Sometimes I don’t sleep at all, and so there is no waking up. My mind reels through the night of the storm. Through the mistakes I made. I swim in a pool of self-loathing, for Annie’s death, for Nicole’s pain, and for what I have now done to my family by by walking down that road, trying to escape my life. I bathe in the agony that I feel I deserve, and my suffering soothes the guilt. I cry and shake but then accept my penance as I stare into the darkness.

But that is not the worst of the mornings. On the worst of the mornings, I wake up with Alice entangled in my arms because she is very good at sneaking. She likes to be locked in the room with me. And he allows this because somehow he knows I will not hurt another child. He is good at sneaking, too. At sneaking Alice into my room.

On those mornings, he comes to collect her, opening the gate, closing it again. Locking it shut.

I try to think that this invasion of my bed, my body, is helping me, giving me power. The more Alice needs me, the more power I will yield over her.

And power is just what I need over this little girl, my little prison guard. As long as I am a good mommy to her, there is no talk of finding a new mommy. There is no talk of Nicole.

* * *

I have come to call the man Mick. It is the name Alice gave him that night in the truck. Mickey Mouse. And for that split second, I had let myself believe he was harmless like that, like a cartoon character. I let him lead me back into this house when I might have tried to run away, into the woods. I did not know that would be my last chance to escape.

* * *

In these seven days, I have learned a lot of things about Alice and her life in this house.

She has lived here since before she can remember. She told me she was born here, in that dark laundry room with no windows, but I have no proof of that one way or another and I will not make any more assumptions.

Her first mommy lived here until last spring. Alice has a calendar and knows how to keep track of time. She has books from a homeschool program, but there is no Internet here so she does the work on paper. Mick collects her work at the end of each day and tells her he sends it off to the program and they keep track of her progress.

“Look!” she said to me one day, showing me a handwritten report. It was written by Mick, I was certain.

I studied the report.

“You did very well!” I said to Alice.

The report said little more. Your work is complete and was very good.