The Attic

TW: alludes to sexual assault, kidnapping

Alice May stared at her reflection across the room. She stuck out like a sore tooth against the rosy sofa she sat on, the floral wallpaper, and the assortment of children's books sitting on the shelves. Her face was covered in bandages and there was a nasty bruise stamped on her right cheek. Dried blood sat atop her cracked lips, and gauze was wrapped over her wrists and ankles. She watched her fingers clutch the giant teddy bear in the mirror, snugly tucking it between her thighs.

What was taking so long?

Mere hours ago, she was rescued. She was kept prisoner in an empty attic for the last three days. Sunlight would only come in through the slits of the boarded window, and she was fed a bland meal once a day. Her only company was her captor: a masked man in dark clothing. Repeatedly, she was told she’d be let go soon, but any sliver of hope was trampled when on the last day, her captor came to her with his bare face.

Alice was certain it was her final day alive. As luck would have it, police had come and freed her. She was treated for her injuries in the hospital, and once discharged, she was escorted to the police station.

“Why can’t I go home?” Alice had asked the officer as she led her down the hall. Without looking, the woman simply explained that they wanted to get all the details of the case while her memory was still fresh. The sooner this was taken care of, the better. She assured her it wouldn’t take long.

Alice said she was hungry. “I’ll let the detectives know,” the officer replied. She opened the door. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

Alice was not comfortable. Her eyes scanned the clock ticking on the wall while she sunk further into the couch. She’d been waiting for only twenty minutes, but time, she realized, was stretching since her ordeal. She was sure it’d been nearly an hour. It certainly felt like she was trapped in that attic for more than three days.

Her fingers tensed around the teddy bear when she heard the door click, and two men walked through the door. One asked how she was. “Alive.”

The detective pressed his lips together, as if regretting he even asked the question. The other set down a notepad on the coffee table, along with a takeaway bag and a drink. They both quietly took a seat across from her. The man who first spoke ran through introductions.

He was Detective Hayes and his partner was Detective Romero. As she devoured her cheeseburger, stuffing her cheeks full with food, they explained the situation. Her kidnapper was not talking, but they suspect she isn’t the first victim. Two other women of similar appearance—blonde, early twenties, between five-foot and five-foot-six-inches—went missing a month before she was abducted. The house was being searched by CSI. Once she’d finished her meal, Det. Hayes asked her to walk them through her story.

“I had gone grocery shopping at Fresh Market. I remember someone grabbing me from behind while I was loading the bags into the trunk of my car. Something was over my mouth and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in the attic. It was dark by then. My hands and feet were tied together.”

“Was he in the room with you?” Det. Romero asked, scribbling down notes as she spoke.

Alice shook her head. “He came in a little while after.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

Alice felt her stomach tighten. Yes, he said things. He also did some things that night, too. Touched her places she didn’t want him to. But she didn’t like how the detective asked the question.

“No.”

For the rest of the interview, Det. Hayes and Romero continued gathering details about the last three days, along with digging into information of the kidnapper from her perspective. Alice’s eyes shifted from the table, bookshelf, to the mirror on the wall. The clock. It’d nearly been an hour.

One a.m..

“What was his demeanor this morn—“

“I want to go home.”

Det. Romero’s hand stopped writing. Det. Hayes blinked in surprise.

“Wh—Alice,” he stammered, “I understand today has been very upsetting, but the sooner we finish getting your statement, the sooner you get to rest from all this.”

“I’m going home,” she pressed. Alice stood up, her fingers clutching the end of her hoodie sleeves and staring down at the police detectives still in their seats. They exchanged looks, and reluctantly, Det. Hayes nodded and went to open the door. She was here of her own free will, she could leave at any moment. Det. Romero slapped the pen down on the table, seemingly irritated.

On her way out of the station, Det. Hayes extended his hand with a card. He asked she please return on Monday, after the weekend, and call his number should anything come up. Alice gingerly took his card and walked out. A police officer drove her back to her home. After redressing the gauze over her rope burns, she spent most of the night tossing and turning. She’d made it out of the attic alive, but now, she couldn’t stop recalling the interview. The men made her uneasy.

