Page 9 of Phoenix
“Yes sweetheart,” he says with a syrupy voice, sounding very much like a father figure from a Disney family flick, “but call me Daddy.”
“Er, yeah, Daddy,” she says, the word clearly causing a bad taste in her mouth, “I think Niamh is going to be sick.”
“Oh, Christ,” he says in a fluster, momentarily breaking his sugary act, “er, ok, hold on, sweetheart.”
We pull over in a small town, which is just as grey as the one we left behind, the one we call home. Our abductor, Daddy, flaps as though he’s never been in the company of a sick child before. He opens the door and pulls me out by my arm, his grip is a little too tight for comfort. He then locks Tammy inside of the Mercedes and drags me into a public restroom where I proceed to chuck my guts up. So much so, I’m shaking afterward. Daddy helps me up after there’s nothing left to expel from my stomach, but I’m left light-headed and have no choice but to lean back against him.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers with sheer delight in his voice, “Daddy’s here to look after you. Let me make you feel better.”
I grimace but only because he can’t see how disturbed he makes me feel. When we re-enter the street, someone is looking inside the car at the backseat. Daddy gets twitchy at the same time as hope begins to bloom inside my chest over a potential rescue. Before I can lift the corners of my mouth into some semblance of a smile, he marches me roughly across the road and up toward the nosey onlooker.
“Is this your daughter?” the concerned-looking lady asks him. “She’s very upset but I can’t make out what she’s saying.”
“Yes, they are both my daughters,” he replies rudely, tightening his grip on my arm. “She’s fine; my other daughter here, is just a bit carsick. Now, if you don’t mind, we have to get going. Their brother is waiting for us at home.”
“Oh,” she replies, though she clearly doesn’t look happy about the state of us both. She’s even less impressed when he shoves me back into the car with Tammy. He slams his door closed with a thud and then zooms down the street and away from the hanging floral baskets and carefully decorated shop fronts. But more importantly, he drives us away from our potential escape.
Tammy begins to cry at the same time as I look into the rear-view mirror which reveals just how Daddy is feeling over what just happened. He’s eerily silent but obviously fuming. I try to reach for Tammy’s hand, but she whips it away and curls into herself. Daddy adjusts his eyes to look at her, sneering in such a way, I get a horrible feeling deep inside of me.
A few moments later, just as we reach the outskirts of the town, Daddy screeches the tires to a sudden halt. I sit bolt upright as he gets out of the vehicle with a brewing rage. He marches over to Tammy’s side of the car, and she looks at me in terror. We grip onto one another but when he opens the door, he grabs her arm and pulls her away with such force, I can’t keep hold of her clammy hands.
Tammy screams as he pulls her out onto the grassy bank and throws her down. He then leans his face in against hers, his teeth bared, and a maniacal look in his eye.
“Go!” He eventually growls through his teeth. “I don’t want you, you’re a bad girl!”
“W-what?!” she stutters before glancing at me for a short moment.
“Leave!” He roars so loudly, we both jump in fright. She looks at me as I begin to panic, with my heart racing over the thought of being left all alone with this terrifying man.
“N-no, not without Niamh, she’s my best friend!” She begins to shudder with tears, looking as though she’s contemplating the fact that she's been given an out, but in order to take it, she will have to leave me to him. It’s a shitty position to be in, but right now all I can think is, ‘Don’t leave me!’
“Go or I’ll punish you,” he growls at the same time as he flashes the gun he keeps in the waistband of his faded jeans.
She looks at him, then at me with horror written all over her face. She starts to step away, but he suddenly pulls her back with a grip on her shoulders, causing her to gasp.
“But if you tell anyone about me or your friend, I will come after you, and I will kill your mommy, your daddy, your two brothers, and then you. You understand me, Tammy Baker? You understand, little girl, I know everything about you and your family. I’d be able to find you in seconds!”
With the whites of her eyes doubling in size, she nods slowly before stepping away and making a run for it, not once looking back at me, the best friend she’s just abandoned. Daddy throws himself into the driver’s seat and then looks at me with the same sugary act as before.
“It’s ok, darling,” he grins, “she wasn’t really your sister. It’s just me, you, and your brother. He’s going to be so pleased to see you, sweetheart!”
He turns back to face the windscreen and starts the engine, all the while I try to curl up as small as possible. I try my best not to let my cries become audible to the madman in the front of the car.
_____
Jessie, Present
It’s nightfall when Warren pulls up outside of a rough-looking bar on the outskirts of what appears to be the desert. A neon sign flashes up ‘Diesel’s Bar’ just above where rows upon rows of motorbikes line up in front of a wall of windows. The noise coming from inside is loud and rowdy, mainly through chatting and laughing, and I instantly want to run and hide from the masses of people.
Warren opens my door and invites me to get out the conventional way, but when I refuse to move, he sighs and then hauls me over his shoulder. I’m carried to the front door where he opens it with his booted foot. The effects of booze, smoke, and loud noise infiltrate my senses with such an impact, I want to throw up. People start to notice us as he walks through the crowds who automatically part the way for him, not even questioning his actions or the fact he has a woman thrown over his shoulder. Instead, they laugh and cheer in such a way, I wonder if this is a regular occurrence for him.
“Phoenix!” They cry out, slapping him on the back, but he just keeps on moving through the throng without any hint of a pause.
“Nice one, Phoenix! Show her who’s boss!” They chorus as we approach what must be the bar. Still, he says nothing, whereas I’m now trying to cover my face with my hands, being unable to bear their eyes on me.
“Boss,” the barman says when Warren finally puts me down on the floor.
I’m still unsteady on my feet when Warren pulls me tightly into his side, no doubt pre-empting my attempt to flee. But I know the score, I know there’s no point in trying to run. The barman, who looks just as big as Warren, seems unperturbed by his boss having a woman thrown over his shoulder in the middle of a crowded bar. He simply looks me up and down and smiles in a friendly way. It’s too familiar, too exposed, so I instantly look away. Not because he was creepy in his observation of me, but because I don’t do people, particularly loud and confident people who frequent bars like this.