My Sister’s Kidnapper

~Trigger warnings: kidnapping, mental health~

109 days ago my sister was taken from our room in the night. Her bed still sits in the corner untouched, the sheets neatly folded and a panda teddy bear with an ear hanging off propped up against the pillows.

They must have asked me a million times why I didn’t scream for help or how I didn’t remember who he was or even what his face looked like. But when you’re eleven years old and you see a man you vaguely recognise climb through the window that Elsie insisted we left open otherwise the heat would cook us in our sleep, you don’t think of those things. All you can think of is the gun he said he had and the thumping in your ears and all the monsters your cousins told you stories about to scare you.

That man’s face has haunted me for the past 109 days after that. Every night I lay in bed, he is all I think about. The hook of his nose, the broadness of his shoulders, the lines around his eyes. It’s agonising the familiarity of him. The thought that somewhere in my muddled mind lies his name drives me mad—I could save her if I just thought hard enough, if I searched deep enough.

I catch myself yet again picturing her wherever she is and try remind myself Dr. Fallon told me to stop that.

Maybe she’s trapped in a cold basement, maybe she’s being trafficked in a dark, crowded warehouse, maybe she’s decomposing in an unmarked grave somewhere while her murderer roams free.

I press my hands over my face and groan in frustration, feeling tears come to my eyes. Sleeping was easy before. Now it's past one in the morning and I’ve been lying in bed for hours, my mind turning itself inside out looking for the name of a man I know, information that could save my sister from whatever hell she is trapped in. I shakily breathe in and remember Dr. Fallon’s words.

“Try focusing your mind on other things. I know you love singing…maybe when it all starts getting on top of you, you could hum a tune.”

I close my eyes and start humming the chorus of Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations. Elsie and I loved that song. It reminds me of long car drives, days at the beach and loyal golden retriever Ralph sitting in your lap. It takes me to happier times, before Mummy became hollow, before Dad went quiet and before Elsie was stolen and before I know it, I’ve drifted into sleep’s warm embrace.

I'm eleven years old again, pyjamas sticking to my skin with the sweat and soft snoring coming from another corner of the room. For a moment I feel content. For a moment I feel safe.

Then I hear the window squeak as it opens.

My breath catches in my throat. Someone lowers themself to the floor with a quiet thump and crosses to my sister’s bed.

I pull the blanket over my eyes as my heart pumps so loud I wonder if he can hear it.

“If you scream I’ll shoot.”

“Wuh..?”

there’s a rustling of blankets and a strangled gasp.

“I’ve got a gun in my pocket. If you try anything, I’ll shoot you, understand?”

I try to control my breathing even as tears squeeze through my eyelids and my heart pounds in my ears like a drum. I scrunch my eyes shut and make myself as small, as silent as possible. But something in my mind screams at me to open my eyes, to look, look!

I risk a peak and my eyes lock onto him, standing behind my sister with one arm holding her around her collar and the other clamping its hand tightly over her mouth and leading her towards the door.

I gasp as everything clicks. The hooked nose, the broad shoulders, the face that haunted my mind for months.

Suddenly I’m sitting up in bed, shivering and yet drenched in sweat. The room isn’t dark anymore but lit with a warm pink light from the early sun. The man and my sister are gone, but his name isn’t. My chest dares to fill with hope.

I race out of my room, down the hallways unable to think before I burst into the kitchen, the door slamming against the wall.

Dad is at the countertop, stirring a cup of tea with a silver spoon. Mummy sits at the table, an untouched coffee mug in front of her and dead eyes staring into nothing. She doesn’t look at me.

“Mummy! I did it, I remember!”

After a few seconds, she drags her eyes from the point in the distance where they were fixated and stares at me, her face ten years older than it was 109 days ago.

I rush to her side and crouch down.

“You have to call the detectives, I know who took Elsie!” I exclaim.

But she only shakes her head and turns back to the table.

“Mummy?”

I notice her face is wet. Tears stream from her eyes.

“Dad? Listen to me! I remember now.” I repeat, my face twisting in confusion. We’re wasting time. We need to tell the detectives right away.

“Cici please,” he says, his voice breaking.

I look around, as if waiting for the punch line, but no joke is revealed. Nothing about this is in any way funny.

I look at Mummy. “What…what are you doing? We have to tell them now,”

“Christ, Cici.” She suddenly slams her hand on the table and I flinch at the outburst.

“I am sick of this! This can’t keep going on!” She shouts.

I back away, tears in my widened eyes. I do not like being shouted at.

“Bel…” Dad warns.

“No, Kian this can’t- this can’t keep happening.” Her voice breaks a little at the end.

“Mummy?” I breathe.

“Cici, it happened. Let it go!”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel an odd sense of Déjà vu and my brows furrow in confusion.

“No…” I shake my head as the fog begins to clear. This has happened before.

“She’s gone, love.” Dad takes my hand but I pull away. It’s not true. It can’t be.

“No, I remembered!” I shout through the tears. “Where is she?”

Mum leans back in her chair and pinches her nose. She looks so tired.

“We can save her!” I insist uselessly. “We can still…”

I sink to my knees. It all hits me at the same time.

I remember this morning. And every other morning since Elsie was kidnapped. I remember she’s already dead, even though I recalled the name of the kidnapper the very next morning after he stole her. I remember that by the time the rescue team tracked them down, it was too late…

I shake my head as the memories hit me all over again and the fog lifts from my brain. It dawns on me for the 109th time.

I have remembered the face of my sister's kidnapper every morning for 109 days.