Tied

By Amethyst Turner

I am tied to the sadness of the past

By strings of pain and scars

We are all tied to our pasts

Because they make us who we are

XXX

Sophia awoke with a headache and a flame of panic burning in her stomach.

At first, she didn't know why. The thick blackness blanketed over her, hiding her surroundings. Where could this be?

It came back to her in small pieces: the taste of chocolate on her tongue, the feeling of the step collapsing under her foot. The sound of Leafy's voice on the phone then in person. Falling from the chair, hitting the ground, losing consciousness.

Seized by panic, she threw herself into sitting position, only to find her wrists tied and her feet bound. Startled, she fell back.

She let herself cry, weeping into the thick blackness. Inside, she scolded herself for her stupidity, for her naivety and greed. Now, she would never leave here. "Help!" she cried. But she knew calling out was useless.

To her surprise, a voice answered. "Shh!" it said.

"Who's there?" Sophie demanded. "Who are you?"

"Shh!" the voice repeated. "Be quiet or he'll kill you."

The panic grew hotter, smoldering in the pit of her belly. She swallowed hard, blinking. Who was there? "Can you untie me?" she asked, whispering this time.

Silence, then scuffling.

She felt something warm on her shoulder. Jerking away, Sophie hissed, "Is that you?"

"Don't move," the voice said. It sounded young, younger than Sophie herself. Feminine, definitely. The hand rested on her stomach, this time. "I can't see."

"Neither can I."

"Is this your leg?"

"No. Down."

She talked the girl through her body until the small hands found her ankles and wrists. From there, she worked in silence, tugging at the knots for the better part of twenty minutes. Curiosity crawled up Sophie's throat again, trying to jump out and rain down questions on the little girl. But Rationality managed to force it down.

Sophie heard a small sob in front of her, disembodied and quiet. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

The girl exhaled, continuing to pull at the knots. "I can't do it." The ropes went lax, telling Sophia she'd stopped trying.

"Don't give up," she encouraged. "I need to get out so we can leave, okay?"

At this, the girl gave a squeak. "We can't leave!" she hissed.

"Why?"

"Didn't you listen? He'll kill me."

Sophie sighed, reaching out in the darkness. Her bound hands grazed something silky and soft, her hair, probably. She ran her fingertips down the girl's face, feeling around for her hands. Taking them in her own, she marveled at their softness, their innocence. "No, he won't," she promised. "I won't let him."

XXX

Davey couldn't go out in public anymore without running into a poster.

The worst thing about it was, the only recent picture they'd been able to find of Amethyst was provided by Minka, and extremely blurry. They had one from her father, a shot from her birthday a year or two ago of Aimee hugging her new stuffed bear. The police used this one for most of the posters.

Davey could see why. How could you not be concerned for this adorable little girl on the telephone pole? On the cash register? On the billboard?

Richard Turner and the MPD had decided to splurge for a billboard on I-95. So far, it had proved useless.

Then again, everything had proved useless. People called in, but no one had a serious lead. "I saw a little blonde girl at the mall. She was holding hands with a man in a trench coat . . . I saw her at the park with a strange woman . . . I saw a girl who looked just like that the other day! She was walking down the road, all alone."

Davey shook Clark's leash, muttering, "Faster, boy. C'mon, don't get lazy on me now."

He didn't look up. Amethyst's face would be plastered to every other shop window, stapled to every other telephone pole, taped to every bus canopy he passed. All this publicity and not one lead. He sighed.

The police had asked him to do a press conference, a request that he rudely denied. "Do you want me to fucking fall apart in front of a hundred hungry vultures?" he'd yelled. "I didn't think so!"

Clark limped on, nose down. Davey had planted the sock about a mile in the other direction. Sighing, he pulled the dog's leash to turn him around. Maybe the hound was too distracted for training, too.

He tugged Clark away from the sidewalk, leading him to the bus canopy. The hound leaped into his lap the moment he sat down, heavy body draped over Davey's legs. He stroked Clark's head. "You miss her, huh?" he said. "Don't worry. We'll find her."

But he had no idea where else to look. So the man and the dog sat in the canopy, watching buses come and go until the sky faded from blue to black.

XXX

Libby stood in front of the mirror, lifting her shirt over her head. In place of her once rib-printed torso, a tiny belly had begun. She grinned, rubbing her baby bump. She found it much more appealing to look at than her wasting body. Little Emmy-Joe was still perfect. Still pure, untouched.

Suddenly, her heart rate sped up. She wouldn't stay that way for long, would she? The baby would come out, blink in the harsh light of its new world, and begin to cry. It would find comfort in its mother's arms, but one day it would no longer fit in them. The baby would be hurt and cheated and filled with sorrow. It would be corrupted, made evil, made sad and mad and everything in between.

She felt a tear slide down her face and didn't bother to wipe it away. Why should she have this baby? Why couldn't she keep it inside her forever, keep it safe and warm in her stomach?

