Ella

Sitting in a wheelchair, I’m carted out of the room. Dad had already gone outside to pull the car up to the front door. My body still hurts but not as much as it did before, and the doctors have given me the all clear to go home. I’ll still be taking medicines for the pain, of course, and we agreed it was in my best interest to talk to a counselor starting tomorrow. Even though I hate how the police officers treated me and my story, they were right. I need help to process what I’ve been through.

After the hospital staff have wheeled me out, I thank them and say goodbye, and greet my mom who’s waiting outside. It’s then that I realize how big my story really is.

Ten, maybe even thirty journalists are all lined up outside the doors, huddling close, screaming their lungs out to get my attention. Flashes of light nauseate me, and I cover my face to prevent them from blinding me. Questions are being fired at me from all directions.

“Ms. Rosenberg, can you tell us who kept you prisoner for all this time?”

“Do you know why he took you?”

“What happened while you were inside the cell?”

So many questions … but my lips do nothing but sputter.

I don’t know why they’re here or why a staff member would tell the reporters without me saying it was okay. I’m a story now. A sick enjoyment for others to watch. I’m sure my face will be plastered all over the news.

“Please, get out of the way,” Mom asks nicely while the nurse keeps pushing the wheelchair.

We try to go through the crowd, but they keep following us, jumping on our tail and practically making it impossible to get to the car. Going home was supposed to be easy … but this? Being scrutinized by strangers, knowing the whole world will soon know what I’ve been through? That’s the true ordeal.

“Ms. Rosenberg, is it true you weren’t alone in that cell?”

I try to ignore the questions, I really do.

“Ma’am, is it true that you’re pregnant? Is the captor the father?”

That.

That’s the moment I break.

The moment I turn and gaze at the woman who asked about my baby, wondering why someone would ask such a thing.

Whether I’m pregnant is none of their business.

I wish I could tell them to shut up, but all that leaves my throat is a measly squeak.

“No comment,” Mom growls at them.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom says to me as we walk to the car. “I told them to get out of here when we walked into the hospital, but they refused to move.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, rubbing my belly with my hands.

“They don’t know the real story,” she says, bending over to my height. “They don’t know what you’ve been through. Let them talk.” She smiles and pecks me on the forehead.

Then she and Dad help me get into the car, and the nurse brings the wheelchair back inside.

We drive away from the hospital and back home. Along the way, I can’t help but stare at every single house we come across, all the trees beside the road, and the birds high up in the sky. I feel like a kid again, witnessing the wonders of the world all over again.

When we arrive at my home—not my parents’ home, my home—Mom turns around in the front seat and asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay at our place? Maybe this place has bad memories; I don’t know.”

“I’m sure, Mom,” I say, smiling. “I just want to be home again.”

Smiling, she nods and steps out of the car. Dad turns off the engine and steps out too, and they both help me get out. I can walk, but I’m just not as stable as I once was. The doctors say I should regain my strength in a few days.

While I walk inside on my own, Mom and Dad grab all the stuff they brought for me to the hospital, like clothes and toiletries, and bring it inside. When I step through the door, I take a long whiff, inhaling the scents of my home. The wood still smells the same. Still creaks the same. Nothing’s changed.

Except me.

It’s been long … too long.

And I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to step foot inside my home.

Gosh, the memories.

Especially considering I live so close to the forest where I lost my sister.

I chose this place for a reason … Because it gives me peace.

“Hey, guys.” Bo walks in too. “Sorry, I just figured … maybe you could use some help?”

“Well … sure,” Mom muses. “That’d be lovely. You can help clean up the house a little. Vacuum’s in the closet.”

“Ah, sure,” he says, rubbing the back of his head.

Thanks, I sign as he grabs the vacuum from the closet.

“I’ll start upstairs then. Give you guys some time to adjust,” he says with an awkward laugh. Then he runs upstairs.

I can’t stop staring out the windows at the beautiful grass in my backyard. The flowers are in full bloom.

I think I’ll go for a run outside when I’m fit again. I want to feel the grass underneath my toes again.

“You okay, hon?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, of course.” I take in a gulp of air. “You don’t have to ask every second.”

“I know, I know.” She shrugs. “I can’t help it. I’m naturally worried.”

I laugh as I walk through my home, flabbergasted at how much it looks exactly the way I left it. Everything, including the couch, the TV, the kitchen. Even the hallway and the staircase.

I stare up at the floor above me. “Do you mind if I …?” I mumble.

“No, no, go right ahead,” Mom replies, winking. “I’ll take care of everything down here and cook up something delicious. You just wait.” She giggles.

