House at the End of the Street (7 page)

“We were playing, and she fell and hit her head.” Ryan stared down at the teddy bear. “This was the bear she played with that day. I was seven and she was five. She loved that game. She’d snatch it from me and run through the house, trying to get away. I chased her out into the
yard and tackled her, wrestling the bear out of her hands. We laughed for a while, and then played the same game we always played—seeing who could swing highest on the swings.”

Elissa could picture the little girl clinging to the swing, her tiny legs pumping back and forth. Her blond hair blew away from her face, then forward, hiding her. Ryan was next to her, reaching for her hand, but she was always just a little out of reach, the swings not yet in sync.

“I looked up at the window,” he continued. “To see if my parents were watching. They spent all of their weekends in their room, with the curtains drawn, smoke wafting from under the door. They always seemed in some far-off place—I know now they were battling an addiction. I was looking up at the window, waiting for them to see. That’s when Carrie Anne fell. She tumbled off the swing, hitting the ground hard. The last thing I remember is standing above her, screaming. It seemed like a long time before they came out of the house.”

Elissa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was a horrible story.

Ryan stared down at the teddy bear, slowly remembering where he was. “When she woke up she was different. She had brain damage. She would scream all the time. Break things.”

“Is that why all the window have bars on them?” Elissa asked, not entirely certain what to say.

“Yeah, she didn’t understand where she was all the time, and she’d run out into the woods. They were to keep her in. They’re useful now, though—stops the townies when they come down here.”

They stood there in silence. Ryan still clutched the teddy bear in his hands, looking at it as if it were the first time. Elissa wanted to say something to comfort him, but everything she could think of seemed false, wrong. She wanted to say she understood, but how could she? Even the worst things she’d been through—her parents’ divorce, her father leaving—were nothing like this. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed.

Ryan leaned into her. Then he set the teddy bear gently on the bed and led her back into the hallway. “I don’t like coming to this part of this house,” he said softly. He shut the door tightly behind them.

Elissa looked up at him, wanting to throw her arms around him in a hug, even if three days ago they’d been just strangers. “Then we won’t,” she said, pulling him back toward the living room, where the music still played. “I promise we won’t.”

E
lissa sat next to Ryan on his bed, their fingers just inches apart. The room was too small for them. There was only a narrow twin bed and a desk, but the ceiling was peaked, with a small circular window looking out into the
backyard. A framed photo hung on the wall. His parents had their arms around each other. Carrie Anne stood in front with her teddy bear, and Ryan was off to the side. He looked so serious. He was the only one who wasn’t smiling.

“So that’s Carrie Anne,” Elissa said, studying the blond girl with brilliant blue eyes. She stood in front, her mother’s hands on her shoulders. “Her eyes are so blue.”

Ryan leaned in, his shoulder pressing against hers as he studied the picture. “She was the heart of the family. After the accident, things changed. My parents got worse.”

“What do you mean…worse?” Elissa asked.

Ryan shook his head, as if he didn’t want to talk about it. “It was just different.”

“Is that when they sent you away?” Ryan looked up, and his eyes met hers. He didn’t answer the question, and she didn’t want to push. “I know it’s not the same, but everything changed when my father left. It’s like everything was split into before and after. It’s hard, knowing he’s touring, that he’s out there without us. Sometimes I wonder if he even cares about me at all.”

“He must, right?” Ryan said. “He has to.”

Elissa stared straight ahead. She hadn’t heard from him in over a year. She would sometimes follow his band online, keeping track of their tour stops. When she was packing up the apartment in Chicago, helping Sarah put the kitchen supplies in boxes, she thought:
Berlin. My father is in Berlin.
As the days passed she thought,
Munich, Amsterdam.
All
the while she wondered if he ever thought of her, or if he’d been content to keep that part of his life separate, never mentioning the daughter he’d left behind.

Elissa blinked, for a minute not registering what she was seeing. The swing set was still out back, the rusted slide sitting at a strange angle. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I guess a divorce is nothing compared to what you’ve been through. It’s just…I haven’t talked to anyone about this before.”

Ryan smiled, resting his hand on her back. “I’m glad you told me,” he said. She thought he was going to say more, but instead he stood, heading downstairs. She followed, feeling like that might be her cue to go. She felt foolish for saying it, even if Ryan had assured her it was all right. It was strange though, how he’d stood so suddenly. Why had he done that? It was as if some internal alarm had gone off, and he’d realized he’d had an appointment somewhere else.

