Bang-bang-BANG!

She gasps.

They’re trying to get in!

She wiggles away until her back presses against the opposing wall. Her mind plays tricks on her, making the doorway seem like a vacuum that wishes to suck her into the Outside. Distorted gurgles escape from the walls. Creatures. She whimpers, afraid to be taken. Afraid to be stolen and never seen again. Afraid to die. But that won’t happen. She will stay in this room forever. He will protect her. He will keep her safe.

She is his.

CHAPTER VII

It isn’t long until her daddy returns. Her body didn’t even get the chance to cramp in its strained position: legs curled into chest and chin resting on knees. The lock snaps. She instantly stands against the wall at attention.

The door opens slightly and then shakes as though it were laughing at its own weight. Her daddy stands pressed against it, struggling to balance a large metal bucket of water and a brick of soap in his hands. Slung across one shoulder is a towel and across the other is a new white dress, the lace glittering against the yellow light. She eyes it and runs to help him, but he shoos her away with a hiss. She takes a staggering step back, nearly tripping over her bare feet.

You’ve frightened her, he thinks, and in an attempt to heal the fright he sings, “Vanilla, my sweet, sweet Vanilla. Go stand over by the bed for Daddy, please.”

He doesn’t like her being so close to the open door.

She obeys and steps away. He places the bucket of water in the middle of the room and quickly turns to close the door and snap the lock shut. He twists back around toward the bucket and drops the bar of soap in. It makes a distinct plop when it hits the water and sinks to the bottom. He places the towel and dress carefully to the side, rolls up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, and dips his hands into the water. His arms pump viciously in and out of the bucket; she watches as droplets splatter across the floor. The droplets turn into hundreds of mini stains that disappear into the concrete as quickly as they appeared.

Like the strange dots . . .

“Come over here now,” he demands in mid-thrust. The tattoo of lace on his wrist shows momentarily when it breaches the surface. She thinks she can see the vein beneath throbbing.

She skips to him and leans her body against his side, feeling the vibration from his arms plunging in and out of the bucket. She looks down into the water, her reflection muddled by a layer of clean bubbles forming at the surface.

He stops and pulls his hands out. His skin glistens as droplets fall and spot his black pants.

“Vanilla, test the water.”

She obeys, recognizing the usual command, and dips the tip of her finger into the surface. The water feels cool but not unbearable.