Behind the Red Door by Megan Collins

Author:Megan Collins [Collins, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon
Published: 2020-08-04T00:00:00+00:00

eleven

As I drive past the woods, I see their abundant leaves, thick enough to obscure a child’s way. I see their jutting branches, sharp enough to scrape. I see myself sprinting through them—a memory that crumbles at the edges.

Once I cross the town line, I pull over and pick up my phone. It turns out that Rita’s Ridgeway, Maine, address is easy to find. Too easy, for Astrid’s sake, even though I quickly discover that Astrid herself is unlisted. I punch the address into my GPS and all I can think is how the man who took her—took us—might have also read Astrid’s memoir, also seen Rita’s name. He might have done the same internet search as I just did. And with such a clear path back to Astrid, he might have felt an old desire twitch back to life.

Men who are never really done with you. Men who come back once you’re sure you’re finally free.

I try to picture him, beyond the outfit he wore. I try to remember where or when he might have taken me. As I walked home from Kyla’s? As I sat alone on a curb in front of a store?

And did he first notice me in Foster? He must have, right? Because no matter what Ted’s just told me, I was still in Foster when Astrid was taken. Maybe he spied me then and kept track of me somehow. Bided his time.

Did he seize me by the waist? Is that why I’ve been so sure he did that to Astrid? I try to remember the sensation of being snatched, the whoosh of panic, the pain in my gut where his arm would have dug. But there’s nothing. And it ratchets up my heart—that emptiness where memories should be.

Dr. Lockwood says that when my anxiety is particularly overwhelming, I should concentrate on the task at hand, box up everything else. Right now, Ridgeway, Maine, is only an hour away, and my task is to get there. To turn on the radio, tune to some music I recognize, and pack away whatever happened to me. I close the lid on where I might have been taken. Seal up how Ted and Mara never came searching. How they didn’t even know I was gone.

Somehow, I stay focused on the road for almost the entire hour, but as I pass a sign for Ridgeway, my phone rings. It interrupts the music, startles me into a swerve. I grip the wheel, course-correct, and see that it’s Eric calling. I reach to answer it, then pause. I have only one task. And it isn’t to open all these boxes, to unpack them truth by truth. It isn’t to field Eric’s questions, or listen to the fury in his voice. Fucking Ted, I can hear him saying.

He hardly ever swears, but for this, I know he would.

The ringing ends. The music surges back up. In a minute, there’s the chime of my voice mail, and the GPS tells me that in point-three miles, I should turn left on Autumn Lane.

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