Men always made her uneasy.

The following morning, Alice didn’t feel like she was in her body. She was simply going through the motions. Her workplace gave her extended leave due to the circumstances, so she’d spent her Saturday running errands; she didn’t get to finish those three days ago. Her car was still being held by the police, so she walked.

Alice grabbed a small cart and headed for the fruit and vegetables. She packed in everything she’d lost that day: bananas, apples, and oranges. She remembered she also needed vegetables for her chicken soup tonight. As she headed for the leafy greens, a man bumped into her shoulder.

“Oop! Sorry, ma’am!” he said.

Alice was quick to reassure the stranger that there was no problem—until she saw his face. If she hadn’t looked, maybe she would’ve been able to go about her day. His voice didn’t sound anything like her brother’s—it had a subtle southern twang to it. That didn’t matter, though. All she saw was Garrett May, and the man’s resemblance to him was enough to get her heart racing and her skin crawling into a cold sweat. He must’ve been around the same age Garret was now, too; approaching his thirties. She hadn’t seen or talked to her brother since she left home at nineteen.

The brother that made her feel like a prisoner in her own mind and body.

The man seemed to read the sudden change in her. “Are you alright?” Alice swallowed a hard lump in her throat and nodded, wide-eyed and tongue-tied. She quickly turned her heel and stormed off, skipping the cabbage and zucchini on her mental list until the end of her grocery shopping.

The shower, age six. The bedroom, age ten. The car, age fifteen.

The mother that did nothing. Garrett was a child, too. Garrett was probably abused by someone, too, so that’s why he’s done it to you. Garrett is family, too.

Alice, Garrett was a growing boy. Alice, be good sister. Alice, watch what you wear.

Alice, are you sure you know what you’re saying?

Sunday, Alice texted Det. Hayes to confirm an interview time and replayed unpleasant memories of her brother in her brain like the day before. Monday, she arrived to the station as agreed, at twelve-thirty p.m.. She was led into the sofa room again and did her best to control her nerves, but once the detectives arrived, Alice’s guard was immediately drawn up. Det. Romero did not appear in high spirits. Det. Hayes also appeared less friendly, though not nearly as combative as his partner. Alice was asked to finish her story, and she did. She explained how the last day of her imprisonment, her kidnapper did not conceal his face. His demeanor that morning felt more tense than the previous. She tried to create casual conversation, or get his name, but to no avail.

Alice did not mention the assault at knife point.

“That’s all?” Det. Romero challenged. Alice nodded promptly, making piercing eye contact.

Det. Hayes went on to ask more questions regarding history of the house. CSI uncovered two bodies buried in the backyard and blonde hairs were recovered in other parts of the house. Traces of bleach were found on the floors. He inquired about any signs of the room being used previously, but Alice couldn’t offer anything on that front. The windows were boarded, she reminded them, so it was too dark to tell.

“Was the door locked that day?”

She blinked at Det. Romero. “Yes.”

“You checked?” he pressed.

She met the investigator’s eyes and felt a shift in the air. He was doubting her story. “You think I would’ve stayed in that room if it wasn’t?” Alice’s voice hardened, incapable of hiding her hostility. Det. Hayes watched the exchange tentatively.

“I only ask because according to our officers, the door was unlocked when they found you.”

Alice’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“The door was unlocked,” the detective repeated. “He left the door open for you that day.”

All Alice could do was shake her head. She couldn’t believe it. Det. Romero pushed against her denial that she was free to go. He made the insinuation that she might have known, but played victim instead. That she knew who her captor was from the start and the whole story was a sham.

Her anger boiled over, like lava bubbling beneath her flesh. She abruptly stood up, confronting the detectives. “Why the hell would I fake this whole thing? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Alice—“ Det. Hayes started. Det. Romero didn’t blink. He coldly replied, “If you were involved, this would be hell of a way wipe your hands clean from any involvement.”

“I. Was. Kidnapped.”

The interview ended soon after. Alice arrived home recalling the moments of her last day, pacing in the living room. The door could not have been unlocked. She was certain she heard her kidnapper use the key after dropping off her meal of the day. Scrambled egg and toast. Her only breakfast in the attic; her final meal. He wasn’t going to let her go. He wouldn’t have given her a chance.

