in grief, but rage. If she looked at his pitying face for one more second she’d punch it.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Gibson.”
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I want nights with coffee and writing feverishly.
I want early mornings in a garden of native flora, watching the native fauna take advantage of my attempts to make my patch of yard native and friendly. I want a stream full of thriving tadpoles and pondskaters running through the backyard.
I want to eat leftover fried rice on the back patio as I watch the birds dip into the safety of my property for a drink of water, snatching nuts and berries from the feeders.
I want to talk about characters and video games and feel like those things that make me, me, are good enough for someone.
I want to curl up with cats and listen to music until I drift off through the too-warm afternoons, when the sunlight tries to punish me with sickness.
When I have no spoons, I want to have clean sheets and a vacuumed floor and not panic that I can't cook, that I can barely make it outside to feed the birds, that I can't do anything today but rest and pet the cats. I want to know they have clean water and food even when I'm hobbling around. I want a drawer of toys at my bedside so I can toss them for the cats so they can dive everywhere and make me laugh as every part of my broken body screams in pain.
I want to garden without kneeling, sitting on the rim of the raised bed and plucking vegetables to gather in a bowl sitting at my hip.
I want to bicycle everywhere. I want ways to take walks when I can. I want to stop using cars and be kind to wasps and name more spiders.
I want to smile with someone over coffee, talking about books. I want to take trips to the library. I want to mention a book I'm reading, and the other person knows what I'm even saying.
I don't want to feel sad. I don't want to feel not good enough. I don't want to be someone else, to act like a duplicate of someone else. I want to be able to take breaks for myself, but I want to know there are people in the next room over or just a phone call/discord chat away, so I'm not without company.
I want to never feel sick about financial insecurity. I want to have healthcare and a house and a society that embraces pedestrians and people on bicycles.
I don't want to smell motor oil and gasoline fumes and concrete baking everything around me. I want the sun's heat to be absorbed by the beautiful trees and grasses local to the area, so it's just a little nicer. I want to feel the breeze on my face, the rain on my cheeks, and the wonderment of it all.
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