Page 103 of One Filthy Kiss

“Amber, we’re going to play hide-and-seek with the nice man upstairs, okay?”

She blinks and remains silent, peering at me as if I’ve gone crazy too in this new topsy-turvy world. I know exactly how she feels.

“We’re going to climb inside a carton, and we mustn’t move until the game is over. We mustn’t make a sound either. We must stay absolutely still like when we’re playing sleeping lions.”

Amber sniffs. “We’re playing two games?”

I smile. “Yes. The winner gets Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.” I widen my eyes like I’m excited to get dessert too.

Her eyes slide over to the storage cartons. “I don’t like it here. Can’t we hide somewhere else?”

“No, it has to be in here, I’m sorry, sweetie.”

I guide her over to the cartons, which reach almost to my waist, tip one on to its side, and empty the contents. It’s filled with shoes, sneakers, and boots. The heel of a tasseled cowboy boot collides with my shin, and I kick it out of the way. If anyone comes down here to look for us, the disturbed contents will be a dead giveaway.

“First, I need your help, Amber.” I don’t know how much time we have, but I’m conscious that we can’t stand here all night thinking about this. “We’re going to make a mess.”

I tip over another box, spilling the contents onto the floor. Then another.

Amber quickly catches on and starts pulling stuff out of the wardrobe and a narrow chest of drawers. By the time we’re finished, the basement looks as if a thief broke in and didn’t find anything worth stealing.

“Good job, sweetie.”

I survey our work, using the flashlight as a guide. I haven’t told her yet that I need to kill the light once we’re in place because I know that it will freak her out.

“Ready?” I pick her up and lift her into one of the empty cartons.

But when I try to climb in with her, the sides buckle, and the whole thing threatens to collapse. They’re not as spacious as they appear to be.

“Amber, I need you to sit down and get comfortable.”

“Where are you going?” she asks with eyes like large stones.

“I’m going to hide in this box.” I point to the carton next to hers. “I’ll be right here, so there’s no need to be afraid.”

“Okay.” I know she doesn’t understand what’s going on, or what happened to Nikki, but fear is contagious, and she knows that this is more than just a game. “What if the man doesn’t find us?”

“Then we’ll get ice cream anyway.” I smile.

I’mnot sure how far my smile travels, but Amber sits down inside the carton and crosses her legs, gazing up at me and squinting against the glare of the flashlight. as I close the flaps above her head. I drag the carton across the floor and push it up against the wall. Then I surround it with all the other storage containers, haphazardly, leaving some tipped on their sides, and climb into the box closest to Amber.

“I’m going to close the lid to my box now, sweetheart, but I’m right here, okay?” I sit down and pull the cardboard flaps inward above my head. “Alright, Amber? Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” She sounds far away, tiny, like a goldfish being sucked out to sea by the strong current, and I would give anything to change this shitty fucking hand she has been dealt.

“Good girl. I’m going to turn out the light now and we’ll both be super-quiet.” I hesitate. “Don’t forget, when the man comes looking for us, you don’t make a sound, okay? No matter what he says, you stay right where you are.”

I feel nauseous.

A week ago, we were buzzing as we packed our suitcase for our first vacation. And now, we’re hiding in musty boxes in the basement of a thrift store in Vermont, praying that the sociopath who killed our mother doesn’t come looking for us.

Hysteria is lurking just beneath the surface, but I know that if I give in to it, this will be game over.

I find myself listening for sounds that don’t exist. Footsteps. Voices. Gunfire.

I shouldn’t even know what bullets sound like when they’re fired from a real gun; it’s the kind of thing that should be restricted to the movies. The bad guys versus the cops. Itshouldn’t happen in real life. To anyone. But especially not to a five-year-old.

Something shuffles in the room. It’s close, too close, and I bite down on my fist to stifle a scream.