She tossed and turned in bed, incapable of finding comfort from her pillows and mattress. Det. Hayes and Romero had a theory they were going to use to make their case, but it wasn’t true. Alice scoured her brain searching for answers. What had she done wrong? She never lied to them. She was unlikable as a woman; over the years, she gathered that much. Her demeanor became unfriendly and blunt, unlike the girl she was before everything. Before Garret.

Did that really warrant accusing her of the crime committed against her? Should she have kept her mouth shut the day she was rescued? Were the police ever going to believe a word she said?

At eight twenty-six a.m., Alice was woken up by a loud banging at the door.

“Open up! Police!” Alice sat up, frozen. Silence stretched out between her and the men outside. Another harsh thud crashed into her door, making her flinch. This time, the shouting was louder. Meaner. “BEAR LAKE POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!”

Alice wrapped her blanket around herself, attempting to cover up her legs as she got out of bed. She tip-toed quickly to the front door and cracked it up. Her eyes squinted as sunlight flashed into her pupils. “What is it?” she croaked, still groggy.

Alice was grabbed by the two officers, placed in handcuffs, and ushered into the cop car. She protested the entire drive, asking why she was being detained and what law she had broken. The officer driving simply stated he couldn’t say and that she’d know soon.

About half-an-hour later, she found herself back at the police station, but she was put in a different room. No couch. No children’s books. No teddy bear. Just a wooden table with chairs on opposite ends. The detectives came in soon after, with a file folder and notepad. They asked her questions, but it was clear they had made up their mind. Det. Romero claimed Alice was hiding something and they were giving her the chance to come clean. Alice remained silent as she was badgered for “the truth” for nearly an hour, until finally, she’d had enough.

“I want a lawyer.”

Alice was placed under arrest, charged with making false statements to police and unlawful restraint, and sent to live in a jail cell. The trial took place six months later.

Bear Lake was relatively mid-sized, without many high-profile cases. In their opening statement, her defense attorney’s argument was that the police department wanted an extra bonus for making an additional arrest. The prosecution argued that Alice was an accomplice to John Whitmore’s kidnappings, going as far as insinuating a sexual relationship between them. Heat burned a hole into her chest, absolutely revolted by the thought. Alice did not testify, but the witness who’d made the emergency call to authorities did on her behalf.

“You were neighbors with John Whitmore for about three years, correct?” the defense attorney asked.

“Yes,” the witness said.

“Did you have a friendly relationship with him?”

“We were acquaintances.” the witness answered.

“How would you describe his character?” the defense probed.

“Charismatic, charming… very friendly.”

That was not the man Alice had come to know at all. He was cold, calculating, merciless. The testimony reminded her a lot of Garret—a guy nobody would suspect of heinous, vile acts because of his friendly facade.

The witness on the stand went on to describe the suspicious behavior leading up to Alice’s kidnapping. She’d caught John Whitmore unloading the trunk of his car one night through her window: a large duffle bag, along with rope and a gallon of bleach. She was hesitant to call the police over nothing. It wasn’t until she noticed that the windows on the attic of her neighbor’s house were boarded up a few days after that she made the report to authorities.

“Why did you find that suspicious?” the defense asked.

“I’d only seen him do that once before, and that was when that girl went missing the week after.” The witness shifted in her chair, uncomfortable recalling the memory. “It was too much of a coincidence now.”

With no evidence to tie the defendant to the previous two kidnappings, the jury found Alice not guilty of the charges. She caught hostile glances from Det. Romero in the gallery during her acquittal.

With no transportation to take her home, her defense attorney was kind enough to get her a ride. Alice dodged the hoard of cameras and microphones shoved in her face as she stepped out of the courthouse, rushed by security to the vehicle waiting for her on the curb. On the way home, the car passed a rural property, a small fruit stand placed in the front yard with a few consumers waiting in line. Alice realized she didn’t have edible food in her kitchen anymore.

The fruit and vegetables she’d bought six months ago must’ve been rotten with mold.