The panic overwhelmed her. She desperately wished to share her fears, but who would she tell? Not Richard, surely. He wouldn't understand. What other friends did she have? Not her mother, not her siblings. Not her highschool friends or the people she used to know.

Finally, it became too much. Libby lunged for the phone and called the first person who came to mind.

XXX

Annelise felt sick to her stomach. So strange it was, to sit in bed all day, the world swirling around outside her window without her. Strange to hear Davey clanging around in the kitchen, making breakfast for himself. Strange to watch through heavy lids as he smoothed out a wrinkled pair of pants and pulled an incongruous tie from the closet. When he turned, she clamped her eyes shut. He whistled for Clark, then she was alone.

Now, she could expect him home soon. For dinner, he could either have the silent treatments with a side of hostility, or he could make himself some ramen.

She missed Clark's warmth beside her. Aside from her husband, the hound had become her best friend over the past year. She still remembered the day Davey brought him home, the soft, warm little puppy squirming in his arms. He had been small enough to fit in a coffee mug. Thinking about it, Annelise felt like a nostalgic parent. Oh, where do the days go?

She would never get to feel this way about Davey Jr. He would never grow up.

The phone's ringing jolted her out of her thoughts. Annie grunted, scooching to Davey's end of the bed. She grabbed the phone, allowing herself to rest her head on his pillow. It smelled of his shampoo.

"Hello?" she said, her voice gravelly from hours of silence.

"H-Hello?" a timid voice replied.

Annie frowned, sitting up. "You've reached the Springs. If you're looking for Davey, he's out."

Another stutter. "I -- H-he -- no. I'm looking for . . . h-his wife?"

Her frown deepened. "Well, that's me." Anne sank back down under the covers, eyebrows furrowed. She'd never heard this voice before.

"I -- I'm sorry," the woman said. "I haven't . . . I haven't talked to a-anybody in a long time."

"Really?" Her heart rate increased a bit as strange scenarios formed in her head. Was this a hostage reaching out for help? An old woman, trapped in her upstairs apartment who hadn't been able to reach anyone in five years? "How come?"

The woman cleared her throat. "I -- I don't get o-out much," she said. "Well, n-not since--" She stopped short. Annie realized she had begun to sob.

"Don't cry, dear," she begged. "What's your name?"

She heard a sniffle. "Elizabeth. Or Libby."

"Libby. Okay." Annie swung her legs out of bed, heart racing with the strangeness of this all. "Now tell me: are you in danger? Do you need help?"

A pause. "I don't know, r-really. I--I don't think so. No. I -- I just need to t-talk so I d-don't do something, w-well, stupid."

"Do I know you?" Annie asked.

Another pause, longer this time. "Well . . . you know A-Amethyst, d-don't you? Amethyst T-Turner?"

Again, her heart began to race. "Aimee? Yes, I know her. What do you know?"

"N-no, no," Libby stammered. "I don't know wh-where she i-is. I'm her mother."

A shot of ice darted through Annie's bloodstream. So this was the mother. The one Amethyst so desperately wanted to stay away from. The one she'd never seen, the one who'd never come to the police station, who didn't seem to care at all. She laid back down, her urgency replaced by chill.

"Oh," Annie clipped. "The famous Elizabeth Turner, then?"

"F-famous?"

She raised her eyebrows, imagining Amethyst's mother sitting on the couch with the phone cradled in her hands, tears starting in her eyes. Somehow, making this woman cry sounded like the most wholly satisfying thing in existence. "Yes, yes. Minka? The woman who cared for Amethyst? She says Aimee talked about you."

A pause. "Sh-she did?"

"Yes," Annie confirmed. "She said she didn't want to go home because of you. She ran away because of you."

The woman sniffled. Anne couldn't tell if she was crying yet.

"Why don't you tell your husband that, huh? I saw him yesterday, you know. At the police station. He's been there every day, beating himself up over this all when it's really your fault. So maybe you ought to tell him, hmm? Put his mind at ease?"

Annie heard a loud sob that filled her with an evil pleasure. She deserves it, Annie thought. She deserves this and so much worse.

"It's not my fault!" Libby cried, this time without stuttering. "I--I . . . I don't know how to be a mother, I d-don't! A-and now I'm p-pregnant again, and I-I'll just fuck up again! I--I don't know wh-what to do! I c-can't go through this all a-again, I'll f-fucking die!"

Annelise felt curses and shouts rising to her mouth, but she swallowed them down. No one had told her Mrs. Turner was pregnant. She sighed, digging up as much compassion as she could find in her heart. "Can I come visit you, Elizabeth?" she asked.

Libby kept silent for a moment. Then she said, "Please."

"I'll be over in ten minutes."

"Th-thank you."

XXX

Blood still stains when the sheets are washed
Sex don't sleep when the lights are off
Kids are still depressed when you dress them up
And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup
He's still dead when you're done with the bottle
Of course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradle
Kids are still depressed when you dress them up
Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup

-Sippy Cup, Melanie Martinez