Downstairs, the house was dark. Ryan went into the kitchen, fiddling with a few of the groceries on the counter as if she weren’t there. She suddenly felt so self-conscious, not sure whether she should stay or go. She grabbed her sweatshirt from the sofa and pointed to the stereo. “Enjoy the CD,” she said, taking a few tentative steps toward the door. Ryan barely turned to say good-bye. “See you tomorrow.”

W
hen she finally left, Ryan went to the door. He hovered there, waiting on the porch, watching as she took off across the lawn. “See you tomorrow,” he called after her. She turned back, and he waved, his face feeling stiff and awkward. He’d never been good at pretending.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. As soon as she was inside her house, he moved quickly, pulling a can of minestrone soup from the counter and popping it open. He dumped its contents in a bowl and slid it in the microwave, watching it spin several times before it was done heating. He tested it with his finger, making sure it wasn’t too hot. Then he assembled it on a tray with a few cookies. She would like this, he knew she would. Chocolate chip were always her favorite.

He went to the edge of the kitchen, opening the basement door. He started down the long flight, keeping careful balance of the tray, not wanting to spill even a drop. When he got downstairs, he kicked back a wide throw rug, revealing a trapdoor. He set the tray down as he opened it, then he started down the metal ladder, into the secret room.

He’d built it himself, reading carpentry manuals for weeks before he started. He’d bought the lumber and dug out the earth, making sure it was deep enough that no one would hear her scream anymore. He walked to the metal door he’d purchased years before, two inches thick. Her shadow passed over the peephole. He reached up, pulling the key down from the top of the doorjamb.

Ryan took a deep breath, preparing himself as he always did. He kept the tray balanced in his left hand, away from the door, so she wouldn’t knock into it. As he turned the knob he checked the peephole again. Her shadow had disappeared.

He opened it and her high-pitched wail filled the air. She was hovering in the corner, next to the small table he’d bolted to the floor. It had a baby monitor and a puzzle for her to play with when she got bored. She turned suddenly, darting toward him, her blond hair falling in her face. She reached for him, trying to claw at his eyes, and he tried his best to set the tray down as he pushed her away.

He restrained her, wrapping her in a bear hug. “Easy, Carrie Anne. Easy,” he whispered. She turned her head, biting into his forearm so hard that she drew blood. He winced, trying not to let go. He couldn’t let her do this. He wouldn’t let her hurt them anymore. He took a few steps back, pressing himself into the mud wall to stabilize them. Then he slowly bent his knees, tightening his grip as they sat on the floor.

His voice was trembling when he finally spoke. He hated her for this—for what she’d done to his life. She would always be the burden on him, always, until he died. “Why do you do this, Carrie Anne?” he asked. “Don’t I take care of you? Don’t I?”

When they were both sitting, he reached for the small syringe in his back pocket. He’d been buying the sedatives online for years, ordering them from a website that sent them from somewhere in Mexico. He plunged the needle into her arm and pushed down until all the medicine was injected. It took only a few moments for her body to relax. Her shoulders slumped forward, her head lolling to one side. He brushed the hair away from her face, looking into her bright blue eyes—the same ones he’d known since he was a child.

“We have a new neighbor. And I like her, Carrie Anne. Elissa and her mom moved into the Reed house, and you are going to leave them alone. Do you understand me?”
He squeezed her tighter as he spoke, unable to control the anger in his voice. She had done this to him—it was her fault. Because of her, everything had changed.

Carrie Anne’s head fell forward, and she whispered something under her breath that sounded like a yes. He helped her into her bed, leaving the dinner on the small table, right beside the monitor. Then he double-checked the room, making sure everything was in its proper place. There was a wooden porch chair settled in another corner, along with a lamp with a single exposed light bulb. He felt for the restraint around her ankle. It was still there. The leather cuff was attached to a wire string, the end of it firmly anchored to the bottom of the bed. When he was certain everything was as it should be, he closed the door behind him and went to turn the dead bolt.

His heart was still beating fast from the struggle. He noticed soup spattered along the floor, which must’ve spilled when she’d initially hit him. He wiped up the stray vegetables and noodles with a rag he had in his back pocket, making sure he still had the empty syringe. Then he put the key back above the door, tucking it carefully in place, and started up the ladder. He’d been so distracted by the spill, he didn’t realize that he never turned the lock. It was still turned to the right, the knob loose, just waiting for Carrie Anne to open it.