“I’ll drive to the store, get some groceries and stuff,” Dad says. “Be right back.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, hugging him before he leaves with the car.

I take off my shoes and slowly but steadily climb the stairs, feeling the soft carpet tickle my toes. I always loved how it felt, and I still do, but now it’s even more special. It feels like home. Like the place that calmed me.

However, the longer I spend roaming my own house, the more I come to realize how empty it’s always been. Devoid of any sign of life.

I used to love the silence. The loneliness soothed me.

Now it only serves as a reminder of what I left behind in that cage.

My Cage.

I take a deep breath and walk up to my room. Clutching the doorpost, I gaze inside, my heart racing in my throat. There’s the bed … the bed I was sleeping in the moment I was taken. The sheets are still undone, the pillow on the ground.

Mom cleaned up downstairs a few days before I came home because she has a key, but I guess she forgot to check this room.

I pick up a broken frame containing a picture of me and my sister. Looking at it makes me smile even though the floor is littered with glass. Graham must’ve knocked it off the dresser as he pulled me through the door.

I glare at the glass in my hand, the sharpness of it almost cutting into my skin.

The pain … feeling like a long-lost memory.

“What are you doing?” The sudden sound of Bo’s voice makes my heart do a backflip.

I clutch the shard as I turn around. Nothing, I sign.

He frowns. “You sure? There’s something in your hand.”

Picture broke, I sign.

I shiver and quickly discard the shard in the trash. Then I clean up the rest of the shards and throw it all into the bin. I place the broken frame on the dresser, making a mental note to go to the store to buy a new one tomorrow.

The store. Another place I haven’t seen in such a long time.

Gosh, it’s as if I’m reliving the entire world all over again but through a different lens.

There’s the me before … and the me after.

And I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with who I’ve become.

Still, seeing my room untouched and left the same as before makes my smile disappear.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bo asks as he watches me like a hawk.

I nod even though it’s a lie.

I don’t want him to worry.

Bo always worries about me. It’s been like that since Suzie’s death. He feels responsible for me now, and I get it. We’re friends. He doesn’t want to lose me too.

He almost did, though.

For weeks, I was gone. He didn’t know if I was alive.

It must’ve been tough for him.

I walk to him and give him a big hug. He seems a bit stunned but accepts it anyway, placing a hand on my back too.

“If you need anything, let me know, okay?” he says, caressing me softly.

As I pull back, I nod again, and I sign, Shower.

“Of course. I’ll just be up here cleaning.” He winks.

I turn around and enter the bathroom, locking the door. Tearing off my clothes, I swallow when I see my own body in the mirror’s reflection. My breasts are plumper, nipples enlarged and darker, but my stomach shows no signs.

I prod myself and stand sideways to see a bump, but there isn’t any. Still, I rub my belly, knowing something’s in there. Something … human. Like me. Like Cage.

Despite being a beast of a man, he was innocent in it all.

Licking my lips, I turn away from the mirror and turn off the light. Then I step underneath the shower and turn it on, letting the water cascade down my body. I shower in the dark because then I don’t have to see myself in the mirror.

The warmth and pressure of the water don't equate to the shower inside the cell. It’s so different from what I’ve experienced for the past few weeks that I can’t help but let the memories filter back in.

I think back to the small cell, the hard bed, and the shower I had. The shower right next to Cage’s. The shower where I first saw his naked body and that arrogant smirk of his. And how he used to look at me with such hungry eyes it was impossible for me to look away.

Those memories are just that … memories.

None of it exists anymore.

All that is left is me, standing under a shower, alone in the dark.

I force myself to gaze down at the water pooling near my feet. I don’t want to see myself in the mirror because that girl I saw … isn’t happy. And it’s so clearly visible, anyone could see.

I don’t want to see.

I don’t want to know how sad it makes me to listen to the water drops rolling down. I don’t want to realize the impact this had on my body. I don’t want to feel the tears well up in my eyes and stream down my face, mixing with the water. I don’t want to remember who I used to be and what I’ve lost. I don’t want to know anything.

All I want is Cage.

He makes me happy.

But he isn’t here.

How can I be free when he isn’t?

How can I enjoy the life I’ve been given when he has none?

I can’t live like this. Not while knowing there’s still time … still time to save him.

My fists clench, and I realize there’s only one way to get him back.

I have to go search for him myself.

No one will do anything if I don’t act.

The police will take their sweet time to set up searches, but it’s time we don’t have.

I’m not willing to risk it, so I’ll go to them once I can and demand they start the search party and offer to go with them.

No ifs. No buts. If they refuse, then so be it.

I’ll go out there into the desert alone if need be.

Anything … to save him.